Cherry… was Cherry. Both practical and precious in its simplicity. He wasn’t sure if it made them closer or only drove a wedge between them that Fajja had seen fit to take risks with her too. She needed to talk, so that wouldn’t be a mystery for long.
What little introspection he had worked through only served in making more questions, none of which needed answers. He dumped them from his thoughts and shifted Reina ever so slightly in his grip.
They had traveled outside of the sparser residential areas of town, finding an empty barn to camp in. There would be no cozy campfire for them tonight and all for the best since none seemed keen on eating and the enclosure, well, it would serve well enough for warmth.
Cherry had put down his pack and cloak and he barely had time to lay Reina down before Cherry was dragging him out to walk with her again.
The nights were getting colder, even there in Orendon, and for a few stolen minutes he had grown content in watching her breaths puff in cold clouds, hearing the crunch of her feet over dehydrated grass.
“I’m not mad at you,” Cherry finally said, still looking up the moon as she did.
“Ah, so then you’re not just looking for a good place to hide my body.”
She smiled but didn’t laugh, her eyes still far away.
“You’re changing…”
Of course he was. More than he was willing to admit. He knew she hadn’t just meant on the outside either.
“I’m remembering more,” he admitted and this time her eyes did meet his, startled that he was open about it.
Cherry nodded, her eyes struggling with a thought that seemed to pass as she smiled at him once more.
“Is that a good thing?” she asked.
“Not really,” he added, sharing a weak laugh with her.
A farmhouse crept up on the distant horizon, little orange eyes of interior lighting peeking from the silhouette. Dolly’s family’s house had been much humbler.
“I know about Marteia,” Cherry finally said.
He nodded. It wasn’t clear if he was supposed to say anything, so he didn’t. He hoped she would just keep talking and for once, he wasn’t disappointed.
“I’m glad she has been sealed away again…”
“We’re walking into the lion’s den…” Again. This wasn’t the first time. I’ve probably done it enough for a hundred lifetimes. “Not just confronting the King. The Sentinels, if not the Gods themselves. Blind, deaf… Cattle have better knowledge when being led to the slaughter.”
Cherry didn’t bat an eye.
“We would be just as fucked if we didn’t though.”
He laughed. It wasn’t like her to talk like that, but he certainly didn’t mind rubbing off on her. He hadn’t realized he had taken her hand until he saw the blush rising to her cheeks.
He stopped as she kept walking, tugging her back to stand in front of him, so close their clouds of breath mingled.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
No one was more shocked than him that those words left his mouth. Her hand reached up to touch his cheek, tracing the scar there.
Both of them knew that there were no words of consolation for that, no assurances that they weren’t just being led to the slaughter. Gods, and Kings, were assholes. They had now.
He felt her lips on his, timid at first, then warmer, bolder as she leaned in. He returned the kiss, but she had drawn back and their eyes met with a mutual unspoken understanding.
“Stay with me,” she said and he didn’t need to ask what those words meant.
The night was young, their bodies were warm, and they had only gone back once the sun peeked up on the horizon.
One of the Flowers was flipping her Key around over her hand, the blade itself drawn but wielded with skill. He watched for lack of anything better to do.
“Your Keys. What are they called?” he asked her. Her eyes narrowed, but a slow smile spread on her face. “So you’ll remember that, but you can’t even get my name
right.”
He shrugged.
“Humor me. I’m much older than you are.”
This made her laugh and she spun the blade in a toss,
catching the hilt like an expert. “The Glint of Shairek. And hers is the Glint of Keriahs,” she said, tilting her head towards her sister.
The shared ‘Glint’ title had cued him into noticing the anadrome there.
“Were those mages twins as well?” he asked.
She started flipping the blade over her hand again, the smile spreading, but it was her sister that answered.
“It’s probably easier just to tell you the legend.”
When the Gods had become desperate in the war to stop the immortal mages, the Rain God had thrown them behind his Gate, unable to receive the dead for fear of letting them out. One way in, one way out. There was no other way into Death, the task always belonging to the Rain God alone.
The Realms of Men filled with the restless wraiths, no less a threat than the mages themselves and it was clear that the Rain God could no longer contain them.
It had always been a double Gate, an entrance and an exit, but when one was open, the other side still needed to be guarded. There was no way he could simply hold the exit against such powerful foes to let the restless dead find peace.
The Rain God already held the Gates closed and he had summoned the Flame God from his throne in Melikai—he needed to split the Gates, but to do so his body would have to guard each one and no Gate could open in the same place. If he died, the doors to the Gate would be blown wide open so time was of the essence.
He would have to be torn apart while he lived: two bones from his legs, two from his arms, ribcage, collarbone and skull.
Time was of the essence.
As the Flame God had set about tearing the Rain God apart, the Keys were made, each Gate was locked, but the seventh mage had been more than he bargained for. Shairek was two men in one body.
The plan had been close to failure, but the Flame God thought fast, drawing a second collarbone and doubling the last Gate, sealing them all shut before time had run out.
