When Forces Rise

by Meagan Hurst

  She sighed. “How bad is it?”

  “Think a millennium of foolish wars and you’ll be close to it.”

  “Are you still alive?”

  He didn’t answer and she didn’t ask him again. “I am asking you to consider this from a detached standpoint. Shevieck is a threat. A large one. If not to you, then to the kingdom you will rule and to the world you are trying to protect. Letting him live because you are fond of him is unwise.”

  “And killing him because he may have small beings who are offended by my human blood seems worse.” Yet he was offering her a warning she couldn’t ignore; especially if he had seen it in one of the various futures. Shevieck, however, was more like the klutzy younger brother she had never had, despite his age. Yes, he had nearly gotten her killed more times than she could count, but he was also the being responsible for bringing her into the immortal world, and he had been there for her when she needed it. She also couldn’t deny he was attached to her, possibly more than he was to Nivaradros. Memories of his break down when he had seen her almost perish in front of him still haunted her. She had thought Shevieck was going to lose it completely.

  “I will…consider it,” she offered the Mithane after a pause. “But I do not approve. Besides, no one is going to believe that he attacked me; Shevieck has never displayed any type of violence.”

  “Neither do you. You only attack when provoked, and since you will be the survivor they are more likely to believe you. Perhaps they will believe it was his way of a graceless suicide. Even if they do not believe a word you say, you will still gain favor. This is how you secure an immortal throne.”

  “That I didn’t want.”

  “But it will be yours. Consider what I have said, Zimliya. You are not a killer, I agree with that, but you are no longer mortal, and the kingdoms you will rule are not populated by mortals—with the exception of the one you hint at claiming. You will have to bend slightly to our standards. This is a rite of passage, and it is expected.”

  “And I care about other people’s expectations?” she snapped.

  “You will learn to. Speak with the Dragon if you doubt me.”

  She didn’t, but she wasn’t going to admit it aloud. Instead she rather brusquely dismissed him and waited until she was certain he was gone before whirling and smashing her hand into the only thing in the room that would cause it harm.

  Kyi’rinn flickered with anger as her blood ran down its length and Z examined the puncture that went through her hand with both satisfaction and dismay. There was still no pain. Wishing once again that she could still experience pain, she nevertheless began to consider the Mithane’s words. He was correct, she could not risk Shevieck’s line deciding to challenge her in the future—if she survived that long—and the simplest solution was to end that possibility before it happened. But it was Shevieck, and even if she couldn’t trust him, she didn’t like the idea of being a part of his demise. Had she wanted his death there had been more than five dozen instances where his death would have been possible had she simply walked away from him.

  Anger was still present when she made up her mind—which should have been her first clue things would end poorly. Grabbing Kyi’rinn, she wiped the blade clean and slid it home before gathering her belongings; including Tresine and a quiver of arrows she had picked up from the Syallibions. Knowing how angry Nivaradros would be when he felt what she was about to do, she did a quick check to make sure she had everything and exhaled slowly.

  Her allies would receive passage off the Isle; Nyriatri was intrigued with Nivaradros and would be happy for a second chance to ferry him somewhere. He also would be gaining status for transporting several heirs and the current rulers of three kingdoms. Without her presence there was a small chance of a pirate attack, but if that group of immortals couldn’t handle pirates, then the world was officially doomed.

  Reaching out carefully with her magic to ensure Nivaradros wouldn’t have time to stop her, Z found the location of the presence she sought before yanking herself through the layers of the world with a portal she instigated on the spot. Her vision at the worst should have blurred, but instead it was almost red and Z felt the backlash occur. Although painless, it was still rather like getting caught in a riptide, and she could taste the blood in her mouth when the world abruptly returned, and she found herself on her back. The gem around her neck was practically dancing as it took inventory. She managed to recall to make it invisible before the first sound of footsteps—that came at a run—reached her ears.

