“But Solie, your family loves you!”
“I don’t want to marry Mr. Falthers, Father,” she told him. “I know you agreed to it, but I didn’t.” She paused. “And I think Heyou will kill any man who comes near me now.”
At that, Heyou gave Saml a particularly evil grin. Solie’s father shuddered, realizing that he’d lost, and then he scrambled back, leaving his daughter standing on the doorstep and embracing her battle sylph from behind, her face hidden against his back. Heyou saw regret in the man’s eyes but didn’t care; he was leaving. Saml scurried off, regaining his feet and running after the others, toward the line of uncertain men with their useless weapons.
“Heyou,” Solie said “I—”
Heyou barely felt it in time: a flicker of concealed energy spearing down at them from above, something he might not have caught if he hadn’t been half expecting it even as he let his queen distract him. He spun, wrapping his arms around Solie as a hawk-shaped battle sylph dove down upon them.
The entire cottage exploded.
Chapter Seven
Devon trotted his rented horse out of the capital and along the main road, nudging it into a canter that could be maintained for some distance. The horse was one he’d used before, a dark chestnut gelding with a white nose, and he knew it was sound. The beast was also used to him, and its ears perked eagerly as it sped up. Its mouth was hard after years of being hired by incompetent riders, but the horse responded well enough to the bit, and its gait was smooth.
Airi flowed around his head, ruffling Devon’s hair. It was her way of showing affection, and he tried to relax as he rode. He could only get there as fast as he could get there. His father would be all right. In fact, he’d probably already done what his son intended—grabbed his boots and cloak and made a run for it. Devon might even find his father on the road, heading for the city. That was a reassuring thought.
Mostly. It was still a fifteen-mile ride to his father’s village from the city.
Devon settled back in the saddle and tried not to think about what he might face, which was just one more of too many things that weren’t normal: a girl with a battler, two battlers sent to destroy pirates brazen enough to attack the king’s ships, the rumor that the crown prince was dead. No one knew anything. No one knew for sure, at least. Devon suspected that if there had been more than rumors flying, he wouldn’t have got his time off. There were even stories going around that the other ten battlers of the kingdom would be recalled to the castle! There were always stories about that, though. The generals and their battlers stayed at their separate keeps most of the time, and the king never called them all in at once. Not with the amount of damage their battlers could do. Devon had seen a battler’s magic once, and that had only been a test. The hill didn’t exist anymore. Neither did the prisoners who’d been chained to it.
Now he was going to face a battler who he knew was no rumor. Devon took a deep breath, trying to calm his churning nerves. He could feel the hate already, surrounding him and wearing him down.
Airi suddenly let off playing with his hair, rising up above him defensively. Devon looked behind. Another man was cantering up, his tall gray steed having a better stride than the chestnut. Devon felt his gut fall out from under him as he recognized Leon Petrule, the king’s head of security and lead battler master. He had his arm up in a falconer’s position, Ril riding on it easily. The battler glared at Devon, who winced. He hadn’t expected this.
Leon cantered up beside him and slowed slightly, his gray fighting the bit while he made to match the gait of Devon’s chestnut. The battler master looked down at Devon evenly, who suddenly felt as if he needed to stammer an explanation for his presence here. He didn’t doubt at all that the man recognized him. Airi floated above, ready to grab him and flee if she had to. Provided she could outrun a battler. The bird looked right at her before returning his gaze to Devon.
“Good afternoon, my Lord Petrule,” Devon managed. “Nice afternoon for a ride.”
“Bit late for it,” the man answered. “Do you always ride out so close to sunset?”
Devon swallowed, trying to look natural. His only help was the fact that every male in the kingdom was nervous around Ril. “I’m going to see my father,” he admitted—only a partial lie. “He’s unwell.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
The battler master looked forward again. Ril hissed as he was jostled, his aura of hatred increasing. How did Petrule handle that battler without going insane? Devon wondered.
