by Leo Hull
The old man wasn’t big, but Tristan’s body strained with the effort because of the awkward angle. The guard fought, his hands scrabbling at the stone as he weakly begged for mercy. Blood started to pour down Tristan’s sword, his grip loosening as the blade cut deeper.
“Please,” the man gasped, his head finally falling and his arms relaxing.
“Thank the Fallen,” Tristan muttered as the jailer slid within reach. His left hand trembled, cuts nearly to the bone weeping blood. He pressed it to his leg, then used his right to grab an ankle and haul the guard against the bars. He groped around blindly and focused most of his attention on trying to heal his hand.
The blood stopped and his skin healed, but his hand felt weak as he tried to close a fist. That was good enough for now, so Tristan turned to search the guard, relief washing over him when he found a ring of keys. He cut them free from the man’s belt, then fumbled to work his way through the dozen or so keys. His injured hand slowed him down, but after the third key he noticed engraved numbers.
Figuring he might get lucky, he flipped to 1. The door clicked open and Tristan let himself feel excitement for the first time since climbing the wall. He had to shove the door with his shoulder to move the body he’d dragged against it, an unpleasant reminder of what he’d been forced to do.
The office was open and empty, a small table and stool with a solitary lantern to light the room. Manacles, chains, and rope hung from hooks on the wall and there was a small cot in the corner. The jailer appeared to occupy himself with whittling; a dagger, wood chips, and a half-finished bust of a naked woman with enormous breasts and strange pointed ears lay abandoned on the table.
Tristan took the lantern and moved down the hall, peering into cells in search of Annik and Nessa. With each empty room, his heart beat faster. He told himself it made sense they would be imprisoned in the back because that was always where the most dangerous were put. He didn’t know this for certain, but by the time he was halfway through the rooms he’d convinced himself so strongly that he strode forward, barely sparing glances to the sides.
The end of the hall had solid wood and metal doors with windows that were closed. Metal screeched as he slid the peepholes open one by one, each room revealing a dark void. He trembled as he approached the last door. He hoped that both women were imprisoned together.
The last room didn’t even have a window and it was made of solid iron. The door lacked a number, so he started at the highest numbered key, again hoping to get lucky. When that didn’t work, he cycled through them one by one.
“That’s right, come in here!” Annik’s angry voice snarled. “Remember what I did to the last one you sent in here?”
“Annik!” Tristan yelled, cursing at his clumsy left hand.
“Tristan?” Annik’s voice echoed uncertainly. Tristan didn’t respond and focused on the keys until the lock sprang open and he shoved his way inside. The lantern illuminated a large chamber. An empty metal cage sat in the middle, but to the side Annik hung suspended in the air by chains around her a neck, wrists, arms, waist, legs and ankles. She was naked, the muscles of her body stretched out and wrapped in bands of dark metal, yet she smiled happily. Tristan thought the only time he had seen her happier was when the two sparred.
“Fuck am I glad to see you!” Annik cried, beaming despite her complete exposure and helplessness.
“Me too.” He moved quickly towards her and inspected her restraints. The chains were fed through hooks in the ceiling and ran to the back of the room where a few locks secured them to the wall. “Let me get you down.”
“They took Nessa,” Annik said as Tristan walked past her. He froze as Annik stared sadly at him. “A few days ago. Perran was with them. I tried to stop them. Killed one and had another in my grasp when they swarmed me. I tried. I really did.”
“I know. Thank you.” Tristan gave her a weak smile as he moved to the rear of the room. He was happy to find Annik, but he didn’t feel like celebrating without Nessa there too. But this wasn’t the time to sulk. With Annik free, they would track down Perran and this time he wouldn’t get away.
“We’ll find her,” Annik said, echoing his thoughts.
“We will.” Tristan started to work on the locks.
“Keys four, seven, eight, and eleven,” Annik suggested. “I have no idea which lock is which key, but they let the slack out sometimes to let me eat.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t just kill you.”