  “What in the hells?!” someone snapped above her. Others came soon after him, and Z found her fingers reaching for Kyi’rinn. Her arms, however, weighed about six hundred pounds. Struggling to open her eyes she found her vision moved constantly and focusing was beyond her. She had reached her destination; these were Midestol’s warriors.

  You are such a moron. Zimliya, what in the hells were you thinking?! Nivaradros’s voice was cold enough to burn, yet worried at the same time. You’re dying. You know how unstable the magic is on the Isle! What in the worlds possessed you to use a damn portal? Where are you?

  Getting ready to talk to Midestol. As she replied, she realized she was speaking to him through the amulet of the Rangers and blinked. Clearly she should have considered that before she gave it to him. He could apparently circumvent the blocks she put up to keep the Rangers from bothering her, and it meant he was—in theory—always able to speak with her. Normally she would have been thrilled, but currently she was worried about how it would affect her due to her current location and condition.

  “I see you have decided to enjoy the effects of a powerful backlash,” a very surprised and cool voice said from above her. Z felt her mind respond to his voice at once and she was on her feet with Kyi’rinn drawn and pointed at his heart before Midestol could move closer.

  Midestol watched her with something close to amusement. At least she thought it was amusement; her vision was still recovering. “You are in no condition to fight, and I doubt you came here to. Generally, you are more…secretive in your arrival unless you plan to bargain with me.” His eyes danced but ran over her critically. “You need rest. Food. And a relatively safe room for the night. Will you allow me to offer you any or all of those?”

  “All of them if you mean it,” she admitted as she slid Kyi’rinn into its sheath.

  Midestol offered her a hand, but his eyes continually scanned her and his frown became more pronounced. “You use portals all the time; what went wrong?”

  “I was on the Isle.”

  “That would do it.” Midestol startled her as he leapt forward to catch her as she staggered. “Easy, my dear. I would be very disappointed if you came all this way to die without any intervention from me.” He ignored the daggers that had surfaced in both hands and he approached with the ease of any of her immortal allies. His men waited for orders and he glanced at them with frustration. “That will be all,” he snarled at them.

  She wondered if the fact he couldn’t kill her—for an unknown reason—was getting to him. When his men hesitated, he incinerated four of them and turned the remaining five inside out. The whole still-beating-but-visible-heart-thing was a touch disturbing, but since it wasn’t the first time she had seen him do this, she managed to roll her eyes. She regretted it instantly as her vision swirled.

  “Was that necessary?” she wanted to know stiffly as her balance shifted.

  “I am half carrying you to my castle and you’re wounded, the enemy, and the person who is thwarting my plans at every turn. Yes, I believe it was entirely necessary.” Midestol glanced at what she perceived were her injuries again before cursing and picking her up. “Oh stop that,” he snapped as she stabbed him in the shoulder. “If I had intended to kill you, this is not how it would have started. Trust me,” he added darkly. “Why are you here, anyway? You made it quite clear you didn’t wish to see me.”

  “I came, as you suspected, to offer you a bargain.”

  “And arriving sev
erely injured seemed like a good idea? It’s almost an open invitation to kill you.” Midestol blurred the air around her and Z blinked as she realized he was shielding her from the prying eyes of his people.

  “You are welcome to see it as such and respond accordingly.”

  “That, my dear, would be no fun at all. I fully intend to fight you to the death on the battlefield; not kill you because you decided to weaken yourself in a slightly more adventurous way than the typical person generally considers.” He carried her through his castle without pause—although he did occasionally slaughter people who got in his way—until he reached the same tower he had placed her in last time. Setting her down on the bed, he backed away and glanced briefly at the shoulder she had planted the dagger in. “When you are more…recovered, I look forward to hearing your proposal.”

  Chapter 17

  Someone touched her on the shoulder, and Z awoke with knives in hands. Unfortunately, the knives ended up in the person before her mind caught up with her hands. Swearing under her breath as she eyed the body on the floor she contemplated what to do as she watched the slowly growing pool of blood. She hadn’t meant to kill the woman, but undoubtedly Midestol had sent the slave here just for this fate. He knew she would be on edge and that, because of her injuries, her ability to rein in her violent reactions would be compromised.