“And you, my lord?” he asked, dreading the answer.
The battler master looked at him sideways, and Devon tried not to cringe. “I’m looking for someone,” the man answered quietly, and left it at that.
Devon felt sick. He could well imagine whom the king’s man was seeking. And what if he found her? Devon looked at Ril and tried to picture the two battlers fighting. He couldn’t.
“You look ill yourself,” Leon noted.
Devon shuddered. “It’s your battler,” he said. “He’s rather unnerving.”
“Yes.” Leon looked at his battler with something that could only be affection, hard though that was to believe. “It must be easier with an air sylph.”
“Yes, my lord,” Devon managed, and felt Airi dance above him.
“There’s nothing else like a battler,” Leon continued. “They make you earn everything.”
“Yes, my lord.” Devon didn’t know what else to say.
They rode in silence for a time, the miles vanishing under them. It was still an hour before dusk, but the sun was getting low on the horizon. Devon tried to think why Leon was riding alongside him, but all he could guess was that the man wanted some company. Either that or he knew he’d been lied to.
Ahead, finally, they saw the crossroads. Devon said, “I go right here, my lord. My father’s village lies that way.”
Leon nodded. “I may as well join you. It’s as good a direction to start as any.”
“Yes, my lord,” Devon answered, his heart sinking.
They reached the crossroads and turned, their horses trotting up onto the grass around the churned mess made by hundreds of passing wagons. Regaining the smoother northern road, they broke into a canter again, still riding side by side. It was getting colder out, and Devon pulled his cloak closer around himself.
“Do you know of any girls in your father’s village?” Leon asked suddenly. “Girls with long red hair and who wear a green butterfly barrette?” He held the delicate object out on his gloved palm.
Devon recognized it immediately, and his throat went dry. “Uh—”
Suddenly, a roar. Both horses screamed, rearing, and Devon had to fight the chestnut for control—and himself as well, for an overwhelming hatred blew over him and he heard a deep voice shouting, “SOLIE IS MINE!” It echoed from everywhere, and Ril straightened, his wings spreading, and suddenly the bird was screaming as well, his hatred blasting back at the first.
As his gray reared again, Leon cursed, pulling its head down one-handed while he raised his arm to point. “Ril! Go!” As he snapped his arm down, the battler was already airborne, shooting upward into the sky. Ril vanished into the clouds, headed toward the village.
“Oh, gods!” Devon gasped. He yanked his chestnut’s head around and kicked the beast forward, whipping it with his reins in the direction of his father’s home. The horse broke into a gallop, thundering down the road.
Half a second later, the king’s man passed him, bent low over the neck of his gray. Devon flogged his horse harder, trying to catch him. Airi wailed in terror, racing at his side.
Solie screamed in panic as the world exploded, flame filling her vision even as Heyou wrapped his shape around her, protecting her from it. For a moment she was enclosed in his warm darkness and heard him bellowing, his hate a palpable force. She could feel his protection as well, though, and his fear. Something hit him and he shuddered. He couldn’t fight like this, she realized.
So did Heyou. I
n a moment he was human again, shadows of blackness shifting around him like ethereal wings, and he threw her clear. Solie hit the ground with a yelp and looked up. The cottage was on fire, a chasm two feet deep torn down the center of the lane toward it. The ragged earth smoked, ringing Heyou as he turned, facing away from her.
Something sparkled in the sky above, and Solie stared as a bird twisted in midair, coming round from a swooping arc to return in their direction. It went into a swift dive, its feet tucked close to its body and its wings outspread. It headed straight toward Heyou, and an invisible wall of destruction wreaked havoc before it.
Heyou crossed his arms, blocking that force, and the air itself screamed around him, shaking. A moment later the bird shot past, leveling out its flight, and Heyou turned, transforming. Massive black jaws slammed shut just shy of the bird’s tail, but the hawk made its escape and arced upward for another attack.
