Namesake

by Kate Stradling

  “Our allies have scouts observing them already, though no one in their midst. But unless you can kill Agoros tonight, we need your strength in battle tomorrow.”

  “You think he will wait until tomorrow to attack?”

  Etricos looks down at his hands. “I don’t know.”

  “Would you?”

  “No. Darkness creates confusion. If we could attack tonight without losing our higher ground, I would order it.”

  I consider the options before me. “We can see their fires from the cliffside. My students can attack from here with their superlatives.”

  A corner of his mouth lifts in amusement. “Can they cause any damage from such a distance?”

  “Distance is but an illusion,” I reply with an airy wave of my hand. “The issue will be whether the Bulokai have enough magicians to guard their fires against our interference.”

  “Then perhaps you might scout among them before you engage your students in such attacks. They are your spark-bearers, Anjeni. You may command them as you please.”

  Surprise seeps through me. Etricos trusts me to decide our path without him. The weight of responsibility digs into me like the ornate headdress I yet wear. Wordless, I turn to leave.

  “Anjeni,” he says, and I pause at the exit of his tent. He draws his letter close to resume writing, his voice casual. “At some point, Aitana will understand that there is no room at my side for anyone but Tora. Dima is her second choice. He deserves to be someone’s first.”

  To what degree does he know of my relationship with his brother?

  “Demetrios will choose his own future,” I say, unable to meet his gaze.

  “Then I hope he chooses wisely.”

  This remark earns him a quick glance. Etricos smiles, as sincere as he can be under the circumstances. I nod and slip through the tent flap, into the night.

  Voices around the campfire hush as a dozen or more gazes bore into me. Aitana and her father sit on either side of Demetrios, with the younger brother and sister nearby and half of my spark-bearers filling out the circle. I incline my head—condescending—and glide into the privacy of my own tent, where I pull the painful headdress from my skull and toss it to the ground.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The greasy smoke of oil-fueled fires billows into the night air amid swirling embers. Warriors move in and out of the shadows. The spikes of their armor glint wicked in the dancing orange light. I skulk along the edge of the Bulokai camp, ever alert for signs of their magicians, or of Agoros himself.

  Does he lead his armies, or do they nest around him as protection? I cannot venture into the camp without risk of someone glimpsing my shadow-form between the fires. If he is not at the edge, he is beyond my reach for now.

  The Bulokai foot soldiers show no signs of bunking down for the night. Rather, they sharpen weapons and spar with one another. Their commanders stride through their ranks, eyes alert as they observe these activities.

  A chittering sound draws my attention. Shadows move further down the encampment, huge hulking shapes. The churring shifts in volume to a screech that shoots a chill up my spine.

  It’s the screech of the scaly, monstrous creature I encountered when I first arrived through the Eternity Gate.

  Meaning that demons cluster within this host, and their mutant horses with them. But the demon warriors were supposed to fear the spark to such a degree that they have fled on mere rumors of magic alone. Was it a ruse, a pretense to embolden the Helenai?

  I move toward the sound, a moth drawn to the flame that may prove its demise. Four of the strange mounts hunch together in the dark. One spots me and bucks its long head. Its eyes roll back as another screech cuts from its throat. I blend into the shadows of a scrubby tree to observe.

  A demon warrior lopes between the tents. The far, feeble fires highlight his bristled face, but dimly. I expect him to comfort the restive beasts. Instead he singles out the noisy one and tightens a muzzle around it. The creature chitters, and the demon utters what sounds like jumbled curses. He yanks on the strap around its mouth, eliciting a smothered yelp.

  I never thought I would pity a mutant horse, but I do. Quickly I move on. If my unnatural presence upsets the creatures, they will only receive further punishment.

  Ever watchful, I glide through the underbrush. Now that I know to look for them, I spy many more demons within the camp. They clump together in areas away from the fires, sometimes blending so closely into the dark that only their slight movements betray them. Their scaly mounts pepper the borders of the army. Another of the creatures spots my projection and shrieks its alarm.