  To further her disgust, the blood began to seep into the floor as the castle claimed it for its own purposes—purposes she had never been interested in discovering. Rolling the body out of the way, she straightened with a grimace and moved to the mirror. Her packs and her quiver were placed neatly against a wall, while her bow was suspiciously close to her and covered in blood. She almost felt sorry for the person Midestol had ordered to bring it to her side. She wondered if they had survived. Kyi’rinn, of course, hung from her side. Grabbing her pack, she began to search for clean clothes. She was still weak, still injured, but her body seemed to be able to support its own weight.

  Stripping revealed a spectacular set of bruises, active lightning, and several abrasions to her torso. She declined to check herself out fully since she was able to think, walk, and speak without too much effort. She wanted a bath, but that wouldn’t be possible unless she requested one. Settling for clean clothing, Z finished dressing in silence—ignoring the body that she still had to do something with. A rap on her door caused her to swear silently as she moved to open it. Jerking it open—armed—she glowered at Midestol before standing aside to let him in.

  “I see you killed the slave I set to tend to you. Was she not up to your standards?”

  “You know damn well what happened,” Z snapped. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

  His laughter was full, if dark, and he inclined his head as he approached her. She held her ground and met his gaze squarely until they were inches from each other. “You look much better,” he observed. Stepping back, he brought his arms up as though he was carrying something and Z watched in amazement as a tray with food appeared. “I figured you would be hungry,” he added.

  Having never before been offered food in her room by Midestol—brought food to be more precise—Z accepted it gracefully, taking the tray from his hands and placing it on her bed. “Thank you for your concern,” she murmured as she settled down beside the tray. It was a simple meal, and even her extensive testing revealed no hidden tricks or surprises within.

  As she ate, Midestol watched her. His sole movement was to take a seat in a chair. “I did not,” he began after several minutes had passed, “expect you to come. Are you here for Veilantras’s sake?”

  “Not entirely, but by compromising her you have put me in a position of having to handle the situation if at all possible.” She took another bite of fruit and offered him a smile. “Would you be open to negotiating for the release of the woman you kidnapped or are you attached to your new toy?”

  He laughed. Eyes dancing with delight, he laughed without any remorse or concern. “Ah, Zimliya, had you been even remotely interested in being beside me we would have ruled the world. Instead all I can hope for is one incredible match on the battlefield. I will consider any proposal you offer but, yes, as you suspect, my guest restricted to bedrooms.” His expression sobered and he shook his head. “No matter our differences, Zimliya…I am proud of you.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Z asked in surprise. She forced herself to swallow, not choke on, the food in her mouth. “We’re on opposite sides. I’m of your blood but working to thwart your every move.”

  “You are indeed, and it is most vexing. I am not about to lie to you, Zimliya; I wish you belonged to me, but I cannot deny how much I have enjoyed working with you, against you, mostly. I loved my daughter. She was intelligent, powerful, beautiful, and special, but had I been told that saving her would have cost me you…I would have let her die. You are my greatest accomplishment. You have managed to do what I sought to do, although it is in a different manner and your goals differ from mine. You have conquered a world. You don’t see it that way—you may never see it as that, but you have. Even the kingdoms you don’t rule look to you.

  “I remember when you first managed to put the Alliance back together. It took me two thousand years to destroy it; it took you four to rebuild it. I was furious with you I couldn’t think straight, but that has always been part of your charm. You see things differently. No matter how this ends, Zimliya, in your death or in mine, I am proud of you.” His eyes flickered with amusement. “I am even willing to say I am grateful for your relationship with Nivaradros; he is perfect for you. I would have preferred he had had a larger influence on you than you on him…but I would not trade any of it.”