Solie scrambled to her feet in horror. There wasn’t anyone in the villages or hamlets near the main city who didn’t recognize the king’s battlers. Ril was locked in his one form, however, while Heyou was able to shed his entirely, leaping with a scream into the air. The bird and the black cloud raced upward, vanishing from view. She could still feel their hate, though, their absolute loathing for one another.
“Heyou!” she screamed, not wanting to see him hurt. If he heard her, he didn’t respond.
The two battlers appeared again, smashing together, the force of their contact blowing down on the town and knocking people off their feet. A boom sounded a moment later, deafening Solie. It muted the sounds of the screaming and panic. People and animals tried to flee in all directions, but the sylphs were fighting directly over the town, arcing in every direction and leaving no one sure of where to run. One blast blew apart a small shop, while a second hit the orchard Solie and Heyou had first landed in.
Solie started to cry, not knowing what to do.
Heyou lunged at the other battler, lashing out at him with his energy, but the bird dodged every attack, swerving around and looping under him to try and get behind. Heyou had to flip nearly inside out to stay facing him. He couldn’t figure out why the other battler, much older than himself, didn’t change shape. Eventually he realized he couldn’t, and his excitement surged. This was one fight where he had the advantage.
Minutes later, though, it became apparent that his advantage wasn’t quite so great. The other battler might be stuck as a bird, but he was too fast to hit. He dodged Heyou’s best blows, and the town and valley below paid: half of the buildings were in flames, the people and animals trying to flee. Unlucky victims lay scattered everywhere.
Some of the bodies were wearing long skirts. Heyou felt agony and shame, and a desperate terror that Solie had ended up caught in the crossfire. The other battler hadn’t targeted her, though—he obviously wanted Heyou. Which meant Solie had to be all right. He felt her fear and confusion, but no pain. Had she been injured, he’d have known. If she was killed, he’d lose his grip on this dimension.
The thought of that was horrifying, and he renewed his attacks, careful now to avoid indiscriminate blasting at the other with his energy; it was too draining and too inaccurate. Instead he surged forward, trying for close combat—and screamed as the bird’s talons tore into his mantle.
He was losing, Heyou realized suddenly. Desperate, he searched for his queen. They had to escape.
Leon galloped into the village, hugging his horse’s neck and swearing. The village was in ruins, all rules of decency clearly discarded in the war overhead.
There weren’t many fights between battlers, not like this. Every kingdom he’d ever studied had them, but they were used more as a deterrent than anything else, preventing allout war or invasions. Actual battles between them were semiformalized, each sylph under strict control. Northward were the wide, dead Shale Plains, nearly the size of Eferem itself but stripped of most life, thanks to a conflict between battlers centuries before. They’d left nothing but rubble behind, obliterating the kingdom that used to exist between Eferem and Para Dubh. Ril had been set loose on highwaymen and pirate groups stupid enough to risk invading, but he’d only been in three formal fights. He’d won every one.
He must have thought this would be as easy, Leon realized, berating himself. But this new battler had no controls, and his shape flickered wildly as he fought. So did his powers, and the town paid the price.
Leon leaped his horse over a shattered wagon and the people who huddled behind it, searching. Ril wouldn’t damage the village intentionally—his orders were clear about collateral damage—but even he could make mistakes. There was one easy way to win the fight before that rogue destroyed everything. Leon saw her a moment later, standing in shock in the middle of the street before a burning cottage, her hands pressed to her face as she stared upward. Her long red hair blew in the unnatural winds. She had no control over her battler. Not her fault, but it was true.
Leon drew his sword and spurred his horse forward. Kill the master and banish the sylph: the king’s order would be a simple one for him to obey. At least, he tried to tell himself it wouldn’t be hard. This wasn’t the first time he’d killed a girl for a battler.
Devon raced his hysterical horse into the town, so panicked himself that he could barely focus. Airi pressed against his back, freezing cold in her terror.
