Oathen

by Giacomo, Jasmine

  At that moment, twenty black-clad cult members burst out of the wooden door and slowed, looking around intently. They scanned the area immediately around the door and the well, but saw nothing suspicious.

  Then one of them called attention to the bent green shoots in the garden a short distance away. Before they could take more than two steps in pursuit, however, arrows and multicolored magical attacks struck them all down.

  Even though he was protected from sight, Kemsil still flinched.

  Meena had no such hesitation, though. She grasped the well’s lip and leaped out, drawing a pair of short swords from their scabbards.

  After two steps, she noticed that the orange wall continued to dance ahead of her. She whirled, making her short hair ruffle, and regretted for the first time that the Circuit of Sa’qal had indeed been made with earth magic, making it as strong as any Shanallese magic. “Turn it off!”

  Kemsil shook his head at her, barely visible within the well. “No!”

  “Kemsil! Turn the thrice-damned thing off!”

  With thunderous speed, a dozen mounted horses galloped past her. She saw Rhona and Salvor flash by, riding in different directions, led by strangers in everyday clothes. She called to Rhona, running to stop her horse. But the pirate didn’t hear or see her, and her mount was too fast. Her horse galloped by, kicking up clods of earth behind it.

  “Kemsil! You idiot!” she hollered, turning and running back to the well. She sheathed her swords, and when she reached the well’s lip, she dragged Kemsil out onto level ground and into a run. “Why didn’t you lower the barrier around me when I told you to? You do remember I can’t destroy the book without Sanych, right? You should have let me stop those riders!”

  “You don’t know who those people are,” he puffed as he matched her flat-out run. “They had magic; they might have killed us! Well,” he amended, “killed me. And with me dead, the cult would know you were here the next time they cared to look for you, which could be any second! And may I remind you,” he added in an angry tone, “that you can’t destroy the book without you, either? Where are we going?” he demanded.

  “Stables,” Meena said as they ran around the edge of the large, sprawling farmhouse. “We’ll follow someone’s tracks until—”

  A sparkling green flash whizzed past them, following the horses’ hoof prints, eradicating them completely.

  Meena raised her fists to the sky. “Stars and darkness,” she hissed. “Can’t I catch a break?”

  At that moment, a dozen black-clad riders burst from the stable gate just ahead, in hot pursuit of the retreating green sparkles. Kemsil and Meena pressed themselves against the wall and watched as the cult riders swiftly rode away. One of them flung a hand forward, and a shimmering blue ribbon shot ahead, attaching itself to the green sparkles, yet stretching to remain on the ground until the cultists’ horses trod over it.

  It was just a matter of time until they caught Rhona.

  “Now what?” Kemsil asked, holding his hands up helplessly, watching their last lead be commandeered by the enemy.

