Throne of Magic

by H. D. Gordon

  Again, Charlie couldn’t be sure of this, but from what he’d seen, the girl didn’t have anyone—no family, no support system—outside of her organization. No pictures of parents hung on the walls, no sign of siblings or friends.

  Charlie looked over at her and saw that Aria was watching him, as if she could see these assumptions playing out in the air above his head. Her pretty face was free of emotion, and as she looked at him, she breathed in deeply and spoke the kindest words any stranger had ever spoken to him.

  “I’ll go with you, Charlie,” she said, sweet voice soft and low. “Wherever you think you need to go… I’ll go with you.”

  For a heartbeat or two, Charlie was stunned into silence. “I can’t ask you to do that,” he said at last.

  “You didn’t,” said the girl. “I offered.”

  “Why? Overlooking the fact that it’ll be dangerous, couldn’t you get in big trouble with your superiors?”

  She shrugged, but in that small gesture Charlie could see that this offer was beyond generous on her part, and would certainly lead to trouble for her, in one form or another.

  “I understand wanting to do something you’ve been ordered not to do,” she said, her face blank again, as if slipping into an unreadable mode had become second nature. “Especially when it involves someone you love.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Isn’t there another way? Can’t you just take off whatever magic you put on me to make me stay with you?”

  Aria only blinked at him. “I told you, I can’t break my promise. We both go, or we both stay. It’s up to you.”

  Charlie cursed, rubbing his jaw. He appreciated the offer, but it was a bad position to be put in. In order to help Surah, whom he loved so much it hurt sometimes, he would have to put this girl in harm’s way. There was no right choice here, no good way to go.

  Hopping off the counter, Aria went over to a closet in the corner of the room and opened the door. She disappeared inside, and then returned dragging a trunk behind her.

  It scraped across the wood floor of the apartment. When she was in front of the couch, the trunk in between her and the chair Charlie was occupying, she took a seat and began putting in a combination on the lock securing the trunk.

  Charlie watched in silence as the girl opened the top and removed five shiny throwing stars.

  “Whoa,” Charlie said. “What’re you doing?” The stars were beautiful, but dangerous weapons.

  “I’m taking the weight off you,” she said. She gave the trunk a little kick with the toe of her boot. “Pick a weapon. I’m assuming we’ll need them. I don’t have any guns, though. I hate guns.”

  As a matter of fact, most supernaturals hated firearms, and there was magic in the other realms that kept them from working.

  “Aria—” he began, but she cut him off.

  Tucking a long iron knife into her boot, she said, “Look, I’ve made the choice. We’re going to help Surah, and we’re going to put an end to Tristell. She needs to be stopped, and I’m done sitting on the sidelines. To hell with my orders.”

  “You could die,” he replied flatly.

  “I’m not as easy to kill as I look,” she snapped.

  She wasn’t looking at him now, but staring fixedly into the trunk as she removed weapon after weapon and tucked them into various parts of her clothing. Her movements were calculated and relaxed, robotic.

  Charlie sat back in his seat, in awe of this girl, and curious about what else there was to her story. He’d never met anyone like her, and knew instinctually that her willingness to help had to be personal at least in part.

  She’d said she knew what it was like to want to break orders, especially when concerning a loved one, and he could see in the green of her eyes that she was no stranger to loss.

  Aria held out a long iron dagger, and he took it with hesitation. Iron was toxic to Fae, a weapon wielded when one meant to kill, and it was clear Aria knew this.

  “We’re going back to the Fae Forest,” he said. It was not a question.

  Aria nodded once, her face set and her mind decided.

  Charlie took the blade and stared down at it. “I’ll also need a silver one,” he said.

  The girl studied him a moment, forearms resting on her thighs as she leaned forward on the couch, sitting very still and eyeing him.

  After some time had passed, how long Charlie was unsure, as he was a bit lost in his own thoughts, Aria said, “Why will you need a silver one too, Charlie?”

  Charlie had a feeling the girl knew the answer to this question already, but he replied anyway.

  “Because silver works best on Sorcerers, and I’m gonna kill my brother… I’m going to put an end to this mess once and for all.”

  Aria gave another single nod, then swept her long hair up off her neck and tied it into a knot at the top of her head. “I won’t judge you for that, Charlie Redmine,” she said. “So long as you don’t judge me for whatever happens tonight. Do we have a deal?”

  Charlie wasn’t sure what to think of this, and he didn’t miss the ominous way the Halfling girl said it, but he had a feeling that lost loved one of hers might have something to do with it.

  When Charlie hesitated, the girl sighed. “You’re not the only one who has business to attend to in the Fae Forest, okay? I’ll be straight with you, I need you as much as you need me. Now hold out your hand and tell me we have a deal, and let’s get this show on the road.”

  He would never be sure if he held his hand out to the girl that day with complete willingness on his part, but hold out his hand, he did.

  “We have a deal,” he said, and the two of them shook on it.

  Chapter 31

  Samson

  This was the deal he’d made, and there was no way to run.

  He hated himself for even wanting to, for even feeling the fear that was swirling through his chest, but hating it did not make it go away. He needed to focus, or he was dead before the fight even began.

