Exiles & Empire

by Cheryl S Mackey

  Tanari an aunt she did not remember.

  And…Rodon.

  Regret.

  Panic.

  Love.

  Rage.

  She stiffened as the last emotion burned at her core. She forced it aside and exhaled. Rage was what he wanted. The Dro-Aconi. Rodon. Dro-Rodon-Aconi. Storm Warden. Father. Each word sent a pulse of anger and a sharper pulse of control through the tangle of energy that sat at the center of her heart and soul.

  The heart that ached for her dead sister. Her aunt who must have sacrificed everything to keep her safe in a world that had burned down around her. Her grandmother that clung to the past while turning a blind eye to the present.

  No running. No crying. Only living would be acceptable. And loving.

  They needed to find the Crown of Gods and stop Rodon.

  So they would.

  Emaranthe uncurled her scar and burn numbed fingers and pushed them against the damp, rocky ground. She inched upright, careful to keep her face hidden in the hood as she slipped to her feet.

  A small glance up was framed by Ivo’s legs, spread in a defensive stance between her and the rest of the group. A look past the powerful muscles explained why. Gabaran and Jadeth stood protectively in front of Ivo. To Ivo’s left, Jaeger had curled Sesti into his body and turned rage cooled eyes on Ishelene.

  Rocks clacked behind Emaranthe and she tensed but relaxed when an invisible shimmer slipped to her left without giving her away. An unseen, and understanding, brush of fingers on her shoulder let her know who was protecting their backs.

  Her heart snagged and warmed. Ached. Tears burned again, but this time with love.

  They were protecting her.

  Her gasp undid it. They spun to face her, and instantly their faces screwed into a mixture of panic, pain, and grief.

  Emaranthe walked forward into Ivo’s waiting arms, her gaze locked on Ishelene’s.

  “Hello, grandmother.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  “Emaranthe, I can’t tell you how much I wanted–”

  “You’re right, Ishelene, you can’t. Not now,” Emaranthe interrupted. Flames swirled along the edges of golden-brown eyes that pinned the elf empress in place like a bug. She inhaled a shaky breath and the flames drifted away. “We need to find The Crown of Gods. The past will have to wait just one more day.”

  Ivo’s arms tightened around her thin shoulders, a silent wall of muscle and understanding.

  “Ishelene, show us how to find it,” Gabaran grunted, his voice barely constrained by the flat rage in his stark gaze. “If Emaranthe can open the portal, show us. Now.”

  Ishelene’s gaze leaped along the sturdy wall of Immortals standing before her. Not an ounce of give in their eyes. She finally nodded.

  “I don’t know much,” she whispered. “Just what Tanari showed me once, long ago, before I fell.”

  “Why can’t you do it if you are her grandmother?” he asked. A bitter sneer curled his lip.

  “Emaranthe is the only one of us here who can operate the portal because she is a daughter of a son.”

  “I don’t understand,” Gabaran said. “Daughter of a son?”

  “My mate was Dro-Agoess-Aconi. Emperor of the House Aconi, caretaker of the Heart of the Star. It was not his duty however, to be its keeper. That should have fallen to his twin sister. But she died at birth, leaving the Heart unguarded until a daughter of a son of House Aconi lived. Tanari was the first, as a daughter of a son. Ainoa would have been the second, but she was the heir and is dead. That leaves Emaranthe, The Youngest, as keeper of the Heart, and the last of our House. Tanari raised Emaranthe, in secret, knowing this.”

  “So how do I work it, Ishelene?” Emaranthe asked. She kept her distance, her petite form barely visible in Ivo’s arms.

  Ishelene shook her head, her mouth a thin line. “Tanari said that your powers and blood were bonded with it. That give it what it needed and it would take you where you were meant to be.”

  “We don’t need riddles, Ishelene,” Gabaran grunted, but his ire was flat and pained. “What does that mean?”

  “I understand,” Emaranthe said. She pulled away to walk to the edge of the clearing. “It’s okay, I understand.”

  Ivo followed her. “Understand what?”

  She shook her head and turned to study the distant Citadel. The hood fell away, turning her hair to the watery sunlight settling in shades of grey and blood red on the mountains. A haze of smoke, the stench of battle, clung to the lower reaches. Glints of yellow and roiling smoke trailed from the forbidding castle.

