by Morgan Rice
She struck the sand again, and this time, it rippled, bursting up with enough force to fling enemies to their backs. She ran toward a line of them and leapt up, running across their shoulders and stabbing down as she passed so that men fell back one by one. A blade scraped across her hip as Ceres did it, but she spun aside from it as it touched her, moving before it could cut.
Some weapons struck home. A spear drew a line of blood on her shoulder, a sword cut across her forearm. Ceres redirected energy as she felt the wounds, watching them close as quickly as they’d opened. She struck out at all of those within reach, and they fell one by one.
She could understand then why people had been so scared of the Ancient Ones. How could someone hope to fight something like this? A foe who could heal themselves was a foe who didn’t need to fear any swing of a sword that didn’t kill them. A foe who could move this fast, and with this much strength, was more akin to a farmer scything down a field of wheat than a duelist fighting for her life.
Ceres kept going, but only because it was the only way to save the islanders. She struck out until there were no foes in reach, flung more away from her in a wave of power, and then blasted a dark armored officer with dark lightning.
The others were there beside her then, piling forward as Ceres continued to fight her way through the invading forces. She reined in the use of her powers then, because she didn’t want to risk any of the defenders being caught up in the blasts of power. She could still fight, though, still wield a sword faster and with more power than any of the soldiers around her.
One man fell before her, then another.
Thanos and Jeva were beside her then, and now, Ceres had the time to watch them as they fought. Thanos fought with the straightforward honesty that he’d always had, bludgeoning enemies with his shield and cutting them down with his sword without ever taking a backwards step. The Bone Folk woman whirled in circles that always seemed to end in the death of an opponent, ducking and rolling, leaping and spinning so that no blade could keep up with her. Ceres saw a swordsman coming up behind her and threw one of her own blades, plunging it deep into the opponent and bringing him down on the sand.
It went from a battle on the beach to a rout in a matter of seconds. Ceres held her ground, letting her enemies run. It was one thing to cut them down as they came, but it would have been no better than murder to chase after them when they had so little chance to fight back against her.
She stood there instead, energy pouring off her as she struck down the last few foes brave or stupid enough to come at her. She looked around, seeing the circles of dead or petrified foes where she had been, the burnt out hulks of the ships where her lightning had struck them.
She had done that, and she would have felt guilty if it hadn’t been for the people left on the beach; the ones who would have died if she hadn’t come there to try to save them. The warriors of Haylon stood around Ceres, and she’d seen the way they were staring before.
“Ceres,” they started to chant. “Ceres!”
In that moment, it was like being back in the Stade again, having fought some powerful opponent. There were people calling her name. There was enough power flowing through her body to reshape the world. The foes who had been coming to kill the people she loved were dead or fleeing.
“Ceres! Ceres!”
She had done it.
For now, at least, Haylon was free.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Stephania’s second wedding was nothing like her first. The first had been a thing of light and love and hope, to a man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. It had been the culmination of everything Stephania had hoped for. The second was the public declaration of a political alliance, presided over by a death priest, and to a man whose murder she’d been imagining almost from the moment she met him.
Perhaps there was something more honest about that.
Either way, she was bound to Ulren in matrimony now, looking out eagerly from his flagship as his fleet crossed the sea between Port Leeward and Delos. Stephania urged the ships onward, and not just because every night they spent on the ocean meant another night in Ulren’s arms. The sooner they reached Delos, the sooner she could have revenge on the man who had taken her son from her.
“What are you thinking, my love?” Ulren asked, coming up to place a hand on her shoulder in a gesture that felt far too possessive.
“Your love?” Stephania said with a laugh. “Are we going to pretend that?”
She threw a carefully feigned look of adoration his way, then let it slip back to her normal expression of controlled watchfulness.
“What isn’t to love?” Ulren said. “A beautiful woman, cunning and deadly, with the keys to defeating my enemies. Younger men might wait for some bolt from the heavens to strike their heart. I have learned to be practical.”
Stephania had learned to be practical as well. It was why she tolerated every touch from the former Second Stone. It was why she sent slave girls to their bed to make the task of being the old fool’s wife less onerous. It was why she kept her knives and her poisons close, whatever he declared.
“And I am very much in love with your ability to kill my enemies,” Stephania said. “And with the fact that we will soon rule the largest empire in the world together.”
She heard Ulren’s grating laugh again, setting her nerves on edge the way it always seemed to. “We should have made those our wedding vows.”
Perhaps they should have. There was no false pretense of love between them. Ulren got what he wanted from Stephania, and she would get what she wanted from him. He would give her the revenge she wanted. If they could recover her son from the sorcerer, then he would become the heir to true power. And in the meantime, Stephania would have control over a kingdom again, with no one to question her.
Ulren could give her all of that, and all Stephania had been forced to do was marry him. As exchanges went, it seemed more than fair. Certainly fairer than some of the things that passed for marriages among the noble houses of the Empire.
