by CS Sealey
“Markus, hold him still. Tiderius, I am going to count to three. One, two…”
Angora swiftly pushed the arrow through his shoulder and out the other side. Tiderius gritted his teeth against the belt but it could not entirely muffle his cry of agony. The arrow head pierced his skin and ripped his tunic open with a burst of fresh blood. Angora quickly reached around and pulled the rest of the shaft through before dropping it unceremoniously on the floor.
“…three.”
Ignoring Tiderius’ yell, she applied immediate pressure to the wounds with a great wad of material.
“I can handle him now,” she said to the slightly white-faced Markus, who nodded. “You had better get going.”
“I’ll see you soon, Tiderius,” the wizard said, grasping his hand for an instant. Turning back to Angora, he offered a smile. “Thank you, and good luck.”
“We will need it if the arrow was poisoned,” Angora muttered as Markus Taal hurried through the door. “Now, keep still.”
She lifted up the wad of material and carefully drew Tiderius’s ripped tunic away from his shoulder. “Why do you always have to get yourself so gravely hurt?”
“How else am I supposed to get you all to myself?” Tiderius asked and attempted to laugh. He cringed and his right hand grabbed a handful of his trouser leg. “Is it bad?”
Angora delicately dabbed at the entry wound. The hole itself was not large but the amount of blood he was losing was causing her concern. The flesh around the entry point was veined and torn, but it appeared that Lhunannon’s arrow had missed any major arteries.
“Let me see,” Tiderius said, lifting his head.
“I said keep still,” Angora said, forcing him down. She uncorked one of the bottles she had gathered. “You must keep still and calm to slow the passage of any poison through your blood. This is just a precaution, to stop it from spreading. Here, drink.”
She lifted his head and handed him the bottle. He sniffed it and glanced at her, his expression dubious.
“Just drink it!” she insisted. “It does not taste as bad as it smells.”
Tiderius gulped down the bitter mixture in one. Instantly, tears appeared in his eyes, which he frantically blinked back. “Oh, you liar!”
“And this is for the pain,” Angora said and handed him another bottle.
This he drank in its entirety without hesitation. Within a few moments, the potions started to take effect and Tiderius became drowsy.
“Can you feel your arm?”
“No, not yet.”
“That is not so good,” she muttered. “If only I knew what he used! He once showed me his personal collection of herbs. Serpentmouth, skyflower. Perhaps blue devil? He was quite fond of it…”
“Angora,” Tiderius said quietly, reaching out for her. “Tell me truly, am I going to die?”
She felt a lump rising in her throat but she swallowed and looked him in the eye. Dull green with flecks of brown and yellow – she had never noticed that before. His grip on her arm tightened and she pressed both her hands to his.
“No,” she said, forcing a smile. “You are going to be fine. But if you don’t keep still, I will kill you myself.”
Tiderius smiled and relaxed back on the table.
It was hard work, racing against the poison. Her only hope was that the deadly concoction of whatever herbs Lhunannon had used was contained in the entry area alone, that her potion had stalled its progress and was now neutralizing its effects. Tiderius’s eyes were bloodshot. She tried to remain optimistic but she had never been truly confident in her skills when fighting poisons. She crushed up leaves and mixed them with water in a mortar and pestle, finally adding a drop of nectar from a fresh woodnut bud. This created a fast-acting paste that she carefully spooned into the wounds in his left shoulder. Next, she began stitching, occasionally wiping away the blood that oozed from his flesh.
Tiderius bit down fiercely on the leather belt but, as the pain relief took effect, he relaxed and simply stared at her. When she had completed her last stitch and cut the thread, she wiped her blood-stained sleeve across her forehead and sighed.
“The next hour will be hard,” she said. “Drink the rest of this.” She thrust the bottle of bitter cure into his hand as he slowly sat up. “After that, drink water.”
“Angora, I – ”
“Shh,” she said, cutting him off. “Stay here and remain calm and still. I am going back out there. I must know how much damage they have done and find Vrór if I can!”