  Gabaran’s gaze followed hers and together in silence they watched their home burn. A thought struck.

  He spoke suddenly, quietly. “Ishelene, How did she know where to find me? When you asked me you looked puzzled, as if wondering why I did not know more. Why? What happened when she Fell?”

  Her gaze steadied on her twin, searching the depths of his starlit eyes. She looked away.

  “She died in your arms, Gabaran. Your arms from a lifetime ago. Before The Fall.”

  Emaranthe’s gasp echoed everyone else’s as all horrified gazes shot to the tall, imposing elf hunter.

  “How is that possible?” he asked. A stray wind, uneasy and carrying with it the stench of war, stirred white laced strands of black hair over starlit eyes dimmed with agony and grief.

  “She has never fully explained it to me, and I was never one to look at a second chance and take it for granted, brother.” Ishelene’s words were aimed at Gabaran but her gaze landed on Emaranthe.

  ***

  Emaranthe faced her big brother, peering far up to see his eyes. .Gabaran towered over her but Ivo knew that they studied each other in mutual, silent, affectionate, understanding.

  “We were loved, Gabaran,” she said at last. “You are still loved. You will find your answers too, big brother.”

  A hearbeat passed. He nodded. “You are loved still, little sister. Don’t ever let him go.”

  Golden brown eyes snapped to Ivo and a wide smile brightened her face.

  Ivo inhaled, his heart beat jagged against his bones. Had he never seen her smile?

  A piercing screech shattered the solemn silence.

  Everyone stumbled, ducked, hands on ears, silent cries of pain from open mouths.

  Ivo lunged for Emaranthe. He swayed, clenched his teeth, and ignored the pain as he tugged her to the other side of the clearing toward Jaeger and Sesti. Jadeth followed, both ears clamped tight and tears streaming down her face.

  Gabaran moved face the danger. His eyes bright with rage. Blood stained the edges of one long, scarred ear, but the elf hunter stood firm.

  Ishelene cried out to him, to no avail. The stark terror in her usually calm and arrogant voice turned Ivo’s blood to ice. He’d always wondered if that was what Jaeger felt. Now he knew.

  A flash of static lit up the watery, sunlit clearing, a harsh white light nearly as painful as the undulating screech. He watched, stunned, as the light swirled and shifted between the twin stones.

  Dread scoured his mouth dry.

  “Jaeger, Jadeth, Dehil!” he bellowed. “The portal!”

  The shimmering vortex of light sharpened and two silhouettes appeared. The shadowed figures emerged as the sound cut off.

  Weapons hissed as they cleared the shadowed scabbards. Even Sesti, a scholar, not a fighter, faced them with her small, sturdy, dagger held high.

  Sound returned, muffled by the ringing in Ivo’s ears.

  All sounds of rage and terror. Sounds he knew well.

  His own roar merged with theirs, his sword ready before he took another breath. A shield of wind swirled and steadied before his other arm at the ready. The air chilled and he didn’t have to look to his side to know that Jaeger stood with a shield of ice and an axe.

  At his other side a small, hooded cloak hid the blazing gaze of his lover, his Emaranthe. He stiffened, sick at the thought of what this was doing to her. He pushed it aside and raised h
is sword. His left hand shifted the air shield to protect them both.

  The light vanished with a crackle of static, and Ivo stared into the eyes of the man he hated.

  Rodon.

  Ivo paid no attention to the uneasy looking necromancer behind the Dro-Aconi. She saw just as well as he did, that she had burned any bridges of goodwill and mercy by siding once more with their enemy. Her red eyes faded and her shoulders slumped as she stumbled away from the center of the clearing to stand at the edge of the cliff.

  Ivo’s rage battled with terror when Emaranthe’s hood whipped free and her hair seethed on the wind. She turned burning eyes to the intruders.

  Silence reigned as both sides took stock of the other with cold, steady glares.

  A shimmer of light streaked across the clearing.

  Ivo saw and watched Jadeth realize what was happening.

  “No, Dehil, stop!” Her cry twisted his insides.

  The air warped and bent as the spy turned assassin darted through the crowded clearing at an impossible speed.

  For a split second Ivo hoped against hope. Instead, black eyes honed in on the swiftly moving elf.

  Rodon moved faster than lightning. He became the lightning. The spear came up and a bolt of energy struck Dehil.