The dead were still swarming and the Flame God saw the dilemma of flooding only one gate. Leaving it open too long would only invite the mage it guarded to attempt escape.
He visited the seven temples of the Rain God spread over his realm, gifting eight women with the Keys.
The collarbones had the flaw of needing to stay close.
He highly doubted the word ‘gift’ was the proper term for it, but let it slide.
“So they would just burst through if the Gates were combined. Why the fuck would the King want to play Gate Guardian and fill the world with the dead again?” he asked.
“Either he is that greedy for God status or he has found a way to counter that,” the knifey sister chimed in.
It was more likely that Marteia or Fajja had a hand in it. The King wasn’t the cleverest man he had ever known and that was being generous. Probably knew more about food than politics.
Whatever the case was, he only hoped it led to a fucking conclusion this time and not just another ‘oops, try again’ time fuck-up. Once in a lifetime was more than enough and if it ever happened again, he hoped it let him put his nightmares of a dying kid to rest.
For what little good that hope actually did.
He stiffened as he heard a rousing groan, seeing Reina finally stir from her rest. There was a little confusion there and a lot of grief, but still he did not look away when her eyes found his.
Reina pressed a hand to her still-throbbing head, trying to keep his gaze. She gave a light shake of her head.
“I do not blame you, sir. It was my own damn fault that my children were doomed to die, but I hadn’t known and I won’t regret what they were to me,” Reina murmured.
He could tell from the way she was so clear on that decision that Fajja had most likely paid her a visit and probably a lot gentler than any he had ever gotten out of that bastard.
“Welcome back, Reina,” he said, trying out non-asshole for size.
It wasn’t as painful as he had feared.
“Thank you, stranger,” she returned with a weak smile.
Sunday had hurried over to Reina with a small bowl of simple food. Reina had tried to refuse it, but Sunday wouldn’t hear of it.
It was already late in the morning. No one had minded that Cherry and him had slept in. No one even minded that Dolly was finally stirring, the last to wake and peek up around the wall of Brute.
“Do I smell sweet porridge?” Dolly squeaked.
He cringed.
“Is that a real question?”
That was probably three-quarters asshole, but nice was hard work.
Fucking. Sun. Again.
It wasn’t the mercenary’s thoughts at all. Something much older had been drawn by the gathering essence of the Rain Maidens all in one spot. Something groggy, something long craving the magic that had been long gone from the world, locking it in immortal sleep.
Not it, though. Her.
She was painfully creaky as she stretched the long length of her body, from the long graceful neck to the tapered spiky end of her tail. Her grass-green scales trembled as she rippled the muscles beneath them, the sheen of the sun reflecting golden as the dirt tumbled away. She was perfect still, time never touching her, humans never knowing she was more than just a pile of dirt. All the better because she didn’t enjoy the thought of eating poor unsuspecting humans who disturbed her. Humans tasted terrible but waking always came with a ravenous appetite and very little pickiness for the menu.
She had four perfectly good legs, but she always felt more majestic when she took to the skies, so with little thought for the consequences (and who could stop a dragon?), she followed through to test wings she hadn’t used in hundreds of years.
From outside of the barn, a thunderous flapping grew closer. He hurried out of the barn to see a huge green winged dragon flying low, one claw just missing the roof, the lift of its wings violently peeling away a few roof tiles as it went.
Brute had hurried out behind him, her hand going to her Key, but he signaled for her not to with an outstretched hand.
“Why would dragons be waking?” he asked her.
He had already known that Maidens could summon them (or at least one in particular), but they had also said that they wouldn’t wake on their own.
“Either someone woke it or magic is gathering again,” Sunday said from behind him.
“Could ‘someone’ be Arkhades?” he asked.
“No, at least I don’t think so. Their magic had been limited to the Gate Realms and even then it is only shaky,” Cherry answered.
“Magic, then” he repeated, smirking at Cherry with amusement.
“Yes, magic,” Cherry conceded with no great joy at the admission.
“I can’t believe we’re leaving this up to Fajja,” he grumbled then.
None of them were happy about it, but what could they do?
They watched the dragon receding in the sky, likely terrifying everyone in its path over Orendon as it did with its big ‘fuck-you.’ Not that he wouldn’t do the same. He could inspire revulsion, but that certainly wasn’t the same thing.
He looked down at the black nails, thicker now and curving into claws. The borog he had fought before had been able to disguise itself as human, but he had no such luck trying the same. Cherry took his hand again.
“What will we do about the King?” Cherry asked.
He scoffed at that.
“I haven’t had a single plan since I got here. Why start now?”
Cherry frowned.
“We can’t just storm the castle.”
Well, that took the wind out of his sails. All the same, he had to admit the bravado fell flat at this point.
The King wasn’t likely to be lured into a trap, no matter how stupid he was. Even moron Kings had decent advisors.
Or at least the fat fuck from the future wouldn’t. The King of Orendon in this time though…
There had been campaigns that the King had insisted on tagging along for. Quite possibly the ones that been with the end goal of collecting the Keys to begin with but no recorded history would have been permitted to be written, if it had ever been known at all.