“Talek and Osred—he’s the short creepy guy that blinded us—wouldn’t let them after they saw me heal. They strung me up like a prize and said anyone that kills me gets put up in my place.”
“Any idea why?” A lock clicked open and Tristan heaved on the chain so he could pull the pin free. Annik raised a leg, the loose restraints rattling through the hooks as she worked her hip and knee to loosen up. The chain slithered through and crashed to the ground.
“No clue. Before they saw my Gift, they didn’t care about me at all other than where I came from. I’m sure they were figuring out a way to break me, try to turn me into a slave.” Annik hesitated. “Nessa was okay when she left. Spirited. You should have seen how she stood up to Perran. She’s strong, and by the time they led her out he was sweating and shaking trying to hold back her Gift.”
The words warmed Tristan, but as he started to reply Annik gasped, all the warning he had before something slammed into him and sent him crashing face first into the wall. His nose broke and his head spun as he slid to the ground. Tristan reached for his Gift, drawing on every bit of his ability just in time for a foot to smash into his ribs. Hardened against the blow, his ribs held up, but his Gift did nothing to stop his body from being lifted in the air and sent spinning across the room.
He lay there, struggling to breathe and wondering what could possibly send him flying through the air so easily. Tristan had been tossed before when sparring, but he wasn’t exactly small enough to casually fling about.
“Now, now, what have I told you about behaving,” Talek’s shrill voice taunted.
Tristan rolled and pushed himself up, but Talek was focused on the still dangling Annik. Her leg snapped and the chain darted at him, but he dashed under the attack and caught Annik’s calf. Tristan shook his head, certain a man that size couldn’t move that nimbly. His face smashing into the wall must have left him confused.
“What are you?” Annik hissed as Talek held her freed leg in place. Similar questions rang out in Tristan’s head. There was something unnatural to Talek, but this wasn’t the time to stop and think.
Tristan stood and rushed him, smashing into Talek’s back and sending him stumbling forward, Annik crying out as she twisted in her restraints. Tristan dove towards his sword, but by the time he came up Talek had regained his balance and rushed at him in a blur too fast to follow.
There was no subtlety to Talek’s fighting. He ran at blinding speeds too quick to dodge and used his bulk like a battering ram strapped to a bull. Tristan tried to get the point of his sword down so Talek would impale himself, but even that was too slow. Tristan’s blade cut into Talek’s meaty arm before he was sent flying through the air again, this time slamming into the door frame and tumbling into the hall.
He pushed himself up, but Talek kept coming. The Son of Saeli ended his charge with a running kick at full speed that snapped Tristan’s arm. Tristan spun around, his head slamming into the wall and cracking the stone. His body screamed in protest, the Bolstered Gift wide open but unable to protect against the brutal assault. He tried to push himself up, but his left arm collapsed under him, bending at the wrong angle.
“My foot!” Talek gasped, leaning against the wall and raising his mangled toes. “What did you do to my foot?”
Talek’s injury was small solace to Tristan. Blood ran down Tristan’s face and he had trouble focusing his eyes. The edges of his vision were dark. He had to spit blood or risk choking.
Talek was just a few steps away, balanced precariously on one
good leg and the wall. Hobbled, Tristan knew he had to take his chance. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up with his good arm. The hall swayed, but Tristan found his feet and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.
“Guards!” Talek shouted, his eyes wide. “To me! Gua—”
His cries for help turned to a strangled whine as Annik’s leg whipped out, wrapping her restraint around Talek’s throat. His hands went upwards, grasping as the chain pulled him backwards. He crashed to the ground, flailing to free himself.
“Run!” Annik yelled, her voice strained with the effort of pulling the chain tight around Talek.
“No, I can free you,” Tristan retorted, the words coming out like muddled and thick. Already his vision steadied, but his arm was out of the fight and each breath felt wet and labored. There were shouts outside, guards organizing.
“He went down here,” a voice called from outside the dungeon.
“Go,” Annik ordered, her eyes pleading with him to obey.