The town was in ruins, people running away down the road past him. He looked for his father, who was nowhere in sight. Devon swerved around a wagon—and saw Leon instead, his sword drawn and held clear of his body as he galloped toward a redheaded girl who stood with her back to him. Devon knew her, having seen her before when he lived in the town and she came to visit her aunt. He’d recognized her butterfly barrette in Leon’s hand.
“Airi!” he screamed, not knowing what he intended to say, or what he meant for her to do.
She had to guess. In an instant the air sylph abandoned him and shot forward, a shimmer of air that raced past the king’s head of security and wrapped around the girl. Flaring, she yanked Solie out of the way, pulling the girl screaming off her feet and into the air, over Leon’s head and back toward her master.
Devon gasped, seeing the other man pull so hard on the reins that his gray sat down. Leon turned, looking back at him. Blaming him. Then Airi was there. She grabbed Devon as well and pulled him off his horse, crushing him against the screaming girl as she retreated, rising up over the tops of cottages, all while staying low enough not to get caught up in the fight between the battlers. Holding both humans close, she fled.
Heyou felt Solie’s sudden terror and whirled, forgetting himself. She was in the air, held by an air sylph—the same air sylph he’d ignored—wrapped around a man and vanishing up the slope of the valley. She was being taken away.
Solie! he screamed.
Ril slammed into his back, tearing right through him. Heyou gasped and fell, shifting back to human as he plunged, crashing through a cottage roof and slamming into the center of the main room. Floorboards buckled beneath him and he vomited blood, in terrible pain and beaten. Above, he saw the other battler circling the building in the darkened sky, screaming in triumph.
He was dead. The other battler would kill him. Solie would be alone, unprotected, to be ordered killed on the command of that bird sylph’s queen. Heyou had only one option left, the only one available to newly hatched battlers, if they were to survive long enough to grow and serve their queen: he let his rage go—all of it—and also his form. Shimmering to nothingness, he released his hold on reality and hid.
Still looking thoughtfully up the darkening slope the girl had vanished over, Leon held out his arm. “Ril.”
The battler landed and started to preen, adjusting his feathers. Leon brought him around in front and checked him over with his free hand, looking for injury. The sylph was singed but not damaged, and he exhaled in relief. Ril ignored him, though he let Leon touch his body, his focus now on cleaning his tail feathers. His hate was less than usual as well. H
e was tired.
“Good boy, Ril,” Leon whispered, stroking his back as the bird drew energy from him. Sometimes he could feel the creature do so, especially if Ril drank more than usual, and he felt it now, an oddly sensual tingling along his skin. “Good boy.” Ril hit him with a little deliberate loathing and settled down, puffing his feathers up and tucking his head under his wing. A moment later, the battler was asleep.
Leon allowed it. Battle sylphs rarely slept, and he could count on one hand the number of times Ril had done so. He frowned again and looked from the destruction in the town to the slope over which the girl had escaped. The sun was down now, and he couldn’t see any details, let alone where the girl and her rescuers had gone. He hadn’t thought that air-sylph master would have the balls to try something like that. Going to visit his father indeed!
He turned his horse, careful not to wake Ril. It was unclear if the other battler was destroyed. It wasn’t as though he could ask Ril, but he doubted the bird would allow himself to sleep if there was still a danger.
The town was in ruins, more than half of it gone, and the survivors peered out at him in terror. Leon’s frown deepened. It would take hours to sort through this mess, but Devon had said his father lived here. He’d have to see if that was a lie. If not, he’d see what the old man could tell him.
Chapter Eight
Jasar rolled off the woman with a groan, blowing out a breath as he landed on his back and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. She was a minor courtier, pretty enough but a little dull in bed. She’d cried out enough times, though, and he knew he’d pleased her. He smirked: he always pleased them.
Alica sighed and stretched beside him, her breasts shining in the light of the lamp. He looked at her appreciatively. She certainly was an attractive woman.
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