Brat had been a sneaky little thing, his information network in the future, not even born at this time.
His eyes, however, landed on the next best thing: little miss knife-flipper who was stepping out of the barn, wondering what all the hubbub was about.
All eyes seemed to turn on her then, making her bristle at the attention.
“What are you looking at me for?” she demurred, mimicking her sweeter sister.
“You didn’t have to come with me…” the sharper of the two Flowers grumbled from where he hid with her, a spot nestled on a ledge of the barracks.
Luckily, it was much easier to slip onto the base of the King’s Guard Barracks just outside of the Palace than it was to get in. Even without the well access, there was no need to breach the Palace. Rain Maidens or not, none of them had underwater breathing in their repertoire.
“Divide and conquer…” he murmured the cliché with distaste, his tail flicking to punctuate his words. It smacked the wall, nearly dislodging him from where they perched. Hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it yet.
Sure enough, the other Rain Maidens were close by. Brute was doing a bang-up job of hefting around an empty trunk, pretending to move it for Dolly. The nicer Flower was back to selling flowers. Sunday and Cherry were chatting like old friends at a nearby café. Reina had gravitated towards a group of kids, teaching them some stupid game involving string. Amber was the only problem, leaning against a wall, looking like she ready to either flee or murder someone. Rathbern Knights were never well known for being discreet.
His thoughts wandered back to where Sharp Flower was peering around the corner of the short wall that concealed them from the training yard below.
“Too wordy…” he murmured. “I’ve changed your name to Blade.”
She looked at him like he was daft, but he met that look without apology.
“How original… Can I at least be ‘Blayde’ with a y?”
It was his turn to return a condescending look. Sure, yeah, not like he was writing a book… Without saying anything, it became head-canon. Blayde, it is.
Blayde looked mildly frustrated as she turned her attention back to the clanging below.
“We’re not going to hear anything with all the monkeys banging around down there…”
It was also unlikely that any of those monkeys would know anything about the King’s campaign for that matter.
“We’re not going to hear with all your asinine whispering either,” he hissed back, hearing suits of armor passing on the other side of the wall.
“If we get closer to the main guardhouse—” she started, but he clamped his hand over her mouth.
Her eyes swam almost black with turbulence, but Fajja’s flames sprung into his own to meet that defiance. He released his grip, nodding towards the sound of self-important voices.
“The King took his Gardell with him as well. We sent word about the dragon that passed overhead. The scout returned but…” the voice hesitated.
“Well?” the other demanded impatiently, the sound of armor scraping as he turned.
“Well… only part of him returned. The head. The King didn’t take kindly to being asked to return.”
The impatient one sighed heavily.
“He was our best scout. Send for another. The Rain Maidens were reported to be in Orendon already. Make sure that’s the first thing he hears this time.”
He bristled, even knowing their presence wouldn’t be a secret. He had learned long ago that, even without magic, there were men who dabbled in entering other Realms. No corrupt King would be without his questionable methods of retrieving information. Those men, Realm-Walkers, drank poison to walk the edges of death and steal secrets from the sh
adows.
The shadows definitely knew the Rain Maidens had gathered.
He nudged Blayde to signal their departure, but she shook her head and slipped around the wall. He might have tried to follow but her opening had been narrow, more guards passing where she had disappeared. Without knowing where she had gone, he resigned himself to returning to where they would meet,
Blayde (or Aster, if anyone was still keeping up) had leapt over a short wall, falling into a loose pile of hay. It only crackled slightly, but the cart it sat in didn’t even give a protesting squeak.
Without being able to see, her ears followed the sounds of the footsteps of the one that had been sent to retrieve the next scout.
She rolled out of the cart, darting for an underpass just below where the man she followed passed. The door to the small guardhouse creaked as he opened it; muffled voices, the inflection of a question being asked.
Someone left but the steps weren’t the same. She waited once more for the familiar footsteps to leave, frantically weaving and waiting to follow him again.
“I sent the scout—” he began. Shit, she thought, backtracking to find the source of the steps she should have followed instead. She damn near ran into half a dozen passing Guards in her haste, dropping to her ass behind a giant stale ale-scented barrel until they passed.
The familiar footsteps she was after gave only a momentary thrill—if he looked over, she would be seen sitting there. She would have time to leap and kill him, but the knowledge of where the message went could very well die with him.
A breath of relief burst from her lungs when he passed through the gates. An easy exit for him, but with a dozen armed guards, she would not be so lucky.
Diving for the dank space between the outer walls and staircase up to the tower, she bounced between the two walls until she could grab the ledge to the outer wall.
She heard a yelp of surprise, turning to see one guard spotting her pushing herself up. On reflex, she had grabbed his spear, trying to jam it into his throat. His arm muscles had stiffened against it. Using the strength of his hold, she used it like a pole, swinging around it. She flicked the hidden knife under her knee guard out, jamming it into his neck. His carotid burst in a brilliant arc of blood as she yanked it out.
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