  Meena grinned wickedly. “Now,” she said, slapping his arm as she strode into the cult’s stables, “we have someone to chase.”

  ~~~

  Kemsil urged his stolen horse after Meena’s as they pounded through the dim fir forest. Soon, they caught sight of the hindmost cult riders dodging through the trees. The dim greyness beneath the mist-laden boughs of the fir trees made it difficult to make out more than mere movement, but Kemsil was heartened to see they were catching up.

  They flashed past a hot spring tucked into the forest, its warm steam rising as an obscuring curtain that parted and curled as they rode through it. Meena drew an arrow from the quiver at her hip and notched it onto the bowstring, holding it at ease against her thigh, guiding her galloping horse with her knees and urgent murmurs.

  “You’re not going to try to shoot at them from here, are you?” Kemsil blurted, glancing at the indistinct figures ahead.

  Meena slid her eyes over to him, a sly smile on her lips. “Not all of the Shanallar’s magic is confined to the scope of healing.” She raised the bow up high overhead, then drew the arrow back as she lowered it, aiming. Her horse pounded along the thick needle carpet, its hoof beats muffled. Branches swept past, inches from Meena’s bow.

  The enemy ahead twisted and turned among mist-shrouded trunks, tracking the blazing green spell ahead of them.

  Meena’s eyes closed, and Kemsil’s widened.

  She opened her eyes, seemingly unaware of her speed, her target’s unpredictable motions, or even of Kemsil riding next to her.

  She smiled. Her arrow loosed.

  Kemsil watched it fly within a pace of half a dozen different trees. The riders jinked left, then slowly angled right again. The arrow slammed into the hindmost rider’s back just as his horse leaped over a fallen log, and he toppled off, vanishing from sight.

  “How did you do that?” Kemsil asked in awe. He shot a look at Meena, who was already nocking a new arrow on her bowstring.

  Meena grinned. “Magic.”

  “You have arrow magic?” Kemsil asked, skeptical.

  “No,” she allowed, not letting her eyes leave her next target, “I have sixty-three collective years of archery training and instructing, and the rank of Archery Master Martial in Kazhbor. Thanks to magic.” She drew back the bow again.

  Moments later, the second rider fell, and only then did the others notice they were being targeted. Four riders peeled off from the group and turned back through the trees, searching for their attackers.

  Kemsil pulled the Circuit’s barrier in close, and they slowed their horses. Meena nocked another arrow and tilted her bow horizontally. “Follow me,” she said, kneeing her horse to the left.

  The riders spread out and slowed down. One shot a series of whistling green swirls out into the surrounding forest, but none of the seeking sparks approached Kemsil and Meena. The riders trotted by, and Meena plugged the green-swirl spellcaster with an arrow that punched its way through his chest and out his back.

  The other three cult members instantly wheeled their mounts, converging on their companion’s location. One threw a head-sized, glowing yellow ball of force ahead of her, and by unlucky chance it struck the edge of the Circuit’s orange barrier. The impact caused a loud gong-like sound to resonate through the forest. Kemsil cried out and clutched at his head. Meena grabbed his horse’s reins and led it deeper into the forest, but the yellow ball remained stuck to the Circuit’s sphere like honey, melting across its surface with yellow ripples, revealing its presence to the cultists.

  The cultists followed, stalking their prey.

  While Kemsil tapped frantically at the symbols on the Circuit, Meena jerked two arrows from her quiver and ripped off a fletching from each one, then nocked them both and fired from her hip. The arrows streaked through the rippling barrier, angling apart from each other, and slammed into the chests of two of the cultists. They slid from their mounts, leaving alone the woman who had thrown the yellow ball.

  Kemsil expanded and contracted the circuit’s range several times in quick succession. The yellow ripples finally ceased and vanished, leaving him and Meena hidden again.

  The cultist woman reined in sharply, holding a smaller yellow ball in her left palm. “I know you’re there,” she called to the empty forest ahead of her. “You may kill me, but you’ll never stop us all. We will have the thief, and her key, and then the Great To—”

  Meena’s arrow struck her in the throat. The black-clad woman toppled off her horse and landed in the fir needles that blanketed the forest floor, writhing and choking as blood spurted around her clutching fingers. Her horse shied and trotted away a few paces.

  “While you’re wishing, ask for a dragon egg,” Meena jeered, then spurred her bay onward. With Kemsil by her side, she rode in pursuit of the rest of the cultist riders.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Come. We have food. And answers.” Narjin smiled
