Dark Lady's Chosen

by Gail Z. Martin

  "Jonmarc, on your right!" Laisren's warning registered an instant before the blade whistled past Jonmarc's ear. Jonmarc parried, sliding in the snow. One attacker pressed forward with a bone-crushing series of blows that drove Jonmarc back on his heels. The other rose off the ground, and then flew downward, sword angled to take Jonmarc through the chest.

  Jonmarc deflected the first vayash moru's sword strikes and threw himself to the ground, dropping the sword in his left hand and grabbing for a throwing knife from his baldric. He threw the knife at the vayash moruthat was streaking toward him from the night sky and rolled through the snow, grabbing up his fallen sword and curling into a tight ball. The vayash moru's sword struck the ground so close that it tore his cloak, ripping free a hand's breadth of the thick wool.

  Seizing the instant's advantage as his attacker pulled his blade free of the frozen ground, Jonmarc brought his twin swords up in a single, fluid movement, impaling the vayash moruthrough the gut so that the bloodied points thrust out through the back of his long coat. The vayash morugurgled ichor and shook violently, slipping down Jonmarc's blades until Jonmarc bucked, kicking with both feet to throw the attacker's body clear. It began to decompose before it hit the trampled snow, and the remaining vayash moruclosed on Jonmarc with a growl.

  Jonmarc was an instant too slow in blocking the sword that came at him, and it sliced into his arm. Blood warmed his skin and Jonmarc saw hunger and satisfaction on his attacker's face as the vayash morudelivered a pounding, two-handed strike. Jonmarc deflected it, but he lost his footing and went down hard as the attacker raised his sword for a killing blow.

  The whistle of an unseen blade sang through the cold night air, slicing cleanly through the vayash moru's neck. The headless body stood for a moment, and then keeled to the right, following its severed head. Laisren stood behind the dead vayash moru, ichor dripping from his sword.

  Jonmarc regained his feet but there was no time for thanks. More vayash morucame toward them, swords at the ready. Around them, the temple grounds had become a battlefield and in the moonlight the snow was dark with blood and ichor. A glance told Jonmarc that the fighting was going hard on both sides. Still, the line held. The clang of swords rang through the night as the fight raged on. The temple bells sounded six times, and Jonmarc scanned the faces of the vayash moruonce again for Malesh.

  "He's not here," Jonmarc said to Laisren as they regrouped after the latest foray.

  "He'll come. He's likely as anxious to finish you off as you are to kill him."

  "Not by half."

  As quickly as they came, the attackers withdrew. Up and down the cordon, the defenders watched for movement in the moonlight. "Hold your positions!" Jonmarc shouted. With a pause in the fighting, the toll of the battle became more apparent. Several of the vyrkinlay dead on the ground. Dark patches in the snow marked where vayash moruhad decomposed after a fatal strike. From the spacing of the line on the side of the temple he could see, Jonmarc guessed they had lost about a third of their force.

  Gabriel's blond hair shone in the moonlight, making it easy to spot him at the far end of the temple. Vigulf was in his place, notable by his sheer size and the unique brown markings on his pelt. Yestin was still on his feet, although his fur was matted with blood in several places. Jonmarc had taken at least half a dozen wounds in the melee. Gashes bled on his arms and upper thighs where his foes had made good their strikes. He glanced at Laisren. The vayash moru's cloak was cut in a score of places, and he had a nasty slash across one cheek. Jonmarc knew that although his undead companion could heal faster than a mortal, the injuries were no less painful. They waited in the silence for the next assault, and Jonmarc scanned the shadows for any hint of movement.

  From the darkness, a glimpse of firelight and the twang of bowstrings was the only warning. A hail of flaming arrows arched through the night sky toward the base of the temple. For the vayash morudefenders to hold their positions would be suicide, exposed without cover and trapped against the temple walls.

  Jonmarc looked to Yestin. "Take out the archers!" he cried, making for the tell-tale glow at a dead run. The vyrkinran alongside him, darting and weaving to draw off the arrows that rained fire down from the darkness.

  The arrows are concentrated around the door. We're being herded.

  "Watch your backs! It's a trap!" Jonmarc shouted back to the others just as a new wave of attackers swarmed toward the temple's rear wall. He dodged an arrow that flew past him close enough to warm his skin as he and the vyrkinclosed on the line of archers.