Tristan hesitated.
Talek was down, but the thrashing man had pulled enough slack into the chain that he could wheeze out the occasional breath. The narrow passage presented a problem. Talek wouldn’t have to try very hard to knock Tristan down and there was no easy way past him. Tristan’s ribs ached, his Gift barely able to keep him standing much less heal him enough to fight. He could probably be captured just by Talek rolling onto him.
“Please,” Annik begged, her leg relaxing as the sound of guards organizing outside grew louder.
“I’ll come back for you,” Tristan insisted, turning away before Annik could see the self-hate in his eyes. Tristan had had some low moments in his life, but none felt worse than this. He hobbled towards the office, slipping inside just as the clatter of boots started down the dungeon stairs. They rushed past him, drawn by Talek’s wheezing and Annik’s murderous shouts as she resumed her attempt to strangle her captor.
Tristan struggled with the stairs, finding he had to take them one at a time. Behind him the sounds of the guards cursing as they dealt with trying to restrain Annik brought a smile to his bloody lips. Talek’s wheezing orders not to kill her gave him hope he could return. By the time he emerged, his confidence returned despite his ever-weakening state.
Annik was still alive, and now he knew where Nessa was.
Chapter Twenty
Osred hurried through the smoke, ignoring the cries of Talek’s army of staff as they struggled with buckets of water. He’d known Lydia would come for Serena eventually, it was why he had arranged for Serana’s twisted path to end with Talek and left a trail Lydia could follow.
He’d expected more from his half-sister, though. The pile of burning bodies and an entire shift of guards killed silently in the night gave away her presence. Only a Shade could manage that, and the only Shade with any reason to be here was Lydia. When Talek bound her, she wouldn’t make such obvious mistakes.
His hand tightened around the Slivers in his pocket, the same ones she’d torn from his neck after he had presented his plan. He traced the scar across his chest she’d left, a reminder of how she needed his steady presence to master herself. It wasn’t his fault that for each of them to reach their true potential they had to bind. Osred would do what was necessary, and Lydia’s weakness would be something he worked on going forward.
He climbed the steps to the wall, his eyes stinging against the acrid air. He moved towards the kitchen, ashamed that his half-sister had chosen such an obvious plan. Lydia could fade to black and hide herself to the point of invisibility and yet she chose to create a distraction? She could have killed all the guards and practically walked Serana out of the compound. Instead, she opted to make her presence known.
No, mistakes like this wouldn’t be tolerated once she was his Bound.
The yard below him was chaos, guards running in opposite directions and swarming towards the gate as if the compound was under assault. Staff yelled and tried to organize a crew to fight the flames. Osred ignored them all. The compound could burn to the ground as long as he secured Lydia.
Talek wouldn’t be happy, but then he also wouldn’t be in charge for much longer once Osred could manipulate both light and shadow. It still galled that the Risen had sent him here to serve rather than lead. They didn’t understand his true potential, but they would soon. He just needed Lydia to understand what the two of them could accomplish together.
From his vantage, he watched as Talek emerged from his house, shoving guards and employees out of his way and then blurring towards the dungeon. Osred would need to be careful confronting him, but even Talek’s stolen Gift couldn’t outrun light and shadow.
The chain of Fallen metal around Talek’s neck would only add to Osred’s power. Talek’s chain somehow let him steal Gifts, a closely guarded secret of the Risen that they’d dangled in front of Osred as something he too could earn if he served.
He preferred to take it.
He knew Talek had other secrets hidden away around town. Despite being sent here to be Talek’s right hand, Osred quickly learned that Talek trusted no one, not even his new Risen lieutenant. The corpulent man had a ship moored in a berth that didn’t exist on paper, likely the first place Osred would investigate after he’d displaced Talek.
