by Giles Carwyn
She had to find Astor. No. Her brother had thrown her away. And her father had sent her to the queen. Baedellin was never going back there. Not to the filthy tower and foul darkness of that voice.
She would find her mother. Mother would wrap her up in her arms and it would all stop. It would all go away. Mother was strong, not lying on cold stone covered in flowers. Mother was happy and smiling, in a clean white dress. Waiting for her. Waiting in the north.
Baedellin reached the edge of the roof and paused, listening carefully to the streets below. She had to be careful, so careful, or she would never get away.
Someone had to find her. Help her. Before it was too late.
Shadows shifted, shortened and lengthened again as the moon traveled across the sky. Wind tried to lift her greasy hair as she stared at the empty streets, the darkened city, the boarded-up buildings.
Then she heard whispers in the distance. The clink of metal. It was them.
She swung her legs over the edge of the roof and dropped to the street below. Her bare feet slapped across cobblestones as she hurried into an abandoned café at the end of the block. She crept along one wall, hiding below a window filled with dead flowers.
She heard them turn the corner outside the window. Nine or ten of them. They had to help her. She had to get away.
“Go slow. Go careful. Listen for their breathing,” someone said. “Check every cellar, every cupboard.”
Baedellin peered outside, her grimy face hidden among the dying leaves that had shriveled long ago. Fear and joy rushed through her as she saw the golden slashes on the tunics of the Lightning Swords. Maybe her father was with them. He could take her home, back to Astor and the Sisters. They would bring her north to find her mother. Clean white dress. Smiling. Red hair shining in the sunlight. She tried to cry out, tried to scream, “I’m here. I‘m here. Help me!” But nothing came from her mouth except the huffs of ragged breath.
The Lightning Swords split up and she heard footsteps approaching the café. She clung to the shadows, drifting behind the thick red curtains. Two of the Lightning Swords paused just outside the doorway, lifting lanterns high in the air. “Help me!” Baedellin shouted, but again she made no sound but the tortured breathing. She pressed her hand to her mouth to muffle the sound.
“I’ll check the kitchen,” the first one said, crossing the threshold. His sword glimmered in the torchlight.
“Look sharp,” said the other, a woman with a gaunt face and ill-fitting armor.
Baedellin wanted to run to them, cling to their knees and beg for help. They had to help her, but she shrank farther into the shadows as they weaved through the overturned tables and disappeared into the kitchen. She followed them, perfectly quiet on bare feet, and peered around the doorway behind them.
“There’s a soup pot in the fireplace,” the man said. He crept to the far side of the room and peered into the pot. His head jerked away in disgust as a rancid smell hit him.
“By the Seasons!” he hissed. “Why do we even try?”
He moved to the cupboard and checked inside. “Nothing but rat droppings!”
“Look everywhere,” the woman told him. “Check the oven.” She strained to look into the shadows all around them.
Baedellin held deathly still in the darkness. She clutched the doorjamb, feeling her fingernails sink into the soft wood. “Help me!” she cried silently.
The man knelt before the oven built into the fireplace and looked inside. He started laughing. “Bread! Two loaves!” He held them up to show her. “They’re a little burnt and very stale.” The soldier tried to bite one and could barely break off a chunk. “But soften them up in a little water and—”
The dark queen’s voice slid into Baedellin’s mind. Now, my child, she whispered. Now.
Baedellin leapt, clinging to the woman soldier’s back. She shouted as Baedellin slipped her knife under her chin and slashed. Hot liquid flooded down her arm.
“No!” Baedellin screamed, but it only came out as ragged breathing, quick and rhythmic.
“Maelin!” the man screamed, dropping the loaves of bread. He rushed forward and swung his sword, knocking Baedellin into the wall. It didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt anymore.
“They’re here! They’re here!” the soldier screamed, fleeing from the room.
Hunt them down, my child. The horrible voice filled her head. Hunt them down and kill whenever you can.