mischievously in the doorway, reminding Sanych of Meena’s wicked grin.

  Sanych smoothed her soft, dark blue tunic over her hips, then picked up the wide leather belt and tried her best to make it twine around her waist like Narjin’s. She followed her mysterious escort out of the small bedroom in the secret hideout where their rescuers had finally brought them.

  Tucked against sheer red cliffs and hidden from view by a misty forest, the small wooden building had been invisible to Sanych even as they stood before it. Ahm, silver hair gleaming, had stepped out of thin air to greet them. After a moment, the building popped into view behind him. Once inside, Sanych realized that the structure extended deeply into the stone cliff itself.

  As she’d changed out of Geret’s shirt and into the clean tunic Narjin brought, Sanych had thrown the stained white shirt on the floor, then immediately regretted it. She’d scooped it back up, grateful for his act of kindness. Then back on the floor it went, as she realized it was likely the shirt he’d worn during his last night aboard the Princeling.

  When Narjin came to fetch her to the dining area, Sanych trod on the shirt and didn’t look back.

  She followed Narjin down the hallway and into a large room where several of the rescuers sat and talked on low padded benches set near the stone wall. Others set dishes of food upon an enormous round table which had a wide slot cut all the way to the center, where a place for one was prepared. She didn’t see anyone she recognized.

  Turning to Narjin, she asked, “Where are the others who were with me?”

  “They are being tended to,” Narjin answered. “Please, sit with me. We mean you no harm. You are safe here.”

  Sanych sat gingerly, her thighs and bottom still tender from the hours-long escape from the farmhouse.

  Narjin sat beside her. “I won’t ask you any questions until we’ve explained ourselves,” Narjin said, offering her a wide basket stacked with fresh flatbread. Sanych took one and bit into the warm food, savoring its herbed flavor.

  “I’ll take one of those, too,” Rhona’s voice came from behind, and the pirate reached a bandaged right arm over Sanych’s shoulder, snagging an oval of flatbread from the basket. Munching, she sat beside the Archivist, sporting a pale blue tunic that came to her knees.

  Forcing down the tide of negative emotions inside, Sanych looked at Rhona’s bandage and murmured an apology.

  Rhona swallowed her bite of bread and leaned in close, commandeering Sanych’s gaze. “You saved my life, in spite of everything between us. Odds are I wouldn’t have done the same, and now I’m all mixed about you. Blood-crusty dirtwalker.”

  Sanych blinked, hearing a hint of approval behind Rhona’s tiny smile. “Well, you’re welcome. Stubborn wench.”

  Rhona’s eyebrows shot up, and Narjin chuckled.

  “How is Ruel?” Sanych asked.

  Rhona looked down at her bread, thumbing its rounded edge. “He’s not doing well. He passed out on the ride here. They told me they’ll send word to another group, see if their healer can come and help him. There isn’t one here. It sounded like their healing isn’t up to Meena’s usual.”

  “Who is this Meena you keep mentioning?” Narjin asked, but before Sanych could formulate an answer, Geret and Salvor walked in, sporting new clothing as well. Salvor sat beside Rhona, with Geret on his far side. Others began to gather around the table.

  “I’m glad to see us all safely here,” Ahm said, stepping to the center of the table slot so all could see him. “To those we have recently freed from the Cult of Dzur i’Oth, we welcome you to sup with us. Any who fall prey to those evil masters of shadow and death are our unwitting brothers and sisters. It is part of our mission, to free those the cult wishes to use in their dark rituals and see them safely out of harm’s way.

  “So, please, join us and eat. Let us soothe your wounds and give you aid, and be assured that we ask nothing more of you than your silence about our existence.”

  “Fair enough,” Salvor said, “but whose existence should we refrain from mentioning?”

  Ahm smiled. “We,” he said, holding out his arms to include the table’s other occupants, “are the Scions. And we do not exist.”

  A distant pounding echoed down the stone hallway that led toward the front of the refuge. Instantly the Scions went on alert. Chairs toppled as the spellcasters and warriors spread throughout the large room, readying for battle.

  “We were followed!”

  “Why didn’t the alarms go off?”

  “How’d they get past the traps?”

  A muffled voice carried through the door. “I’ve had just about enough of magical tricks and traps today, and your invisibility spell is giving me a migraine, so if you don’t mind, how about we just open this door and you give me back my people. Or,” the voice allowed, “we can do this the hard way. But I warn you, I’m already cranky, and it’ll only go downhill from there.”

  “Meena!” cried Geret and Sanych in unison.

  Ahm jerked his head. “Your friend?”

  “Yes! Please, let her in!” Sanych said.