  “If you can’t keep those wretched beasts quiet now, how will we possibly sneak up on the insurrectionists?”

  A Bulokai warrior—human—stands arms akimbo by the closest bonfire. He addresses a mammoth shadow, a sneer upon his face.

  The demon, in lieu of answering, hocks a loogie on the warrior’s gleaming boots. A strangled cry erupts from the man. He jumps back and utters a string of insults as he wipes the top of his boot against a patch of scrubby grass. “You filthy lug. If Lord Agoros himself had not expressly forbid it, I would repay your insolence with flames.”

  In this manner, I pinpoint my first magician in the Bulokai army.

  The demon lumbers to its feet, towering over the furious man. He speaks in a guttural voice. “If Agoros had not expressly forbid it, I would cleave your skull in two and eat your brains for dinner.”

  The magician doesn’t flinch. “You’d be dead before you could heft your weapon, lummox.”

  They glare at one another, each refusing to allow the other to menace him. A shrill whistle from further within the camp slices through the palpable tension. Demon and magician alike step back, their attention flitting to the source of this interruption. A second man emerges from between the tents, his uniform similar to the magician’s.

  He eyes the pair. “Is everything here all right?”

  “No.” The demon growls and turns away in contempt. His hulking silhouette tromps toward the churring mounts. I keep him in my sight as I focus my ears on the pair of magicians he left behind.

  “You know that Lord Agoros commanded us not to provoke them,” the newcomer says.

  His fellow snorts. “The cowards should know their place by now. We lost a dozen settlements on mere rumors of enemy magic? Pathetic.”

  A form crosses behind them, another demon who spits at their feet as he passes. The first magician twists to follow him, a blaze of fire on his fist, but the second grabs him by the arm and strips the magic from him.

  “Don’t—!”

  Monstrous figures peel from the shadows, forming a circle around the pair, clubs and morning stars held at menacing angles. The first demon returns from attending his restless animals and joins his fellows.

  “Stand down,” says the second magician. “We’re allies, not enemies.”

  No one moves. The hostility in the air is thick enough to strangle someone. The first magician narrows his eyes. His mouth curls upward in a sneer, and—

  “What have we here?”

  The question snaps everyone from their silent confrontation. Demons slink to one side to allow the speaker passage through their midst. The two magicians, meanwhile, bow their heads in obsequious greeting.

  But I require none of these cues to identify this newcomer. I recognize his voice.

  Agoros of the Bulokai addresses the first demon. “Why do you threaten those I have charged to protect you?”

  “Protect,” the demon repeats in a guttural sneer. “Protectors who will strike us when we turn our backs.”

  Though a head shorter than the hulking figure, Agoros does not cower in the least. His expression hardens, evidence of a short temper held in check. “My magicians keep you safe from the enemy spark-bearers. They stand ready to intercept the attacks you fear the most, to pave your pathway to battle and destruction.”

  “They summon flames to subject us, as though we are slaves or pa
ck animals.”

  Agoros slides a glance to the pair behind him. They stand their ground, their shoulders stiff. “They will not attack you. I have given you my word.”

  The demon swipes the air with a massive hand. “Your word means nothing. We have seen you break it countless times.”

  “You question my honor?” Agoros’s voice has turned deadly. The scene stills, every onlooker—including myself—hanging upon the tense interchange. The leader of the Bulokai waits until the demon before him starts to squirm. Only then does he deign to say, “We are all on the same side, Captain. When this last sliver of resistance dies, you and your kind will have free rein in these southern lands, as I promised you from the start.”

  Bristled lips curl to reveal sharp, pointed teeth. “And what will stop you from enslaving us as you have enslaved your human conquests?”

  Agoros views him through half-lidded eyes. “What use have I for slaves who would consume more than they produce? You are creatures of war, not of industry. When this conflict ends, we go our separate ways.”

  He turns on his heel and strides past his pair of magicians. The demon captain glances speculatively to the weapon angled in his hand, as though he contemplates whether to strike down the leader of the Bulokai here and now. The spikes of his morning star glint from the far fire.