Baedellin rolled to her feet and gave chase. She tried to stop herself, tried to curl into a ball and make it go away, but the queen’s voice was so close and she was so far away.
She chased the man across the room and jumped on his back, knocking him to the ground. “Help me!” Baedellin whispered, slashing at his face with the knife. He screamed, trying to turn over, trying to grab her, but Baedellin surged forward and buried the blade in his neck. Dark blood splattered the tile beneath her and the man’s head rolled backward, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.
Baedellin yanked the knife out and scrambled away. “Make it stop. Make it stop.”
Other voices shouted from outside the cafe. Heavy feet stomped across the street.
“It got Keln!” a soldier yelled, the jeweled pommel of his sword glowing in the dark as they rushed through the door.
“Kill it!” the man behind him shouted. He threw his spear.
Baedellin spun around as the spear slammed into her shoulder. It knocked her backward, but didn’t hurt her. Nothing hurt on the outside, nothing except the glowing swords.
She stumbled to her feet and ran, leaping over the broken tables and into the kitchen. She rushed through the back door and into the alley, tripping over something in the darkness. Why wouldn’t they help her? Why wouldn’t anyone help?
Leaping to her feet, she kept running, racing along the alley. The buildings blurred on either side of her, whipping past as she swerved into the street—
—and ran headlong into someone. Strong hands grasped for her wrists, twisting. The knife clattered to the cobblestones.
She struggled, clawing frantically at her captor. Dark hair blew around her. “It’s all right,” the woman said, her hands faster than Baedellin’s, catching every strike and turning it aside. “Hush, little one.”
Baedellin tried to lash out at her captor, but couldn’t free her hands. She kicked mightily, but the woman pinched Baedellin’s legs between her thighs.
Mother?
“Hush. Hush. It’s Shara. Everything is going to be all right.”
Chapter 2
Issefyn lounged on her immense silver throne. Leaves encrusted with glittering jewels were carved on the high back and thick armrests. Baskets of lush flowers surrounded her, accenting the gentle breeze with the heady perfume of spring. Her beautiful servants, naked beneath their feather robes, knelt at attention throughout the room, awaiting her orders. Pillows of lion fur and silk held her gently as she stared at the ceiling with a smile.
The black containment stone lay cradled in the crook of her arm, and she stroked it gently with her fingertips. Her son took another candied berry from an iced dish and dropped it into her mouth. She let out a long, contented breath. Swirls of honey ribbons raced across her tongue, down her limbs, filling her. Success was certainly sweet.
“So,” Victeris said, settling himself on one arm of her huge throne. “Will you be getting dressed today, Mother?”
Issefyn stretched, draping her naked legs across his lap. She took a deep breath of the scented air, and glanced lazily at the moonlit gardens outside her palatial chambers.
“Not yet,” she said, turning and looking down the length of her body at the sardonic smile of her long-dead son. “Perhaps I shall take a lover first.”
“Will you?”
“Perhaps three,” she said, waving her hand at her blissful attendants. “If they please me, I shall train them to be Zelani.”
“Will you start a school for them? Send them out into the world to shine the light of love upon tyrants and mad
men?”
Issefyn sniffed. “Mockery is the sign of a feeble mind, Victeris.”
“And hubris?” He dropped another berry into her mouth. “What is that a sign of?”
She leaned her head against the soft fur pillow as the sensation spread through her again. “I hope you realize that I still plan on killing you,” she murmured, twirling her finger across her stone.
“A magnificent plan, Mother. But I’m already dead. I have been for quite some time.”
“No, ’Teris is dead. You are still very much alive,” Issefyn said, eyeing the creature that mimicked her dead son so well. “I believe I have deduced who you actually are.”
“Really?” He placed a glistening berry in his mouth and closed his eyes as he chewed it. “Do tell, Mother.”
“I believe you are a relative of mine.”
“But not your son?”
