by Jon Sprunk
“Go fetch the women. Tell them to cut saplings this tall.” He held a hand about a foot over his head. “Strip them down to the wood. I’m going to teach you how to use the spear.”
“But the men use—”
“Don’t argue! A spear is better than a sword nine times out of ten. Now get!”
With a laugh, she ran off through the trees, back toward the castle. Caim shook his head and wondered what he’d created. He didn’t know the first thing about training women to fight. Then again, he didn’t know anything about training men either. But now they were here all together, the blind leading the blind.
Gods preserve us.
The pool’s cloudy depths swirled and eddied under her gaze, forming patterns that melded and broke away in an endless dance of shadow and light. Sybelle leaned closer and projected her will through the surface to the deeper substance underneath. It was like pushing through a wall of sludge, but then the resistance melted away and a gray void floated before her eyes.
Sybelle released the breath she had been holding. The pool had been acting strangely of late, fighting her with more than its usual tenacity. This was the third time she’d attempted to reach her agent today, and she was determined to persevere until she got what she wanted.
She needed information. Since the events at the prison almost a sennight ago, her entire world had begun to unravel. She had returned to the palace to discover that Erric had gone out to lose himself in the city’s sordid pleasure houses. After admonishing herself for the umpteenth time for not putting a geas on the man, she went back to her temple to find her priests conducting a bloodletting rite. Normally, such a ceremony would calm her nerves, but that night she had been beyond consolation. She hadn’t been able to summon the necessary hunger to partake fully and had had to content herself with the consumption of a few choice morsels. It was his fault.
The scion.
His appearance had disrupted everything. She needed to eliminate him, but that was easier contemplated than done. Again and again she’d sent the shadows hunting for him, to no avail. Now, fortified and rested, she would try another approach.
Sybelle focused her attention on the scrying pool. The one she sought was far away, and his cooperation was involuntary, which made contacting him a more demanding feat. Then, like fog whisked from the surface of a lake by a stiff breeze, the grayness resolved itself into indistinct shapes. Sybelle pushed harder and the shapes became objects. A crude table. A lantern, dark now, its reservoir almost empty. And tendrils of light—the first pale fingers of dawn through a window. She was in a small room walled in old stone blocks. She listened, and was pleased to hear the wheeze of labored breathing. Her servant lay on a wood cot. A fire burned low in a fieldstone hearth. On the opposite wall hung a shield, battered and scuffed. Through the grime she discerned a picture of some furry Brightlands beast.
Sybelle took in a deep breath, feeling it expand the lungs of her real body, and pushed. Excitement tickled her stomach as a large hand rose into her view. A man’s hand, long of finger and strong despite its wasted appearance. She focused on transmitting her command across the ether.
Turn to the window.
She watched the scene with anticipation, expecting to see the view swivel toward the morning light. Instead, it remained unchanged with only a slight wavering. Sybelle pushed harder. In her own body, the strain sent tremors shooting through her frame.
Turn!
The picture trembled as her minion fought the compulsion, but Sybelle bore down, and with agonizing slowness the view tacked to the left. The morning glow grew brighter as the edge of a window appeared, the aperture covered by a leather flap.
Stand up.
There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the view rose to a higher angle. At her direction, the hand rose up again and swiped aside the window flap. Bright sunlight poured into the room. Sybelle squinted reflexively, but the light did not blind her. Of course not. These are mortal eyes.
She looked out into a wide courtyard blanketed in snow. Crude buildings—homes for peasants, she assumed—were built against a backdrop of crumbling walls. Beyond the loose ramparts loomed the sheer face of a cliff, glistening in the sunlight. She compelled her minion closer to the window and lifted his eyes. Sybelle’s breath caught in her throat as the startling vastness of the sky opened above the shack. Never had she seen the firmament with such crystalline clarity. Even swaddled in gray clouds, it was incredible.