  Ahm strode down the hallway, a dozen of the Scions with him. Sanych followed as well, not caring who else accompanied her.

  “All right, Meena,” Ahm said at the door, “Sanych says we can let you in. We mean you no harm, and your friends are safe. I’ll open the door now.” He gripped the large handle and tugged the thick door open. The relative warmth of the afternoon, whipped into swirling winds by the curve of the cliffs outside, blew into the room.

  The black-clad body of a brunette woman lay on the red gravel outside the door. Other Scions gathered around Ahm, looking around in consternation, and Sanych pressed through them. Meena was nowhere to be seen.

  “Meena? It’s all right,” Sanych called out. “Ahm’s telling the truth.”

  “Ah, there you are,” Meena said, appearing next to the corpse. Kemsil also came into view, groaning at her side. The Scions pulled back in surprise.

  “Can you do something about the spells you have protecting your cozy little mountain lodge here?” Meena asked Ahm. “I’m certainly not comfortable, but they’re going to drop Kemsil to the ground in a moment.”

  A middle-aged man with receding sandy hair said, “He’s got some form of shielding up. It’s getting a mouthful of interference from our protection spells. If he shuts it down, he’ll feel better.”

  “Pemketh is right,” Ahm confirmed. “The cult cannot sense us here. There are dozens of shielded pockets throughout the caldera valley. Some are ours, some are theirs, and some are just odd natural formations of earth magic. Your friend doesn’t need to shield you within our lodge.”

  “That interference is what helped us see your hideout. An unexpected if painful benefit of mixing magics, as we recently learned.” Meena turned to Kemsil. “You can turn it off now,” she said, leaning a hand on his shoulder.

  “No,” he murmured, shaking his head, though it caused him pain. “Have to keep you safe.”

  She frowned in worry. “Kemsil, we are safe. You’ve protected me all day. You deserve a rest. Please.”

  He hesitated a moment, then nodded and touched a symbol on the gauntlet. The inset ring in the gauntlet he wore sucked the orange light out of the air in a heartbeat, and Kemsil sagged to the ground with a quiet whimper. Meena and Ahm caught him before he cracked his head, and she healed him with a gentle touch.

  Ahm’s eyes went wide.

  “A thousand thanks,” Kemsil gasped, sitting up. “Perhaps two thousand.”

  “The least I could do, my friend,” Meena said. She turned to the Scion leader and tipped her head in the direction of the body. “The others died miles ago. We had to leave this one alive to trace you.”

  Ahm nodded, scanning the treeline. “Your day has been as taxing as ours, no doubt; come inside and eat with us.” He waved an inviting hand. “We’ll talk afterward.”

  As soon as Meena stepped inside the door, however, she pulled Sanych aside into a fortified alcove. “Let m
e have a proper look at you.” Her hands clasped the girl’s face; her green eyes were crowded by worry lines. “Did your magic crack? Did it hurt you? Another five minutes and I would have been there.”

  Sanych heard Meena’s defensive tone. “It cracked,” she replied, “and it did hurt…in a way. It was just…it overwhelmed everything else, like when we fell together off the Aldib cliff. Deep inside, I still knew you were coming though. The bald man in charge was going to bleed Rhona and me to cast some spell on the others to make them talk, though. If my magic hadn’t cracked right then, I might have panicked.”

  “Bloodmagic.” Meena spoke the term as an epithet.

  “Ruel’s hurt, Meena,” Sanych said, remembering.

  “I’ll find him.” Meena put her hands on Sanych’s shoulders and sent her healing energy through the girl’s body. Sanych felt her bruises and scrapes melt away into nothingness.

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  “Such fervency for the health of a mere pirate; should I mention your concern to him?”

  Sanych opened her mouth to protest that that hadn’t been what she meant at all, only to see Meena holding in a chuckle. She gave the older woman a glare as Meena turned down the hall to find her great-great-grandson.

  Sanych trailed after the others and sat down next to Rhona at the round table. A short while later, she caught sight of Meena returning with a perfectly healthy Ruel at her side.

  Rhona stood with a cry of triumph and slapped him on the shoulders. Ruel exchanged brief greetings with Sanych and the others as well. Meena slipped among them, lending a healing hand.

  Soon, Sanych realized that the members of the secret society had paused whatever they were doing, and now stared in interest and surprise at Meena. There was an awkward silence. Sanych slipped into her seat beside the Shanallar, hearing Rhona and the others sit beside her.

  Meena turned to Ahm, who had risen to his feet in the table’s center slot, a thoughtful look on his face. “Thank you for saving them,” she said. “I wish I had known your group existed. It would have saved time.”