  Lightning-quick, I wrench a spark from those flames and shoot it like an arrow through the demon’s heart.

  He keels back with a ghastly intake of breath. The demons nearest him lunge to catch him.

  Agoros spins to confront his pair of underlings. “Who dares—?”

  But it’s too late. The area erupts in chaos. Demons howl and magic flares, and a war horn cracks through the night. Agoros cuts a flaming path through the bristle-faced beasts, his wild eyes seeking the darkness for the source of the errant superlative that felled his reluctant ally.

  His gaze swivels my direction, but I wink away and surface in my tent with a deep, tight-throated gasp.

  My head swims and my body shudders. I roll off my cot to the ground and retch, the whole world shaking around me.

  What was I thinking? The upper intermediates in that projected form nearly killed me. The second superlative, simple though it was, has drained any sense of equilibrium. I labor for air; tears well in my eyes as prospective death by suffocation looms before me. Bile pushes up from my stomach, burning my esophagus and leaving an acrid taste at the back of my throat. I cough and heave, my cheek against the ground as my limbs flutter like leaves in the wind.

  A commotion arises beyond my tent. Voices shout warnings I cannot discern. The entrance parts and Demetrios comes in.

  “Anjeni—!” The rest of his words catch in his throat when he spies me lying in the dirt. He skids to his knees and gathers me into his arms, a dozen curses falling from his lips. “Get Cosi!” he barks, and I vaguely register the presence of a second figure in the door. The person retreats.

  Demetrios smooths my hair back from my face. “Breathe, Anjeni. Breathe.”

  I force an inhale, my lungs on fire. He tilts my chin up, and my airway loosens. Still my body trembles in the throes of its seizure.

  The tent flap parts again, and Etricos enters.

  His younger brother lights into him. “What did you do? What did you tell her to do?”

  Etricos shakes his head. “I told her only to scout, to conserve her energy for battle. What has she done?”

  “I don’t know! I found her like this!”

  “Keep her safe. Do everything you can. I’ll engage our allies outside and keep them away from her for now. How long do these episodes last?”

  “I don’t know,” Demetrios says again. “I’ve told her not to—! Cosi—!”

  “Keep her safe, Dima. I’ll return when we know what’s happening in the Bulokai camp.”

  Etricos departs into the night. Demetrios, his hand gentle, wipes the corner of my mouth and the tears that pool in my eyes. My breath comes easier the longer he holds me, and the shuddering lessens. I grasp the buckle of his armor.

  “D-didn’t m-mean to…” I manage through wavering lips.

  “Don’t talk,” Demetrios says, and his hold on me tightens. He cradles me in his lap, hunched protectively around me. “The Bulokai have sounded their war horns. Messengers from the cliffside came to warn us, and I came straight to you. Anjeni, what did you do?”

  He tells me not to talk but asks me questions? I bury my face against his chest and focus on controlling the tremors within me. I’m as weak as a newborn; even holding up my head is a monumental task.

  He adjusts his hold upon me and drops a kiss upon my cheek. The act startles me so that I instinctively open my eyes and look up at him.

  The anguish I saw in him this afternoon has returned. I reach fingers up to touch his face, but he catches them. “Don’t move. Don’t talk. Just breathe, love.”

  A raspy chuckle erupts from my throat, and his expression darkens.

  “Anjeni—”

  “I won’t die,” I murmur. The world around me still trembles, but my body has settled closer to its usual rhythm.

  “You’d better not,” Demetrios says.

  We sit in silence. Beyond the tent, voices shout orders to arm and assemble. I hope that my seconds-in-command have sense enough to corral the other spark-bearers. The longer I lie motionless, the more alert I feel, but when I try to sit up, Demetrios’s grip on me tightens.

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  I start to protest. “The Bulokai—”

  “Cosi will handle it.”

  “I saw him, Demetrios. I saw Agoros.”

  He stills, his expression hard. “You attacked him?”