She pulled her attention back to the task at hand. Her minion was in a canyon or deep valley, but the hills of Eregoth were riddled with gorges and ravines, many of them unknown to any map. She needed a landmark, something by which she could locate this place, but all she saw was stone and sky. She tried to lean out the window.
Sybelle gasped as she was thrust back into her body. Her heart pounded as she drew in several deep breaths. The pool bubbled and thrashed like a boiling kettle. The man had cast her out! She screeched at the walls until mortar oozed down the stone blocks. The shadows flocked around her, feeding off her rage.
As she steadied herself, images flashed through her head. Memories, but they weren’t hers. She smiled as the pictures slowed, showing her much of what she needed to see. Then she leaned over the pool and sent forth her consciousness into the cloudy waters again. This time Soloroth’s face filled the pool, and for once he wasn’t wearing his helmet. Sybelle’s anger cooled at the sight of her son’s features, his deep black eyes that looked like they could swallow her whole. She had forgotten how much he resembled his father, whom she hadn’t thought about in years. One more thing she’d left behind when she came to this horrid world. Sybelle’s gaze traced the many scars slicing across his skin, the half-missing ear on his left side. He had suffered in her service. We all suffer. It is no different for me.
“Mother.”
Trees moved past him in the background, their white-clad limbs blocking out the dim sky.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Fourteen leagues west of the city, near the first village. We have begun our first sweep of the—”
“Change direction to south by southwest and go to the Elmerton sentry post. Approach with care. I do not want the scion alerted until you are in position.”
He nodded, though his eyes remained on her. As his image faded from the waters, Sybelle contacted another agent farther west. He answered at once, but his features were unfocused, as if she were seeing him through oily glass.
“I am here, my queen.”
Sybelle allowed herself a small smile. He was one of her favorites, despite his pale skin like an undercooked fish and repulsive blue eyes. “The rebels are shut up in a secluded valley among the central peaks. Don’t stop searching until you find them.”
“Your Darkness, that terrain is treacherous. An extensive search will take—”
She slapped the water with her hand, cutting him off. “Do not make excuses.”
His shaved pate came into view as he bowed deeply. “It will be done, my queen.”
“Report back when you are finished.”
As the pool settled into opaque darkness, Sybelle dried her hands on the skirt of her gown and considered her next move. She was tired, but slumber seemed as far away as the stars. Tonight, she would lie in her bower with a stalk of lotus gathered in her arms, inhaling its dream-laced pollen.
The gong in the alcove rang.
Sybelle’s fingers froze, dangling over the dark waters. She knew by its tone that the Master was seeking her. The pool bubbled. She jerked away. She was not prepared to face him. Not now. Not until I have the scion.
She opened a portal and left the sanctum.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Kit clutched her hand as something small and flat flew out of the mist and sliced open her palm, but she kept running. With Doggie coursing by her side, she watched the blood well up in the cut and dribble out. It had been so long since she could be hurt, she hardly knew what to expect. She showed Doggie her hurt, a
nd his smug expression reminded her of Caim. Still she kept running, until her chest ached and a sharp pain dug into her side. The monster closed in behind them.
After she’d seen Caim through the faltering portal, the circle had collapsed into gray slivers. Stricken with worry, she’d started off across the lifeless plain in the direction of the prickling, hoping to find some other way out. Instead, the monstrous presence had returned. How long had she been running? Days? Weeks? She had no way of knowing. Time flowed differently here. She thought back to the tough spots she had seen with Caim, and how he had managed to survive. She would have given anything to have him here. Or better yet, to be where he was. Even a prison cell sounded nice about now.
Kit rubbed her forehead. The itch was stronger than before, but what was causing it? A flash of yellow light pierced the murky clouds above her. The path sloped upward with growing pitch. After a score of paces Kit was climbing more than running. Sucking in a gulp of desiccated air, Kit forced her tired limbs to churn faster. The light grew brighter, and the hope of finding a pathway back to the Brightlands blossomed in her chest. I’m coming, Caim!