She gave him a withering stare. “I believe you are one of my great-, great-, great-….” She waved her hand to indicate more. “Grandfathers.”
“An interesting theory.”
“Anyone who has studied at all could piece it together.” She gave him a sly glance. “You, a betrayer of gods, a father of nations, and former master of abominations. Am I right?”
Victeris smiled. “A former master? You seem to have forgotten who taught you how to yoke your little pets.”
He indicated the line of exquisite servants waiting patiently on their knees. “You would still be controlling mindless beasts one at a time if not for me.”
“True, but I command them. Not you.”
“For now, Mother. Everything in its time,” he said, reaching for another berry.
Issefyn kicked the bowl from his hands. It clattered on the marble and Victeris raised an eyebrow at her.
“We certainly make a lovely couple,” he said. He snapped his fingers, and a young woman with jet-black eyes and dark streaks of subservience down her face stepped forward to place a fresh bowl of fruit in his hand.
He dropped another berry into Issefyn’s mouth. She closed her eyes, lost for a moment. It was so sweet, so delicious, like the smell of plum blossoms after a light rain. Victeris prattled on about something, and she let her mind wander, feeling the power within her stone hum beneath her fingertips.
“Magistrates,” she said suddenly.
He paused. “Absolutely, magistrates, how clever of you.”
“I will need attendants in my regime. Magistrates, ministers, soldiers, artisans. And Zelanis, of course. To do my bidding. To spread my majesty throughout the world.”
“They shall sing the praises of the Naked Queen. I think you shall be quite popular with the commoners.”
“Shut up, ’Teris,” she mumbled. “You had your chance at greatness and you lost it centuries ago.”
Victeris chuckled. “As you say, my queen.”
“Empress.”
“Are we Ohohhim now?”
“I shall make them mine as well. The whole world will be my empire.”
“How can they follow the sleeve of a naked queen?” His fingers stroked the inside of her knee. “Is there some other place you would like them to pinch?”
“Feeble, feeble little mind. No wonder Morgeon imprisoned you.”
“He merely sent me to a place where I could better assist you.”
“I’ll be sure to thank him.”
Victeris hopped off the throne and tossed the remaining berries into the fire. “It is almost morning, Mother. Will today be the day you pluck the remaining thorns from your side?”
Issefyn sighed. “You are so wearisome. The city has been mine for weeks. The pathetic bands of survivors aren’t enough to stop the Summer Fleet from entering the city.”
“I see. And the ani blades they carry, they are no longer a threat to you?”
Issefyn waved him away. “This city is a whore with her broken legs spread wide. Her council is dead. Her citizens fled. Those few who remain wander aimlessly, swinging at shadows while my pets feast on them one by one. The Summermen will be here any day. I intend to enjoy the spoils of my victory.”
Victeris smiled thinly, but didn’t say anything.
Issefyn was no fool. She knew when action was required and when it was not. When the Summermen arrived, they would take her to Arefaine. Issefyn would rejoin the little bitch with smiles and hugs. And then, when they had engaged the Silver Islanders, when those drunken pirates were spilling their entrails into the ocean, Issefyn would show the upstart how much she had learned since they’d last met. She would unleash all the power of her new toy and watch Arefaine’s flesh melt from her bones.
Then Issefyn would continue on with the rest of the fleet, land on Efften, and unlock her towers. All of the ancient secrets would belong to her, and she would give birth to empire beyond the wildest imaginings of the great Emperor Oh. Where he had failed and run from power, she would embrace it and succeed.
Victeris turned his head, looking out the window at the moonlit gardens. “Your victory celebration might be cut a bit short, Mother.”
She blinked, then frowned. “Really, ’Teris. Must you be such a constant annoyance?”
“Annoyance? I am your greatest ally, especially now that your mistress has returned.”
Issefyn looked at him sharply. His visage swam for a moment, then solidified. “What did you say?”
He smiled innocently. “Your mistress has returned.”