  Samson stood in the clearing now, along with all the other felines in the pride. Cats, large and small (small being a relative term, mind you) lounged around. Some of them lay in tree limbs that edged the clearing, others on huge flat rocks that got pleasantly warm under the day’s sun.

  This day’s sun was sinking below the tree line, the dark blue hue of twilight descended over the earth without heed of what was to follow. Soon, every star in the endless sky would be visible, and the man in the moon would look down and witness a ceremony that only Great Cats and moons ever got to witness.

  He could feel all the eyes on him, though cats had a way of seeming to be paying little attention when in fact they were rapt. There was an energy to the green, clean air of the jungle, a reverent silence.

  Mila stood beside him, and Drake, King of the Beasts and his opponent on this fateful evening, stood on his other side.

  As the last of the light leaked out of the sky, the King spoke to his people in the way of the Great Cats, his deep, imposing voice sounding in their heads as though it were their own.

  “My children,” Drake began, addressing the pride the way in which he’d been addressing them for nearly a hundred years, “Tonight a battle for the throne will commence. Two cats will face each other with all of you as witness, and one cat will emerge your leader. If this should be the last time I stand before you, know that it has been an honor to head this pride, and that each of you has made me proud in your own ways.”

  He paused, his head tilting slightly as he looked at Samson. “That includes my opponent, my possible successor. Let us not forget what could happen should our kind go without strong leadership, and let us show the respect that is deserved to both tonight’s victor and loser, no matter which cat takes which title. As always, I can promise I will fight as hard as I can.”

  Drake stepped back now, and all eyes in the jungle went to Samson. Sam knew it was his turn to step forward and address the pride, and for a moment, he couldn’t for the life of him think of a thing to say. The
n he thought of Surah, and the words came to him easily.

  Samson took a step forward and held his head high. “Should I win, I’ll do my best to do right by you,” he said, and that was all.

  That was the entirety of the ceremony. Following this, the cats spread out in a ring around the center of the clearing, leaving a large open space.

  Everyone was sure to stay far enough away from where the two cats would battle, lest they find themselves at the wrong end of tooth or claw.

  In all his life, Samson couldn’t remember feeling quite as nervous as he felt right now.

  “Take your position, son, and let us be done with this.” Drake said, speaking only to Sam now.

  Despite the fact that Sam wanted to be anywhere else in any of the realms right now, he had to admit he felt great respect toward the King of Beasts. Drake had always been a fair king, which could not be said of most who carried the title.

  It felt as though both fire and ice were rushing through Sam’s veins, and his mind cleared as his instincts kicked in, his large head lowered between his powerful shoulders, his feline eyes bright and focused. Drake’s stance mirrored his own.

  For the smallest of moments, it was as if time stood still, and Samson’s mind was once again with the Sorceress. He sent out his love with his thoughts, telling the universe to watch over the two-leg female for whom he had flipped his life upside down, should he no longer walk this plane to do so himself. This final, stolen moment steeled him.

  Then Drake roared out a growl that seemed to vibrate in Sam’s own chest. His own roar and that of the other cats present followed, and Drake moved in like lightning, teeth bared in vicious glory.

  Sam saw a flash of white as Drake’s enormous paw swiped at his face, tearing out a good chunk of Sam’s black and blue fur and drawing the first blood of the night. Then there was searing pain in Sam’s left foreleg as Drake’s powerful jaws tore at the flesh and fur there.

  A growl of agony resounded through the jungle, and Samson realized that it had issued from his own throat. The other cats present had fallen silent, and in Sam’s mind had melted away entirely.

  All he could feel was the pounding of his heart, the pain caused by his opponent. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears, the deadly battle growls of Drake, King of the Beasts.

  Time sped up to an adrenaline-filled rush. Sam slashed and snapped back, catching Drake’s hindquarters between his jaws but losing purchase before he could do any real damage.

  The taste of Drake’s blood touched his tongue, sending his instincts into overdrive, his large body moving of its own accord, fighting for its very life.

  In reality, the entire fight only lasted three minutes, but time is a relative thing. To those watching, it seemed to go by very quickly, to pass in flashes of teeth and blood, fang and fur.

  But to the two fighting felines, it lasted an eternity.

  For Samson it seemed especially so. He was growing weary, starting to wear.

  Drake was very obviously going for Samson’s throat, for the soft place on his neck where, once ruptured, could not be repaired. Sam’s smaller size worked to his advantage here, as he was able to keep low, but it was the only advantage to his smaller stature, as all he’d been able to accomplish thus far was superficial cuts and scrapes to Drake.

  Thus far, he’d only been able to defend. If he didn’t make a move soon, and end this thing, Sam was sure he was going to die, and it had never occurred to him until this very moment how very much he wanted to live, how very much he wanted to lay eyes upon his Sorceress before the earth reclaimed his body.

  With a burst of energy, Sam slipped around to Drake’s side and tried to take out his hindquarter, an injury that could prove deadly in such a fight.

  But the move had the opposite effect, and Drake twisted skillfully out of the way, his large jaws clamping down with bone crushing force around the back of Sam’s right leg.