The light pulsed, just once and weakly, but the prickling sensation cascaded over her whole body, making her skin sizzle. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it spurred her to action. The presence loomed in her wake, but the prickling dragged her onward.
Above in the gloom, the mouth of a cave glowed against the hillside. The sensation became overwhelming, making it difficult to concentrate. Keep pushing. I’m almost there.
A sudden gust of wind rushed down the hillside and threatened to hurl her backward. Kit held tight to the rocky ground. Step by step she fought the wind even as the presence loomed behind her. Doggie growled. When the turbulence lessened, she jumped forward. She was reaching for a small knob of gray rock to hoist herself higher when a terrible bellow washed over her. She fell on her belly. Gagging on a fetid stench, Kit risked a peek over her shoulder and shuddered at the sight of the colossus rearing behind her. Hundreds of tiny legs wriggled along the monster’s pale underbelly. Rows of curved fangs rasped together inside its gaping maw. Caim, I’m sorry. I tried. I really tried.
As the monster arched toward her, another roar clove through the winds. Doggie appeared on the monster’s back, clawing up its rubbery flesh. The mist monster didn’t seem to notice until the shadow beast’s jaws clamped onto a greenish-gray nub. The monster rolled sideways to dislodge the irritant, but Doggie clung fast. Throwing her protector a kiss, Kit jumped for her next handhold and crawled up onto a shallow rock shelf. The cave opened before her. She scrambled inside. Any shelter was better than being out here.
She crawled onto a hard, smooth floor. Soft pads thudded on the floor as Doggie landed beside her. She hugged his wide neck and gave him a peck on the head.
“Glad you could make it! Now where are we?”
That was a good question. They stood in a narrow vestibule with a high arched ceiling. The corridor extended as far as she could see. Then she noticed the prickling sensation was gone. Kit kept close to Doggie as she started walking. This place made her nervous. They didn’t have to walk far before they came to another oval doorway. No light shone from inside this one, though, only cold darkness. Kit grabbed Doggie’s ear for moral support, ignoring the look he gave her.
“Okay, this is it.” Saying it aloud didn’t make the decision any more palatable. “Caim, you better appreciate this.”
Taking a deep breath, Kit stepped through the aperture and tugged Doggie along with her. They entered a rough tunnel. Orange light flickered ahead, but faintly. There was no sound, which only added to the eeriness. The fur on the back of Doggie’s neck stood up stiff like bristles. She patted his head.
“It’s okay. We’re going home.”
Kit moved deeper into the darkness. The light continued to flicker, sometimes dimmer and sometimes brighter. A soft breeze whispered past her head carrying a delicate scent like faded lilies. She stepped through another doorway and halted.
“Oh!”
Kit rose a few inches off the floor and knew instantly she had stepped back into the Brightlands. She hugged herself, so glad to be weightless again. She was in a pyramidal chamber with a slanted ceiling rising to a point several body lengths above her head. There were four windows, one in each wall, but nothing showed beyond their stone frames except eerie darkness.
Something moved in the hazy shadows on the far side of the chamber. Kit drifted back a few paces until she hovered beside Doggie, who sat on his haunches like a trained pup. Then, a voice emerged from the shadows, a voice she hadn’t heard in a long time. For perhaps the first time in her long existence, Kit was struck speechless. Doggie lay down on the bare floor while she listened.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The outlaws maneuvered across the snow-covered field in complete darkness. There was neither moon nor starlight to guide them. From the slope of a forested ridge above the target, Caim watched as his men began their first live assault since he took over the rebellion.
He’d brought them up close to the fortified settlement, giving last-minute instructions as they crawled through the brush. Then he fell back and let his lieutenants run the show. Fifty-six fighters with painted faces and dark garb took positions around the outer defenses. The attack commenced with hardly a sound.