“Take care of yourself, please, Angora…”
The sudden tenderness in his voice startled her and she looked at him as though she had never seen him before. One of his hands reached up and gently took her own. She frowned slightly in confusion.
“I wish I had told you a long time ago,” he said quietly, “but…it took a while for me to realize.”
“Realize what?”
“That I love you, Angora. I really do think that I love you.”
Her eyes grew wide and she took a step back. Her hand slipped from his own and fell limply by her side. “But how? I mean – No, you cannot!”
“I can’t help it. I think about you night and day. I dream about you! When I saw you seal your vows, I felt a terrible pain in my chest!”
“No, I-I cannot hear this,” Angora said, shaking her head. “You should not be saying things like this! I am married! I must go.”
“Wait!”
“Remember the water,” she said stiffly, picking up her staff, which she had propped up by the door. “The paste will slow your heart, and if you lose consciousness, you may never wake. Try to stay alert. After an hour has passed, the danger will be over, just let the herbs do their magic.”
“But I don’t want to be alone! What if – ”
“I will try to find a healer to watch over you. Remember, stay awake.”
She hurried from the room, troubled thoughts racing in her mind. As she headed along the corridor, she peered into each of the healing rooms. It appeared as though all the healers had been called away to the city, but Angora finally managed to locate a manservant and directed him to Tiderius’s room with strict instructions to watch over him and keep him awake.
And what of the attack? Surely Samian’s servants and advisers would simply break off their attack once the king had been safely whisked back to Delseroy. Would it not be quicker to aid Varren in his rescue than to find and reason with the other three? After all, she had failed to find Vrór in the mist. There was no guarantee that she would find him this time. Better to rescue her husband and give the mages no further need to attack the city.
Yes, she decided and took the stairs down to the dungeons.
She heard distant shouts and the echoing bangs and crackles of spells as they collided and exploded. She continued to the lowermost level, following the voices she recognized as belonging to Varren, Emil and Kayte. At the bottom of the steps, she hastened along the corridor to Samian’s cell. When she reached it, however, she saw that the door had been blown off its hinges and the four guards were dead. She peered inside the cell, but Samian was nowhere to be seen.
A mixture of fear and hope rippled through her, for this meant that Varren had succeeded in releasing him. But Samian did not have his sword and was easy prey for either Emil or Kayte. She followed the sound of their shouts and rounded a bend in the corridor, her chest heaving with exertion. A spell flew past her, missing her head by inches, and she staggered back behind the wall, gasping.
She cautiously moved out into the corridor again and, even though the air was choked with smoke, she saw the four figures. Kayte was standing with her hands held protectively before her, creating a shield of wavering blue particles of light. Emil was throwing balls of flame around this shield and down the corridor toward Varren, who was deflecting them with ease. Behind him, Samian was slowly backing down the corridor, glancing over his shoulder as though he expected to be attacked from behind.
Angora took in a deep br
eath, mustered her courage, and ran straight at them. She weaved around Kayte and Emil, burst through the shield, then kept to the wall as she closed the distance between the others. She heard Kayte scream out her name but she did not stop. Varren turned his flaming white eyes toward her and, for a moment, she thought that he was going to attack. But “Take him!” was all he said as she passed him.
Angora hurried to her husband’s side and grabbed his hand. Leading the way down the corridor, she pulled him to the nearest staircase. They did not stop until they reached the courtyard and, here, Samian had to rest, for his captivity had weakened him.
“I knew you’d come!” he cried and gathered her up in his arms, pressing his face into her shoulder.
“I am taking you away from here right now!”
But before she could begin to summon, she heard approaching footsteps and saw Emil hurrying across the courtyard, evidently having broken off from the fight to pursue them. Angora wondered whether his plan was to surprise Varren from behind but, when he turned to them, she felt her blood turn cold. Fighting Varren was far from his mind.