  Again, Sam heard a gut-clenching roar of pain. Again, he realized after the fact that it had come from his own throat. He tried to put weight on his rear leg and felt it buckle beneath him.

  Using a move he’d learned from Surah, he rolled out of the way of a death strike from Drake that just barely missed its mark.

  The King of Beasts was on him again before he could take another breath. Sam saw only a flash of red-stained teeth, and moved his shoulder just in time to protect his neck.

  Drake’s sharp teeth sank deep into the flesh of his shoulder, sending a jolt of electricity through Sam’s body. Blinding pain followed this sensation.

  Weakly, Sam struck out, his paw batting at the King’s face with almost comical slowness. He could feel a warm wetness seeping through his fur in various places, could smell the irony tang of his own blood.

  Like so many before him, Samson was going to die on this night, die under the fangs of the great Drake. There was a moment then where time stalled, where Sam looked up and saw the disappointment in the King’s eyes, for he too knew that he was going to win, that Sam simply could not defeat him.

  Promise me you’ll return…

  These words floated through his head, spoken in the voice of his Surah. She’d whispered it in his ear on the night before he’d left, her voice as small as it had been when she’d been only a child.

  Promise me you’ll return, Sam. Tell me I’ll see you again, even if you think it may not be so. Just lie to me, because if you don’t, I’m not sure I can face what’s ahead. So promise me… please.

  The memory had no place in such a moment, but there it was, nonetheless. He had promised her, had promised that he would come back and see her again… and he did not want it to be a lie.

  More than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, he did not want that promise to be a lie.

  Energy provided by the love of a Sorceress surged through him, and the pain of his injuries melted away with a promise to return should he see through this.

  Sam’s mind cleared into a tunnel-vision state, his eyes focused only on the king. It was obvious Drake felt he had already won, and this was a deadly mistake.

  Sam waited for his moment, watching the King’s neck the way a hawk watches a mouse run through a field, though comparing Drake to a mouse was ridiculous at best.

  Drake was still being run by instinct, but Sam had entered his mind’s equivalent to a two-leg’s. He bit down on instinct and, instead, analyzed the situation. It was another thing he’d picked up from his mistress over the years.

  Drake moved in for what he was sure would be his final blow, his enormous head held low between his shoulders and his slanted eyes filled with bloodlust.

  Sam rolled again, a counterintuitive move for a cat in such a situation as Sam was forced to momentarily expose his belly to do so. But it was not a move the King had been expecting, and it put Sam in just the position he needed to be in.

  When he rolled over onto his feet, he did so with Drake’s throat locked tightly between his jaws, and the momentum of the movement tore out a chunk of flesh that filled Sam’s mouth with the king’s blood.

  Scarlet sprayed into the air, and surprised growls, hisses, and roars filled the night sky. Drake’s bright eyes went wide, and then dark, as the body of the King of the Beasts slumped onto the ground, dead.

  Sam paid no heed to the crowd, for they had not yet rematerialized in the haze of battle that had befallen him. He looked down at Drake’s body, which twitched just slightly before settling for good.

  It was surreal, something that could not be gripped immediately. Part of him had already accepted defeat, and now he stood over the body of a king.

  When he lifted his head, the world slowly swimming back into focus, the jungle eerily silent all around him, he met the eyes of Mila, who was looking at her dead father in a way that wrenched at Sam’s heart.

  But he stood tall as he met the eyes of his new pride.

  Then, Samson, King of the Beasts, let out a roar that shook the very earth beneath their paws.

 
Chapter 32

  Surah

  The Dark Lord’s deep voice rang through the streets of Zadira, floated out over the fields to the north and west, echoed in the mountains to the south and east, and penetrated the thick stone walls of Surah’s castle.

  Every shutter, every door and window shade was shut tight, many people having fled to the mountains, or other more rural areas of the Sorcerer Territory.

  A small portion of the people remained in their homes, with their shops and possessions in the capital city, and these people dare not peek out their windows for fear of what they might see.

  Some of them were old enough to remember war, but many were not, many were but children, and they held their peace through confused terror, sensing the tenseness in their parents, noticing the creases above their foreheads, the tightness of their shoulders.

  Surah Stormsong stood on her balcony, the hood of her thick black cloak shielding her from the wind, which had kicked up with the fall of night. There was an electricity to the air, a charge that Surah could feel thrumming through her, as if coursing through her very veins.

  “Surah!” called the Dark Lord for the second time, the deep, resounding nature of his voice ringing in her ears.

  She gripped the Black Stone hanging around her neck. It was a heavy object when held directly, no doubt due to the amount of dark magic it contained, but the Black Stone felt somehow weightless when it rested above her heart… which had frosted over with a chill that made the night wind seem warm in comparison.

  “You call me the coward and refuse to face me, Surah Stormsong!” Dagon said. Surah watched from afar as he spun slowly in a circle, taking in her land as if surveying a new home.

  “This is your leader, Sorcerers?” Dagon called out to the quiet landscape, speaking to the people hiding in whatever places they had to hide. “You deserve better than a coward!”

  Behind Surah, Noelani and Lyonell stood at stiff attention, and Theo stepped up to her side. Before he could speak, Surah beat him to the chase.