  Jonmarc dropped to one knee and sheathed his swords, grabbing the crossbow that hung at his back. Staying low to the ground, his quarrels felled three of the bowmen in short succession as the vyrkinstalked their prey and sprang for the kill too close for the bows to be of use.

  "Jonmarc-the door!"

  Firing off one more shot, Jonmarc turned to see Malesh moving toward the temple doorway.

  Go!Vigulf's voice sounded in Jonmarc's mind.

  With a glance to make sure the vyrkincould hold their own against the rapidly decreasing number of archers, Jonmarc slung his crossbow over his shoulder and sprinted back through the snow, sword in hand. Heavy fighting at the rear corner of the temple had drawn off the cordon. Just as Jonmarc neared the doorway, a dark shape blocked his way.

  "Going somewhere?" The dark-featured vayash moruwas one Jonmarc had never seen before, but it was clear from the man's expression that he was quite aware of who Jonmarc was. His first sword strike was a blur of movement, but Jonmarc blocked it, watching as Malesh neared the temple doors.

  A snarl sounded behind Jonmarc an instant before a large wolf leaped into the air, heedless of the vayash moru's sword. The wolf's weight carried the vayash moruto the ground, and Jonmarc recognized Yestin. The wolf paused only long enough to give a sharp bark and a toss of its head toward the temple, indicating for Jonmarc to run. Hoping Yestin could hold off the vayash moruon his own, Jonmarc headed for the doorway at a dead run just as Malesh cleared the threshold.

  Jonmarc entered the temple. Malesh was nowhere to be seen. Too late, Jonmarc spun around, realizing Malesh was behind him. Malesh slammed into him at full vayash moruspeed, knocking Jonmarc halfway across the temple's open court.

  Jonmarc had only an instant to get his bearings. The Temple of the Dark Lady was long and narrow. Banks of candles and scores of torches lined the walls. A shallow reflecting pool lay in the center, warmed by magic in the bitter cold. There were no windows or skylights, yet the floor was cast in rich hues of red and gold from a large stained glass image of Istra that hung suspended from the vaulted temple ceiling, backlit by huge torches. Beneath the glass image stood a large statue of the Dark Lady. Both depictions were the same: a sad-eyed Istra, fangs bared, stood with her arms partially outstretched. She was wrapped in a richly-patterned cloak and, in its shadows, cringing multitudes huddled near her for protection.

  Jonmarc heard heavy wooden doors slam shut and the crosspiece fall into place. He scrambled to his feet, sword ready. Outside, he could hear the sounds of battle and the cries of vyrkinand vayash moru. Inside, there was only the sound of Malesh's footsteps as he slowly circled Jonmarc.

  "It seems you're the only guest to witness my ascendance to consort," Malesh said. It was obvious that he had not taken any part in the battle thus far. He looked as if he might have just left court.

  "That's what this is about? You want to be a god?"

  Malesh smiled, making his eye teeth plain. "Not a god. A consort. One who will rule with the Lady as we were meant to rule. Openly. Taking our rightful place as the top predator."

  "Not if I can help it."

  "All that remains is to best Her champion. That won't be difficult."

  Outside, the temple bells began to ring the seventh hour.

  Malesh rushed at Jonmarc. Jonmarc was ready for the attack, expecting Malesh to strike with his sword. At the last instant, Malesh altered his course, streaking upward toward the high ceiling and landi
ng behind Jonmarc. Jonmarc stabbed backward with his short sword, burying it deep into Malesh's thigh.

  Malesh grabbed Jonmarc from behind and flung him against the stone wall. With a growl, he pulled the short sword from his leg and threw it in the opposite direction. Dazed, Jonmarc struggled to his feet as Malesh closed again. He swung hard with his broadsword, connecting with Malesh's blade. Malesh slid his own blade down to lock Jonmarc's grip, and tore the weapon from his hand. The sword skittered across the marble floor and Malesh landed a blow to Jonmarc's ribs with his fist that cracked bone. Before Jonmarc could catch his breath, Malesh grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him hard against the wall.

  All I've got to do is stay alive long enough to buy time for Carina.Jonmarc fingered the release for the arm quiver. Not yet. Not yet.