The bitter taste of bile stripped away the sweetness of the berries. The beautiful garden outside the window rippled like a mirage. Her silver throne, the pillows, the magnificent marble pillars of her throne room all lost their luster, and the lights dimmed.
She sat up, sending out her awareness into the growing darkness. “Arefaine?” she murmured. “Arefaine is here?”
Victeris chuckled.
Issefyn shook her head, snapping out of her fantasy. The rose-marble walls of Shara’s room closed around her, barely illuminated by a dying lamp in the corner. The windows and the garden beyond disappeared, becoming the open view of Ohndarien from the height of Shara’s tower. Issefyn sat on the floor atop a pile of muddy blankets that stank of mold and sweat. The hollowed-out Ohndariens she had enslaved knelt unblinkingly along one wall, black tears trickling constantly from empty eyes. Their strained breathing seemed suddenly loud in the little room.
Issefyn struggled to her feet, fighting her torn and filthy nightgown. Her head swam and she nearly fell. Holding the containment stone close to her chest, she gathered her power, cleared her senses.
“I am not amused by your little joke, ’Teris. There is no reason for Morgeon’s daughter to return.”
He smiled, speaking directly into her mind. Not Arefaine. The other one.
“Shara!” She gripped the containment stone tighter. “Where?”
“She’s found your favorite pet.”
Issefyn sent her attention into the city, searching for Baelandra’s brat. The ugly little cur had been her first transformation. The reins that controlled her mind were always close at hand. She followed the tendrils of emmeria, finding the child, seeing through her eyes.
She hissed and turned a blazing gaze on Victeris. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“Why didn’t you know yourself?”
Issefyn pressed her palms against her containment stone and sucked the black emmeria from it, a long heady draft. She grinned as she swelled with power, feeling the blinding light burning within her.
She would send ten. No, twenty. Let the righteous bitch deal with that.
Seven indentured jerked as she pushed the black emmeria into them, filling their hollow bodies with life. Issefyn clenched her teeth, fighting to extend her reach. It was like pushing her fist into cold mud. Controlling three or four was simple, but each one beyond that seemed to double the difficulty.
An eighth shuddered, its dead eyes turning to look at her. Sweat broke out on her forehead. She clenched her fist and pushed into a ninth.
“Having trou
ble, Mother?” Victeris asked.
She let out a little grunt and lost her hold on the last. Her body shook, and she ignored the shade’s smug grin as she took control of it again.
That is enough, she thought. Plenty to squash the cowardly little slut.
Panting like one of the indentured, she gave the slaves their orders.
They rose from their knees as one and raced to the broken door. With inhuman speed they hurled it aside and rushed down the spiral stairs.
“So few, Mother? Why not send fifty?”
“Shut up, ‘Teris.” By the gods, she would destroy that shade very soon. His voice sent needles into her neck. She needed to concentrate. The strain increased as the indentured rushed down the stairs and out of the tower.
“If nine is all you can manage, then let me send more for you. I will send a hundred.”
“And let you out of Morgeon’s box?” she whispered through her teeth. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
He chuckled.
She left the shade to his posturing and let her attention run with her ani slaves. Dark buildings blurred past them. She could hear their breathing in her ears and the thud of their feet on the cobblestones as they ran toward the alley where Shara held the struggling Baedellin. Issefyn smiled. And when they reached her, they—
Her arms jerked as her stone was ripped from her grip.
“No!” she shouted, her consciousness snapping back into her body. One of the indentured bobbled her containment stone as she clawed it out of his grasp.
It clattered to the ground, spinning awkwardly. The black-eyed man shoved her aside, his big, sluggish hands fumbling with the crystal. Issefyn dove, spearing her arm past the big man’s shoulder and tackling the stone. She clutched it to her chest and sucked the black emmeria into herself.
“Get back!” she screamed, using her will like a whip. The indentured toppled sideways and convulsed on the ground.