Caim hissed as an ice-cold tendril touched his ankle. A picture formed in his head, of a half-dozen men in gray cloaks scaling a low palisade wall. It looked like Keegan’s team on the east side of the outpost. A second chilling touch made contact with his other leg, and Caim saw another group of outlaws crossing over the wall. Uncomfortable with how well the shadows responded to his wants, Caim started to wish that Kit was here, but then shook his head. She was gone. He had to deal with that. Wherever she was, he just hoped she was safe.
He forced his attention back on the action below. Shouts rose from inside the settlement as a third group assaulted the gate. The wooden doors held. But while the frontal attack held the defenders’ attention, the other teams snuck in behind them.
He was studying the maneuvers when Liana came down to stand beside him. She was strapped into a padded leather coat and held a long spear in her hand, a shaft of stripped oak with a butcher knife embedded in the top. He knew what she wanted. They’d had this conversation several times already, but the woman didn’t like taking no for an answer.
“Why are we stuck up on top of this hill?” she asked finally. “While the action is down below.”
Caim grimaced. When they had set out from the castle, the women insisted on coming with them. They had worked as hard as the men, performing the drills he taught them without complaint. Still, he’d hoped to leave them behind. They weren’t ready. Or maybe I’m the one who’s not ready.
“You’re the reserves,” he answered.
She thrust her pointing finger down toward the outpost. “Every man is down below doing what you taught him, while we’re left to sit up here like a flock of hens!”
“Keep your voice down.” He chewed on his tongue. Below, the sounds of combat continued. “Don’t be in such a hurry.”
“We trained to fight, Caim. But you’re trying to keep us out of the way.”
“I trained you to survive!”
He winced as his voice echoed down the ridge. Liana had a way of getting under his skin. Like a rash, and no matter how hard I scratch she just keeps coming back.
“You aren’t holding Keegan back.”
“You and the other women have only been training for a few days. You’re not ready yet.”
“We want to fight.”
Snarling in the darkness, he gave in. “All right. Move your squad down to set up a screen along the north road.”
“Really?” she asked, excitement peaking in her voice. “Don’t worry. We know what to do.”
“Don’t get too close to the walls. And keep your eyes open.”
She turned away. “Don’t worry! North road. Got it.”
&nb
sp; “Don’t engage unless you have to,” he called after her. “And don’t be afraid to withdraw if …”
Caim let the words fall away as Liana ran up the slope. A waste of breath. She was too damned eager to jump into the fray. The others in her unit were no better. Pale moonlight reflected on their spear points as they marched past. Two dozen women, ranging from girlhood to wedded matrons, in homemade armor. He’d given them what training he could in the short time allotted to him, utilizing the first drills Kas had ever taught him: how to make a strong stance, to hold a spear against a charge, to attack and move safely. Was it enough to keep them alive?
The sounds of fighting were dying down, but fires had sprung up inside the compound. Small ones, but he’d told the men not to burn anything until they were ready to pull out. Someone was getting out of hand. As a nightfisher cried out, Caim made his way down the ridge.
The gate was open by the time he arrived. Actually, it was half torn off its posts. Aemon and Dray, their faces bound up in gray scarves, stood sentry. They saluted as he approached; Aemon in earnest, Dray less so. It was something the men had started doing the past couple of days. Caim didn’t like it much, but he wasn’t sure if he should discourage it, either. At least they weren’t calling him “sir.” Yet.
He found his lieutenants, Keegan and Vaner, in the main yard beside a group of bound soldiers. Caim had wanted Killian with them, but the veteran chose to remain at the castle. Perhaps it was because of his age. Or maybe he could see what was coming. Caim couldn’t blame him. Keegan’s face was pale in the torchlight. Blood dribbled from a shallow cut across the bridge of his nose.
“Report.”
Keegan started. “The outpost is secure.”
“Injuries?”
“Only one is serious,” Vaner said. “Feoras took a spear through the leg, but it’s a clean wound. Should heal up fine.”
Caim eyed the soldiers on the ground. “What about their side?”