He would need to keep Talek alive at first. The Son of Saeli had the annoying habit of relying on his memory rather than keeping notes that Osred might read at his leisure, and his empire was a tangled web that Osred wanted to keep whole if possible. Lydia might be able to help by trailing Talek or his various underlings, but Osred grated at being treated as an errand boy and couldn’t envision waiting long to consolidate his power once he bonded Lydia. He’d already been patient enough.
Osred watched impassively as a dark shadow detached from the wall and drifted towards the kitchen. She was so predictable he didn’t even need to use his Gift to track her.
The door opened a sliver, and Lydia disappeared inside, briefly revealed by light. Osred checked his blade, then tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for her to emerge. He studied the yard.
Lydia had a distraction in the corner of the compound, and some other by the dungeon. Serana, as gifted as she was with spices and flame, had no hope of scaling the wall or helping fight, which meant the two would have to escape unseen through one of the side exits.
Most of the chaos seemed confined to the front wall and the big house. Osred managed a smile as his eyes settled on the side gate which opened into a dark alley. The chaos of the fire was well away from both the door and the path from the kitchen.
Predictable.
Osred moved to take up a position by Lydia’s exit strategy.
“Osred!” a gasping guard called, clambering up the stairs out of breath. The man had a panicked look about him, his head turned to look at the tumult below as Osred drew near. “The dungeons are under assault and Talek orders—what are you—”
The man had a full head on Osred, but that just made him easier to pitch off the wall. His screams were lost among the pandemonium, then silenced when he crashed into the ground.
Talek couldn’t know about Lydia or he would move to interfere. Better for the guard to disappear than report any hint of Osred’s disobedience. Things would be easier if there were no witnesses to his activities. Talek would be distracted for days, and Osred would need the time to convince Lydia to bind with him, but certainly she would see reason this time. Together they could dominate the region and secure acknowledgement of his worth from the Risen.
His first offer had been perhaps a hair too aggressive. This time he would try a kinder approach, offer to bind Serana as well and let Lydia keep her if she wanted.
The side door to the compound was unlocked, and Osred smiled as he took up position in the alley. It was the perfect escape route—not just for Lydia and Serana, but also to keep the coming confrontation with his future Shade away from any prying eyes.
There was a dark doorway and Osred rolled his eyes as he quickly found
a small black tunic that Lydia had clearly hidden. He tucked it away and moved deeper into the alley. When she ducked into the doorway to find her dress, he would corner her and offer it as a show of good faith. He wasn’t a monster. Lydia hadn’t been able to see past the physical act of binding to what it would bring them, an annoying frailty that he would help her overcome.
Osred didn’t have to wait long. The side door creaked and Serana followed Lydia’s shadow into the alley. Lydia faded into view and Serana wrapped her arms around her smaller lover.
“Later,” Lydia said, blushing but not trying to pull away. “My dress is here, and we should get to the docks before anyone thinks to look for you.”
Osred didn’t understand the bonds that others seemed to form, but this one had proven to be useful bait. As long as Lydia didn’t let it interfere with his plans, he was willing to entertain it.
Serana smiled and ignored Lydia, kissing her until the Shade managed to wriggle free and dart towards the doorway. Osred moved quickly, a knife pressed against Serana’s back while his other held Lydia’s clothes.
“Lydia,” Serana whispered.
“Hold on, it’s always so hard to reach this.”
“No, Lydia. It’s him.”
Lydia vanished to black immediately, but Osred filled the doorway with just enough light to drive away her shadows. He didn’t want to humiliate her. She had already turned, knives in hand but made no move forwards once she saw Serana next to Osred. Her eyes, hot and angry, narrowed to slits.
“Now, now sister, we should be past that,” Osred said. He tossed the dress towards her, though it fluttered to the ground short and Lydia made no move towards it. “Serana is safe, as I said she would and will be, so long as you’ll talk.”
“Talk? You want to fuck me!” Lydia spat.
“I want each of us to see our true potential fulfilled,” Osred patiently explained. “If you know another way to bind, then please tell me.” Osred paused to see if she had any suggestions. “I have no interest in you beyond that and our terms can include—”