  Everyone cried out, none louder than Jadeth, as the thin, dark elf was thrown back across the clearing and into the ridge above. He slammed into the rocks and trees before tumbling down the steep slope in an avalanche of snow, branches, and rocks.

  Jadeth bolted toward his unmoving body at the base of the path. Her hammer swung high as she leaped boulders, a green aura already filling the clearing.

  Rodon stood unmoving, his blackened gaze locked on Ishelene.

  “You,” he sneered. “I should have known it would be you after all these years.”

  Jaeger and Sesti twitched to put themselves between the pair, but a sharp nod from Ishelene sent them back.

  Ivo’s attention snapped back and forth between them. He resisted the urge to push Emaranthe behind him, out of sight, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Rodon’s focus was absolute.

  Ishelene’s chin lifted, her gaze hard and cold.

  “Dro-Aconi.” Her sneer matched his.

  He stalked closer, the long, deadly spear outstretched. Everyone followed his calculated steps with unflinching stares on the golden tipped, god forged, weapon.

  “You are a fool, Dro-Rodon-Aconi,” she said. “You have spent over a thousand years building an army and you still remember nothing.”

  Rodon closed the distance to Ishelene in three steps and stood facing her, his sneer now a permanent feature on his gaunt face.

  “So my dear.” His chuckle was as cold as hers. “Which one were you? I admit that I am very intrigued. You are good at this game.”

  “This is no game! Why are you doing this, Rodon?” Ishelene snapped. “Why did you spend all those years putting a plan into motion that you had no idea would ever work?”

  “Because, Empress, I had nothing else to either live or die for. All of that was taken from me that day.”

  “Taken from you?” Ishelene sneered. “Our entire planet was destroyed. Most of our people died that day! Our family!”

  “Who were you to me?” Rodon’s lips curled, his eyes black, oily pools.

  “I was nobody to you. Nobody,” she cried out. “There were only three people that ever loved you, and you all but murdered them yourself, Dro-Aconi.”

  “Tell me,” Rodon ordered. “Who else remains?”

  Ishelene’s chin lifted, her dark eyes indigo chips of pained anger. “No.”

  The spear closed the distance between them with a hiss. The golden tip hovered a mere inch from her exposed throat. A round of gasps rode on the wind. Jaeger pulled Sesti aside and moved to close the distance, but another arrogant nod from Ishelene halted his advance.

  “You should have known better, Rodon,” Ishelene whispered. “Why did you destroy Soldeus? Our people? Your family?”

  The Dro-Aconi’s sneer widened and drool made a disgusting path down one side of his jaw.

  “You know why. Now, tell me, who are you, sweet Ishelene?”

  The spear tip wove a mocking path in front of the Empress’ slender throat. She swallowed, but didn’t break eye contact.

  “I am not your ‘sweet Ishelene’, Dro-Rodon-Aconi,” Ishelene whispered so softly that the wind nearly pulled it away before it reached Ivo’s ears. Emaranthe tensed, her small frame going wire taught beside him.

  “Who are you?” Rodon bellowed. The words rumbled with thunder, shaking the ground. Snow rained from tree branches on all sides.

  A motion to Ivo’s left caught his eye. Jaeger, Sesti, and Gabaran slipped behind Rodon with the distraction of the noise. Rodon was now surrounded.

  “Why do you need to know, Rodon?” Ishelene’s question whipped Ivo’s attention back to the more dangerous end of the clearing. The two were now at odds, their collective arrogance and stubbornness to no avail.

  “I need to know who yet lives,” Rodon muttered. “I know my sister lives, but no other names I can place with faces.”

  “Why would you care?” Ivo asked when he fell silent. All gazes shot to him, half in terror, half in wonder.

  Oddly, the black crept from Rodon’s gaze leaving glinting gray. For a mere moment, the split second it took to inhale again, Ivo could see the last vestiges of Rodon’s morality.

  He saw pain and guilt, but those had all too easily been swallowed by rage, jealousy, and fear.

  Rodon blinked and the inky black bled back into his eyes.

  The spear sliced a threatening arc beneath Ishelene’s chin in warning.

  “I won’t ask again, Empress,” he said.

  “Very well. I will show you, instead.”

  Rodon’s head tipped and puzzled interest burned behind the black. “Now that is a trick I’d love to have, Empress, do tell.”