  Hearing that made her offer all that much harder to make, and it also wasn’t what she had expected. Not from him. “I am here to offer you my life in exchange for Rameilas’s,” she told him in an undertone. “I have no interest in meeting you on the battlefield, and I have less interest in ruling the kingdoms I have been granted.”

  She had the slight pleasure of seeing Midestol’s features freeze in shock. “And your desire to protect the world?”

  “Has burned out. I am tired of it all, Midestol. This isn’t working for me and killing you won’t end it. If I managed to kill you, someone else would come forward, and I would have another battle to plan for.”

  “And your Dragon?”

  “Is better off finding someone of his own race.” Z privately felt that without her in the picture Nivaradros would be more accepted among his kind. He had power in certain kingdoms, and everything he had sought with her she was confident he could achieve on his own. Unless he wanted something more, but she doubted he wanted anything else. Were she to be asked, Z felt Karlitras would be perfect for him, but Nivaradros wouldn’t consider it as long as she was alive.

  “Now that I doubt,” Midestol said with a small frown. “The offer is entirely too good to pass up but, Zimliya, you shouldn’t be making this offer. Does the Dragon know?”

  “Of course not. He thinks I am here to bargain with you, but that I will leave with my power intact and with Rameilas.” Pushing the tray away, Z stood and faced Midestol. “I am offering this freely.”

  “You are not giving up though, not really. Your sword would be broken otherwise.” Midestol also stood, but he drew his sword and approached her without hesitation.

  “This isn’t losing all hope or doubting myself. This is sheer exhaustion. Apparently, it is allowed.”

  Midestol held his sword at the ready, but rather than striking her he closed his eyes and Z felt a flash of power—a summoning—leave the room. His eyes opened to meet hers and he waited; sword still poised to strike her down. Her door eventually swung inward and a woman’s timid voice rang out.

  “You called for me?”

  “I did. Rameilas, do come in. There is someone here I’d like you to meet.”

  A woman emerged on the edge of Z’s vision and Z turned her attention to her more fully. A slender woman who appeared to be in her mid-th
irties stood in the doorway. Her face was bruised, her weight was deplorable, and although Z noticed a light sense of Baryaris and Veilantras, Nivaradros had been correct, there was limited power within her. There was also a fairly strong scent of blood in the air, making it clear that Midestol’s punishments for disobeying him were not limited to beatings across the face.

  “Rameilas, may I introduce you to Zimliya? She has allegedly come to offer me her life in exchange for yours.” Midestol’s attention moved from Z to the woman who looked the part of one of his personal slaves. “Intriguing is it not? Have you ever met her before?”

  “I have heard of her,” Rameilas offered, her voice carrying none of the strength her parents had possessed. “But I have never seen her before.” Cold grey eyes met hers. “It seems rather strange that one of your people would go to such an extreme to help me.”

  Midestol laughed as Z felt her face flush with anger. “I see you listened to many of the lies the former Tenians spread,” Z snapped at Rameilas. “If I was truly one of Midestol’s I would not be carrying a sword, I would be on my back in someone’s room. Much like you have been lately.”

  “She has a point,” Midestol told the woman. Rameilas had turned red with anger at Z’s words, but when Midestol spoke, she pressed her lips together in an attempt to keep silent. She failed.

  “Then who sent you?” The words could not contain any more scorn, and Z wondered if Veilantras knew this side of her daughter, or if Midestol had brought it out.

  “Veilantras.”

  Astonishment shadowed the anger and Z hid a sigh. As old as Rameilas was, she should have been able to hide her emotions better. Z reached out with a touch of power and pulled back with a wince. Veilantras was going to have to resign herself to being without a daughter; Rameilas was far too damaged from her time with Midestol. Her scorn and anger were defensive, but inside she was centimeters from shattering. Trying to get her past it would be almost impossible for anyone else, and impossible for her, since Rameilas had heard and believed the stories that had circulated around Tenia for years.