“We are getting closer to Delos,” Ulren said. “I think it is time for you to tell me the things that you claim will help me to defeat Irrien.”
Stephania considered it, knowing how finely balanced this moment was. The danger lay in giving away too much, too soon; in making herself useless. Yet, even once she’d given information to the Second Stone, there would be all that she could bring him in terms of legitimacy. The fact that he hadn’t simply tortured the information from her told Stephania that he wanted more than just what she knew.
“Shall we start with ways into the city?” Stephania asked.
Ulren nodded, and Stephania went over to a space on the deck where two throne-like chairs had been set with a table in front of them. Maps and charts were spread out across the table, held in place against the rolling of the sea by stones and needles.
“We won’t be able to bring your whole force in at once,” Stephania said, “but there are places to land near Delos, here and here.”
She pointed to spots that smugglers had used for years. Her spies had always used them, because she’d known that the other nobles had their own watchers.
“There used to be a network of tunnels beneath the city, but my guess is that Irrien will have them watched.”
“He will,” Ulren said. “He is not a fool. But when we charge along the tunnels with all our numbers—”
“We would be slaughtered,” Stephania said, sighing that she had to explain this. “But we do not need to do that, do we? Who are Irrien’s forces keeping out of the city?”
“Enemies,” Ulren said.
Stephania knew that he was a clever man. No one rose to the top of Felldust’s brutal system without intelligence and cunning. Right then, though, it was hard to believe it.
“Enemies from Haylon,” Stephania said. “Enemies from the Empire. If they see Felldust ships, if we do it right, they will assume that we’re a part of their fleet, or that we’re traders there to
buy the loot they’ve taken. Or that we’re defecting to their side.”
“But only if we don’t go in all at once,” Ulren said. Maybe he was cleverer than he seemed. “Are you trying to get us killed piecemeal?”
Stephania shook her head sharply. “I’m trying to put us in position to win, my husband. Our ships go in one at a time. Our people spread out, moving closer to the ones who need to die. At our signal, they strike together, and the city falls before Irrien even realizes that there is an invasion.”
It was what she’d done to take the castle. It was what Ulren must have done to take Felldust. It was an approach that was simple, efficient, and deadly.
“It will only work until Irrien gives the order to fight back,” Ulren pointed out. He gestured to a slave, who started to bring over his armor.
“Then we kill him,” Stephania insisted, watching while her new husband buckled himself into plates and pulled on chain. “He has his weaknesses.”
“So you keep saying,” Ulren said. He at least covered over his insignia with the wrappings of his homeland. Perhaps he was listening to Stephania after all. “I’ve yet to hear what they are. Or is this just a trick to get me to fight Irrien, hoping that we’ll both die?”
It was a thought that Stephania wished she’d had, but instead, she shook her head.
“Irrien has weaknesses. When he tried to take me as his slave, I saw them. He was injured in the invasion, and although he claims the wound has healed, he still favors it. His shoulder is wounded enough that he can’t move it freely.”
Stephania touched the spot on Ulren’s armor, and she saw her husband grow thoughtful at it.
“A man wounded like that wouldn’t be able to swing his sword in a full circle,” Ulren said. “He wouldn’t be able to swing with the same force, or to stand his ground against blows on that side. He would have to give way.”
Stephania liked how quickly he had seen it. That was one advantage to partnering with a warrior such as this: they could find ways to make use of the things that her brand of intelligence found out. It had almost been that way with Thanos, except that he had never had the ruthlessness needed to act.
Briefly, Stephania found herself thinking about what it would be like if Ulren fought Thanos. To her surprise, it wasn’t a thought that she relished, and not just because there was always a chance that her new husband wouldn’t be able to seize victory. Stephania wanted revenge for the things Thanos had done to her, but at the same time, the thought of Ulren butchering him just made her feel uncomfortable.
“In spite of everything,” Ulren said, “you do make a perfect wife, Stephania. I have never met anyone as ruthless, as unforgiving, or as willing to take what she wants.”
It was probably intended to be a compliment. Stephania simply saw it as the way the world had to be. You did what was necessary, or… well, she had seen the alternative, on her knees with Irrien holding the keys to her chains. Abandoned, discarded, after her belly had been cut open by a priest’s knife. Those were things that still brought her nightmares, not that Ulren seemed to notice or care when they slept beside one another.
“And you are a husband able to stand against any threat,” Stephania said.
More importantly, he was one who might be able to kill Irrien. As Delos came into view ahead, that was the only thing that mattered.
Ulren took her into his arms, and Stephania hid her disgust the way she’d hid a thousand other feelings in the course of her life. Nothing mattered other than being the one still standing when everyone else was dead. She would rule, and Ulren would help her to do it, executing her plan with all the skill of a great warrior.
After that, he would probably try to betray her, the way everyone else did. Stephania could feel the weight of the knives on her hip, though, and she had her poisons. Ulren would be her husband until he ceased to be useful.