  Ishelene closed her eyes.

  “What’s she doing?” Rodon took a step back, the spear now wavering in swift, sharp strokes.

  The air surrounding Ishelene shimmered, turning Ivo’s view of her into a warped mirage as if she were under water. Beneath her thin, veined eyelids, stark white pinpoints of light flickered.

  They opened as the veil around her settled.

  Shocked gasps filled the air. Her tall, strong frame had morphed into a thinner, smaller creature. Lines wizened her once firm, and youthful cheeks. Jowls tugged on her jaw line. A longer nose sat below a pair of gray eyes. Wrinkles bloomed over deathly pale skin and her long, dark hair faded to a wispy gray, revealing slightly shorter ears.

  Only Rodon seemed to recognize the woman that Ishelene had become. Even then, he seemed to have a hard time finding his voice. The spear whipped the air between the elderly foreign woman.

  “No, that’s impossible!” Rodon cried out. “You are not her!”

  “No,” Not-Ishelene croaked. Ivo winced. That voice was nearly as painful as the screeching the portal made. “No I am not her any more. But I was her long ago. I was someone you tried to murder, remember?”

  “No.” He backed away, the spear held high again.

  “Say my name, Dro-Rodon-Aconi,” Ishelene’s imposter commanded. Her voice rang out, harsh and cold. Ivo’s skin crawled as he turned to look at Gabaran. His friend’s face was emotionless, carved in stone, his searing gaze on the enemy not the magicked crone before them.

  “Say it! Say my name!”

  “Dra-Celesa-Aconi,” Rodon cried. His hands shook so hard the spear visibly trembled. “Mother!”

  At his words everyone’s head snapped around to Gabaran. To Sesti.

  Ivo’s gaze was for Emaranthe. She flinched. He knew she was thinking about Tanari. About Gabaran. About the girl in the spelled book.

  Rodon’s howl turned into an enraged snarl, snapping Ivo out of his thoughts. His spear was back at Ishelene’s throat. The spell broke as she stumbled back from the sharp point and the Empress they recognized ret
urned. As soon as her youthful, cold face came into focus, she shot Ivo a glance. He understood.

  He tensed, and let his power build as his sword readied. As intended, the move signaled Jaeger, who brought his frozen axe into view at his side.

  He knew Emaranthe waited and watched, her golden gaze narrowed, pained, but determined. She lifted her hands, a faint ghostly thread of flames already wreathing around her fingers.

  As if of one mind, he and Jaeger lunged for Rodon just as he swept the spear back toward Ishelene. Ivo swung the sword low, Jaeger brought the axe down high, his shield of ice a formidable blunt weapon in between.

  Their roars echoed off the imposing cliffs, but Rodon didn’t even glance their way.

  Ivo watched something shaped like Rodon’s arm and hand holding the spear peel away like a fast, darting shadow. It lashed out, a blur of solid darkness, while Rodon’s real arm remained motionless.

  At the last minute Ivo twisted to avoid it, but the shadow arm swung wide and swept both brothers out of the air mid leap with the thick handled weapon.

  Ivo grunted as the shaft slammed into his gut. He tumbled backwards and rolled several times. Rocks and dirt ground into him, gouging cuts and jabs. He dug his fingers into the soil to halt the spinning world.

  Jaeger’s own startled cry ended in a grunt as he hit the hard, wet ground, and rolled to a stop near the portal stones.

  Rodon ignored them, and instead started to Ishelene, his mouth a slash of rage and hatred. Ivo tensed, ready to spring again, his skin crawling with disgust.

  Ishelene’s lips flattened into grin line when Rodon’s stance shifted into something predatory, his focus still honed on the creature that had once been his own mother.

  His sneer returned. “I wish I could say I’ve wondered what had happened to you. But no. As you said, you were never worthy of my regard, Mother.”

  Ishelene’s gaze slipped past Rodon, past Ivo, and her face visibly flinched. Ivo twisted to see what had caught her attention. Sesti, her dagger raised, stood directly behind the Dro-Aconi. Lines of pain and disbelief edged her dark blue eyes.

  At the edge of the clearing, next to the portal, Jaeger climbed to his feet, his cold gaze pinned on Rodon’s back in utter fury. Gabaran slipped closer to Sesti and a bit of dark blue wool brushed Ivo’s sleeve as Emaranthe crept past him.