  I shake my head, a minute movement that sends my vision spinning again. “I killed one of his demon captains.”

  “Why?”

  “They were at odds—so much mistrust. Too perfect not to interfere.” I squeeze my fingers around his and offer a faint smile. “Shouldn’t have used a superlative. Didn’t think. Sorry.”

  He breathes a frustrated sigh.

  Upon this scene Etricos reappears. “The Bulokai are fighting among themselves. Magic flares in their midst, and the war horns echo across the canyon below without drawing nearer to us.”

  Nestled in his brother’s arms, I meet his gaze. My words leave my throat in little better than a croak. “Take my spark-bearers to the cliff’s edge. Spread them out. They can add to the chaos.”

  Etricos assesses me. “What risk will that bring to us?”

  “If they use only superlatives, there should be none beyond the usual fatigue.” I rub my forehead against Demetrios, my eyelids drooping. “I will join them when I’m better.”

  “You’re not going,” my caretaker says, his voice rumbling in his chest.

  His concern, endearing as it is, cannot govern my actions. This is war. “I will come when I can,” I reaffirm.

  Etricos exchanges a glance with his brother and bows out of the tent. His voice rings from beyond as he issues orders to my waiting spark-bearers.

  I turn my gaze upward. “I can’t stay in here while everyone else fights.”

  The muscles along Demetrios’s jaw tighten. “Know your limits, Anjeni. If you die, so will we all.”

  He exaggerates, I think, but I won’t protest an extra half-hour cradled against him. I relax and focus on keeping my breath steady. His warmth provides comfort. As my senses level, my awareness of my situation heightens.

  My limbs are like ice, stripped of energy. The warmth that returns by degrees sends goosebumps shivering up my arms. “Demetrios, thank you,” I whisper. His presence has calmed the panic within me, and his nearness restores the heat I have lost. As the seconds and minutes course by, I feel more and more like myself.

  Beyond the walls of my tent, the encampment has fallen into restive silence. I strain my ears for sounds of battle, for the far-off call of the enemy war horn, but I cannot hear anything. Tentatively I lift my head.

  The
world does not swim before my eyes. I meet Demetrios’s wordless gaze. As though sensing my resolve to join my spark-bearers, he loosens his hold upon me.

  Despite my best efforts, I list in my attempt to rise. Demetrios catches me before I can fall. “Anjeni—”

  “I’m all right,” I say, my head ducked low. My vision fizzles with one breath and returns with the next. “If I make no appearance, our allies may lose their confidence.”

  He does not argue, much to my surprise, but supports me as I stand. We trudge to the tent flap and exit to an abandoned campsite. Warriors dash among the shadows beyond the ring of fire, headed toward the cliffside and the commotion it overlooks. I orient my steps that direction as well, but a call from the gloom arrests me.

  “Goddess Anjeni.”

  Adrenaline spikes into my blood. I whirl upon the familiar, insidious voice. From the darkness, Agoros emerges in his projected form, hatred in his eyes and a sneer upon his mouth. Demetrios grasps my upper arm as though to drag me away, but I dig in my heels.

  “I should kill you right now,” Agoros says. That gossamer thread that connects him to his physical form burns with menace of a building attack.

  Yet he does not release it, and I think I now know why. The Bulokai do not follow him from love or loyalty but from the power he offers them.

  “Your own men would slit your throat in the aftermath if you attack me in this form,” I say.

  His sneer intensifies, proof that my guess has struck its mark. “Ready yourself and your people, goddess. Death comes upon you this night.”

  “Only if you can quell the conflict in your own army first.”

  He barks a laugh. “I thought Etricos of the Helenai would drum up more than a few hundred warriors. I can destroy your pathetic uprising on my own power. Your interference tonight merely saves me the trouble of tidying up my followers when all is finished.” On that mocking declaration, he vanishes into wisps of smoke and ash.

  The far-off war horns carry on the wind. I glance toward the cliffs, my heart rising in my throat. “I need to find Agoros in the flesh. I should have aimed for him instead of the demon.”