  "I knew you weren't much of a swordsman," Jonmarc baited. "You know you can't win a fair fight."

  He managed to duck the next blow, and twisted beneath Malesh's grip, diving and rolling although the pain of his broken ribs made him gasp. He came up halfway across the marble court, near the base of the reflecting pool, and grabbed his fallen broadsword.

  Malesh streaked toward him and Jonmarc spun his sword, gritting his teeth against the pain. The tip of his sword caught Malesh's shoulder and Malesh growled as he parried with a blow that nearly snapped Jonmarc's blade.

  "How long before you tire?" Malesh taunted as he returned Jonmarc's parry. "What a fool Gabriel was to think that a mortal champion could ever best one of us. Although I do have a use for you. Your blood will seal the magic." He fingered an amulet at his throat. "I'll make sure to leave enough to work the charm."

  Without warning, Malesh attacked again. His blows were calculated for speed and strength, raining down in a pounding fury that forced Jonmarc to stretch to the limits of his training to defend himself. The attack came so fast and with enough of an advantage in strength that what Malesh lacked in sword skill or salle form was meaningless for the sheer brutality of his press. After having already endured several candlemarks of relentless fighting, Jonmarc knew that he could not hold out long against the savagery of Malesh's attacks before he was disarmed or dismembered. The glint in Malesh's eyes said that his opponent knew it, too.

  Jonmarc gripped his sword two-handed, needing all his waning strength and concentration to parry Malesh's blade. Jonmarc met Malesh's strikes blow for blow. He felt the strength of the sword strikes jolt painfully through his bones, making his teeth rattle and his head throb. With every moment that passed, the likelihood of rescue and the hope of success grew dimmer.

  With a snarl, Malesh wheeled, bringing his full strength and the motion of his turn against Jonmarc's sword. The blade bent and snapped, sending the useless shards clattering to the floor. Jonmarc threw the pommel at Malesh and ran, but Malesh grabbed his shoulder with a grip that threatened to rip his arm from its socket. Momentarily stunned by the pain, Jonmarc gasped as Malesh grabbed him by the throat with his other hand.

  "I've watched you fight. Learned how you move. You deserve your reputation as a fighter. And now, I will deserve mine as the one who destroyed you."

  Jonmarc spat in his face. He twisted in Malesh's grip, still too far away to launch his arrow from its hidden quiver.

  "I took your woman as the first sacrifice," Malesh said, tightening his grip enough that Jonmarc could barely breathe. "She fought me. Her blood was hot and sweet and she moaned like a whore in my arms when I drank her."

  Jonmarc lashed out with his foot, landing a blow with the knife in his boot against Malesh's side that would have felled a mortal. Malesh smiled. "I could easily beat you to death. But that hardly befits such a worthy opponent." He drew back his lips. "I gain the strength of my enemy when I devour him. And I want to taste the fear in your blood as I drain your life."

  Malesh brought his arm down until Jonmarc's boots touched the floor and drew him closer. With his free hand, Malesh ripped open Jonmarc's shirt and great cloak, exposing his neck and shoulder.

  Wait for it. Only one chance. Wait for it.

  In one swift movement, Malesh bared his fangs and sank them into Jonmarc's shoulder at the base of his neck.

  Jonmarc stiffened at the sudden pain as the teeth tore into his flesh. Struggling to keep his head clear, Jonmarc brought his left arm up so that his palm was against Malesh's chest above his heart and squeezed the trigger.

  Malesh tore loose from Jonmarc's neck as the arrow embedded itself, quills deep, in his chest. With a shriek, Malesh staggered backward as Jonmarc fell to his knees. A warm stream of blood flowed from the open gash in Jonmarc's neck. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, and sensed it slowing as blood soaked his shirt and dripped onto the floor.

  Malesh's heel caught the edge of the reflecting pool as he tore at the arrow that protruded from his shirt. He careened into the bank of candles, ripping it and the torch above it from the wall. There was a flash of fire and Malesh screamed again, engulfed in flame.

  The fledgling dies the maker's death.

  Jonmarc watched in horror as Malesh flailed while the flames consumed him and a black, acrid smoke rose from his charring skin.