After that, Stephania would do what she’d always been meant to do—rule alone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
From the docks of Delos, Irrien watched his fleet spread out like some dark stain. He watched it preparing for the attack on Haylon with a mixture of satisfaction, excitement, and worry. Satisfaction, because of the prospect of victory to come, excitement because of the spoils that would follow.
Worry, because of the risks it was taking to win.
Irrien ignored the pain of the men as they tried to load the beast N’cho had summoned onto a barge for transportation. Strong warriors, and many slaves, held its chains, but every so often, one would loosen its grip, or the beast would lash out too quickly to anticipate, and claws or spines would slice through flesh.
Men screamed as they fell, but so long as they got the beast onto the boat, Irrien didn’t care. If this was what it took to kill the Ancient Ones’ descendent and secure victory, Irrien would spend their lives a thousand times over.
“Can you control it once we are there?” he asked N’cho.
The assassin spread his hands. “I can send it back once it has served its purpose. I can force it in the direction of your enemies for the slaughter. Beyond that… nothing mortal could hope to give the beast orders, First Stone.”
Irrien spat. He hated having to rely on witchcraft rather than strength or cunning to secure his victory. Still, the strong did whatever was necessary to achieve victory. They made the sacrifices they needed to make.
He surveyed the rest of his fleet. It was almost ready, and from Delos, the journey to Haylon would be nowhere near as long as the onerous trip from Felldust. His fleet would descend on the island and finish this, and his victory would be complete.
For now, though, there was only the waiting as his men loaded weapons and armor, food and fresh water. Irrien ached too much to stand there for it. He’d suffered too many wounds in the past days, and the truth was that even his body needed to recover sometimes. He would return to the castle, eat, drink, and rest. Perhaps he would summon slaves to amuse him, or perhaps he would watch their deaths. He hadn’t decided yet, but either way, it was better than waiting there.
“I will return to my quarters,” Irrien said. “Summon me when we are ready to depart. And tell the men that if it is longer than the last tide, I will become impatient.”
He walked back toward the castle, his guards falling into step around him. They were replacements for the ones N’cho’s fellow assassins had killed, and Irrien didn’t know them yet, but they would be strong men. Tough men. They would serve him well in the battle to come.
Irrien reached the castle and headed inside. It was quiet there, thanks to the effects of the war. Irrien stalked through to the throne room, and servants threw the doors open for him. He went to the throne, lounging in it and signaling for a slave to fetch wine.
He stayed there a while, considering his victory. The city was his. The Northern Coast was his. Soon Haylon would be his as well, and he would be ruler of all he surveyed. Irrien sipped at his wine sparingly, thinking of what he would do with this city once he moved from conquest to truly ruling. Perhaps he would turn the castle into a pleasure palace, filled with slaves from every corner of the world. Perhaps he would tear it down and rebuild it so that his image appeared on every corner.
The rest of the city, he would turn into the strongest in the world. In Felldust, he had been held back by the schemes of the other Stones. Here, he would do as he wished. Speaking of which…
“Have a woman brought,” Irrien said, and one of the servants there went off to fetch one. It didn’t take long. His servants knew better than to make him wait for anything. He eased out of the weight of his armor, grateful to be able to relax for once.
A woman came in, demurely dressed in a long robe with a hood. Irrien had no time for such games.
“Remove that,” he snapped.
“Perhaps for my husband.”
He froze at that voice, because he recognized it even before Stephania put back the hood of her robe. He stared at her in shock, because she shouldn’t have survived, couldn’t have surv
ived what he’d done to her.
That moment of shock was when his enemies struck.
Irrien should have guessed that there was something wrong with his new guards, with the strange quiet of the castle, but now all he could do was throw himself forward as two of the men nearest to him swung swords at head height. Irrien felt them slash over his head, but by then his sword was already springing into his hand, taking one of his foes through the gut.
He looked around and saw Ulren coming into the throne room.
“I should have known you wouldn’t be able to stay in Felldust,” Irrien said. “You’ll die today, Ulren.”
“One of us will,” the other man promised.
He didn’t come forward to fight himself, of course. Instead, he waved men forward and they charged at Irrien. He cut the first of them down, stepped past a thrust, and hacked at a second.
More men came stumbling into the room, and Irrien guessed that these were loyal to him simply because Ulren’s men attacked them on sight. Some of the newcomers died before they could begin to react, but others cleared their blades, clashing with the attackers while Irrien continued to battle for his life.
He threw himself at Ulren, swinging his blade high, then low. He caught the older man with a slice across his leg, but had to give ground as Ulren aimed an attack at his wounded arm. Irrien roared in anger, striking down another man.
The flow of the battle carried them apart, and now Irrien had to hack men down left and right in an effort to get to his enemy. If he could kill the Second Stone, this would be done, and Irrien would have Stephania impaled on the front of his ship when he sailed for Haylon. He parried a blow from a long axe, kicked its wielder’s feet from under him, and thrust down through his chest.