“Run, Sam!” she screamed.
Yet, even as the king turned, Emil raised his arms and a flurry of magic flew from his fingers. Angora flung herself in front of her husband, taking the full force of the spell in the chest. She landed heavily in a garden bed but scrambled to her feet, biting back the pain, and stumbled out from the bushes.
“Run! Please, Sam, just run! Save yourself!”
But Emil had already acted. Several whip-like strands of light had coiled about the king’s limbs, bringing him to his knees. The shaman approached, pulling on the spell to tighten it around his victim.
“What are you doing?” Angora cried. “Let him go! If you harm him further, they will not cease to attack and any chance of mercy will be gone!”
“I will not let him be retrieved. He is our one bargaining tool.”
“He is a human being!”
“The invasion has already begun, Angora. There’s no turning back. We can negotiate terms if he is in our hands. I won’t let you free him!”
“To hell with terms,” Samian said and spat at Emil’s feet. “For this, we will raze your city to the ground and eradicate the very memory of you! My father may have been mad, but he was damned right about you. I thought to show you mercy, I gave you chance after chance to unite with us and stop this endless war, and this is how you respond?”
“It is not wise to anger the man who holds your life in his hands, Your Majesty,” Emil said, giving the spell another tug. One of the coils that had wound about Samian’s chest tightened and the king keeled over, gasping, his breath exploding from his lungs.
“Stop it!” Angora screamed, leaping at Emil, her fists blazing. “Let him go!”
“You are in no position to command me,” the shaman said, fending off Angora’s anger with his free arm.
“Please, let him go. You are killing him!”
There was a loud bang and the stairway from which Angora and Samian had emerged suddenly lit up with green light. The battle was drawing closer. Somehow, Kayte was managing to hold her own against Varren but the sorcerer would soon reach the courtyard and another battle would ensue. Angora had to make sure Samian was safe and ready for Varren’s return. Her words were wasted on Emil’s ears but her powers…
Leaping away from the shaman, Angora began to summon. She spun and twisted the staff about her, visualizing the beast in her mind.
“You will regret this!” Emil growled.
He released Samian from the enchanted ropes and whipped the strands around, snagging Angora’s arms. He tugged, angling the staff down just as her summoning spurted forth. As though in slow motion, she saw the white sparks gather together and take form, but she froze in sheer terror as Emil pulled on his spell once more, angling the weapon in the direction of the king.
“No!” Angora screamed, struggling fiercely. “No! Sam, run! Run!”
It was too late. The partially summoned eagle hurtled through the air in a storm of sparks. Just as her husband staggered to his feet, half dazed from lack of air, the beast exploded into his chest with a deafening screech, knocking him off his feet. Angora felt Emil’s hold on her shift and she angrily twisted out of the bonds.
The king was lying on a patch of lawn, bathed in pale moonlight, his clothes smoking. Angora flew across the courtyard to his side, tears already brimming in her eyes.
“Sam?” she sobbed, dropping her staff and collapsing to her knees beside him. “Please, Sam! Please wake up! Wake up! Sam? No, no, no…”
A dark figure appeared at the top of the stairs, flinging spells back the way he had come. The sounds of battle echoed loudly around the courtyard but Angora’s ears were deaf to it all. She could not tear her eyes away from her husband’s silent figure. She clung to him and screamed his name over and over but the breath of life had gone and his eyes were blank. The white sparks of the summoning lingered in the air about them, a terrible reminder of whose spell had ended his life.
“Well done, Angora,” Emil said, approaching them, his eyes upon the dark figure of Archis Varren. “I knew we could count on you to see sense. I could not have done it better myself.”
“What?” Angora sobbed, raising her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You – You animal! You murdered him! You – ”
But Varren gave a roar of rage and charged across the courtyard, flinging bolts of hot energy at them. Angora saw the pure fury in his eyes and knew that he had heard what Emil had said and believed every word of it. Her limbs obeyed her fear and she dived out of the way of a spell aimed at her head. She felt a searing pain rip through her body.