  Behind him, the door gave way with a crash. I failed, Jonmarc thought as the room began to spin. It was hard to breathe. He fell backward onto the cold marble floor, staring into the amber eyes of the stained glass Lady. I destroyed Malesh but I failed Carina.

  Strong hands gripped his shoulders. "Get the shaman!" It was Gabriel's voice, but with an edge of panic Jonmarc had never heard before.

  "Let me die."

  "You know I can't do that."

  "No choice... "

  The temple around him faded into darkness. Gradually, blackness gave way to a gray dawn, and Jonmarc realized that he stood at the edge of an endless sea. The cold surf lapped at his bare feet and the wind whipped at his hair. A lone figure walked toward him at the water's edge, and as it drew nearer, Jonmarc recognized the same face that had stared down at him from the stained glass in the temple. Istra was even more beautiful than any of Her statues. Wild, dark hair framed dusky features and She moved with a predator's grace. Something innate within him warned him that he should kneel in the presence of the Goddess. Ignoring it, Jonmarc remained on his feet, daring to meet Her amber eyes.

  "I kept my bargain. Let me die."

  "There is a greater darkness coming." Istra's voice seemed to sound inside his mind.

  "I've done my part. Let me rest."

  The amber eyes sparked with inner fire, depthless and sorrowful. "Not yet. I need a champion."

  "Find someone else."

  "There is only one champion in a generation. There is no other."

  He shook his head. "If you didn't notice, all your 'children' are out there killing each other. How can you watch that and not want rid of the lot of us?"

  "See what I see." Her voice echoed in his mind as She raised Her arms, revealing what lay beneath the intricate, moving patterns of Her cloak. In the shadows, Jonmarc glimpsed writhing souls, stripped of their pretense and masks, laid bare in fear and pain. For an instant, he could hear their cries of utter anguish and terror and knew that he glimpsed the world as She saw it. He met Her gaze levelly.

  "I'm just a blacksmith's son from the backside of nowhere. You've taken everything from me. How can it matter if I die?"

  Istra's expression changed as if She were listening to far-off voices, and Her eyes seemed to see into the distance. "Without you, the currents change. Martris Drayke will die before his time. His heir will fall to an assassin's blade. Margolan will be consumed by her enemies within a generation and the Winter Kingdoms will be carved up as spoils among the legions of its attackers."

  Jonmarc swallowed hard. "And if I go back, that will change? You swear it?"

  Her features softened. "The future is always in motion. I cannot guarantee it. But if you return, there is a chance. Without you, there is none."

  Jonmarc closed his eyes. The pain of his battle wounds was gone.
He could make good his final vow and find Carina in the Plains of Spirit. But at what cost?

  Knowing what he had to do, he opened his eyes. "All right. I'll do it."

  Istra reached out Her hand toward him, laying Her palm over his bare chest above the symbol he had traced in ink. Jonmarc gasped as Her palm became hot, searing his skin. When She withdrew Her hand, the symbol was branded into his flesh.

  "Let there be no doubt," Her voice echoed in his mind. "You are mine. Now, return. Your work is not yet finished."

  Jonmarc's whole body shuddered as he strained for air.

  "I've got him." The shaman's voice sounded close by. Jonmarc felt a hand pressed against his skin where Malesh's fangs had laid open his shoulder. The pain of his wounds returned in a single breath, enough to make his heart skip a beat.

  "Will he live?" It was Gabriel, still as worried as before.

  "He's lost a lot of blood. I'll do what I can to heal him, but I can only do so much to replace blood." Vigulf opened what remained of Jonmarc's shirt to lay a hand on his newly healed-and newly re-broken-ribs. "Look," he said sharply to Gabriel, and Jonmarc knew without opening his eyes that it was the symbol of the Lady that caught Vigulf's attention.

  "You were right when you sensed Her presence just now. I felt it, too."

  "Then he truly is Her champion."

  Vigulf's laugh was sharp. "You doubted?"

  "Only a fool never doubts."

  "Are you going to take him back to Wolvenskorn?"

  "Not tonight. I don't think either of us is up to it. There's a pilgrim's chamber just off this courtyard. I'll stay with him. The battle's over. And there are others who still need your help."

  "Aye. I've done all I can tonight for him. Let me see how many of the others I can help, and I'll come back for the both of you at sunset tomorrow."