“What have you done?” the sorcerer yelled, standing protectively over the body of his master. “You traitorous whore!”
“No!” Angora cried, clambering back to her feet, clutching her shoulder. “The Spirits be my witness, it was not me! It was him! I would never! I love him! You know I love him!”
But the sorcerer did not want to hear. He drew out a dagger from his belt and threw it at her. The blade ignited mid-flight and Angora saw it coming too late. She ducked behind a tree trunk as it flew past in all its fury, the blade catching her on her cheek and drawing blood.
“It was not me! Please, believe me!”
“You snake!” Varren bellowed, grasping Samian’s body with one hand and pointing his other to the sky. Without raising his eyes, he shot a red flare straight up and glowered at her. “You will not live this down, traitor. I will kill you myself if ever again I lay eyes upon you! May you never sleep soundly until that day!”
Then he was gone in a flurry of smoke and mist, taking the body of his fallen king with him. In the silence that followed, an exhausted Kayte appeared at the top of the stairs. She was panting but, by the look on Emil’s face, she must have understood that the danger was over. She nodded and put her hands on her knees and a relieved sigh left her lips.
Angora, however, slid down the trunk of the tree and sat shaking on the grass, blood trickling down her cheek and neck, soaking into the collar of her blackened dress. She did not register the pain of her wounds or the weakness in her limbs. The man she loved was dead. And Varren thought she had killed him.
Her limbs would not stop shaking, not even when Kayte knelt beside her and asked her if she was all right. The sorceress tried to inspect her injuries but Angora flinched and pushed her away. She could utter no word and the voices she heard seemed to meld together into white noise. She could not stop sobbing. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her chest heaved as she tried to drag air into her aching lungs.
Eventually, she turned and saw Emil speaking quietly with Kayte on the spot where Samian had died.
Emil…Her eyes narrowed. He did this. He killed my husband.
Yet, even though she felt the anger boiling up, the sorrow was too great, and a terrible realization was dawning: she could not return to Delseroy, the city she had adopted as her home. The only place that r
emained to her was Te’Roek. If Varren really meant to track her down, anyone who gave her sanctuary would be put in danger. Te’Roek was the one place she would be safe now.
She rose shakily to her feet, using the tree trunk for balance. Both Emil and Kayte turned to look at her but she did not meet their gaze.
“Angora?” Kayte asked quietly. “Are you all right?”
“My husband is dead,” Angora murmured at last, her voice cracking, “and you are responsible, shaman.”
Emil opened his mouth to argue but Angora shook her head.
“It is done, arguing will not change it. I beg your leave to grieve.”
The Ronnesians glanced at each other but neither spoke. Angora took this as a sign of reluctant assent and walked in a daze to the stairs. She started up them, not registering her progress until she felt the cool wind on her face and saw that she had reached the roof. The West Tower loomed above her and she looked up at it with resentment. If she survived Queen Sorcha’s harsh judgment, she would find that tower a prison once more. It would be as though nothing had changed, as though the last year had never happened.
She climbed the tower stairs to the top and remained there for a long while, until the first rays of dawn began to sweep across the countryside, banishing the lingering mist and smoke. When the sunlight strengthened, she gazed down at the destruction in the city. The extent was startling. Almost half the lower city was black and charred and some streets of the middle city as well. People were moving through the thoroughfares now in confusion, not fear. Lines of Home Guards patroled the streets, protecting burned and abandoned homes from looters. The bell in the monastery rung heavily.
War makes beasts of us all, she thought dismally, her eyes stinging once more with tears. All those people are suffering because I chose to live my own life. I tried to break away from my prison, seek a future brighter than the one I was given. All those people who died, those poor people…Their blood is on my hands.
ABOUT EQUILIBRIUM: EPISODE 5
The Ayons lose their king, making way for a deadly new leader.