Raven's Hand

by James Somers

  “What do you mean you saw the attack?” she asked.

  Raven did not look away, did not hesitate. “I saw in a vision as the Cindermen battered your armored carriage. They sought to kill you, but could not find you. Instead, they found Celia. Judah, or at least someone I supposed must be their leader, cut her throat and left her body lying in the ditch.”

  Evelyn gasped unintentionally before realizing it. She knew that Raven spoke true. While the Cindermen attacked her guards, Evelyn had hidden inside a specially designed secret compartment within the middle wall of the carriage. She had watched through a peep-hole as the lion-like leader of the Cindermen killed the young girl she had taken with her from the abbey.

  She took a step into the room toward the girl, her wand held out before her, ready to strike if need be. “You can see the future? What else have you seen?”

  Raven remained quiet for a moment, her eyes following the tip of the silver Malkind wand. The runes upon the metal glowed faintly; merely a reaction to Evelyn’s thoughts. When she actually commanded it, those runes would flare. This was what Raven feared; more pain at Evelyn’s hands.

  “Speak up, girl,” Evelyn said. “When you should be quiet you speak, and when I want answers you hold your tongue?”

  Evelyn’s wrist cocked back, swishing the tip of the wand to her right. Simultaneously, the wand flared at her thought command, and Raven felt something akin to an invisible hand strike her across the face. Her head jerked sideways, and her cheek burned as much or more as it would have had the queen come to her and physically struck her with the palm of her hand.

  “Tell me what you have seen regarding House Rainier and the war,” Evelyn demanded again. “Does Nathan succeed his father, or does calamity befall us first?”

  Before she had time to think about answering, the wand swished back in the other direction with more force, delivering a blow that sent stars swimming in Raven’s vision, knocking her from her perch on the couch to the rug occupying most of the floor space in the cell.

  The metallic tang of blood filled Raven’s mouth. She could feel her cheek swelling on one side, impeding her speech. She looked up at the queen, Evelyn looming before her with her wand ready.

  “I have seen nothing regarding this house,” Raven spat as blood gathered upon her lips.”

  “Lies!” Evelyn shrieked, reminding Raven of the crone from her dreams; the cackling hag who only desired to cause her unending pain.

  The wand moved again, but Evelyn used it to inflict nerve pain this time. Raven felt burning in the pit of her stomach; a flame that wanted to devour her innards like worms upon a corpse. She cried out in agony, Evelyn holding her in the grip of the wand’s power.

  Raven writhed upon the floor as a thousand daggers drove themselves invisibly through her body. All at once, Evelyn relented, and the pain subsided like a switch that has been thrown into its off position. Still, the queen was not through.

  “Tell me what you have seen!” she demanded.

  Raven could only manage to gasp for the breath that she had been holding against the pain a moment ago.

  “I have heard from Kane about the boy,” Evelyn said. “You kissed him in the alley and begged him not to fight my soldiers.”

  She let this statement hang between them for a moment before continuing. “Since you evidently care for him, I will do much worse to this Killian Radden-son. I will peel the flesh from his bones for weeks, and then, when I finally allow him to die, I will toss his ragged corpse in here with you!” She raised the wand again. “Now, tell me what will become of House Rainier!”

  Evelyn’s words gripped my heart. I forgot the pain I had just experienced, as anger burned through my mind. Power welled within me, like a storm raging out of control. Mistress Evelyn had hurt me many times, but I could not allow the crone to touch Killian. I would stop her—with my final breath if need be.

  The door behind Evelyn creaked slightly on its hinge, drawing her attention. It slammed shut at my thought command. She jumped as it banged hard against the frame, but turned back to me with her wand; its runes glowing fiercely.

  But I was no longer afraid. After all, what power did she really have? If I choose to disobey, to rebel against her, what could she do that she was not already willing to do anyway? She could not risk killing me, but she had already threatened Killian. Somewhere in this palace, she was holding him prisoner.

  A burst of energy, in the form of lightning, erupted from the silver Malkind wand. It struck me like a thunderclap hammering the ground. I was thrown backward into the bannister, my head cracking against the wood hard enough to daze me.

  But I refused to be beaten any longer. My eyes flashed with inner fire. The actual fire, burning within the grate to my left, leaped out of the hearth toward Evelyn. Startled, she screamed, waving her wand before her, warding off the flames only at the last possible moment. The sleeve of her garment briefly ignited before she frantically tamped it out. The remaining flames had been redirected into the stone wall, scorching it black before dissipating completely.

  Instantly, Evelyn pointed the wand back to me, her hair in disarray, her general appearance disheveled now. There was something present in her eyes that I had never seen before. Fear had taken up residence there.

  Soldiers beat upon the heavy door behind her. Frantically they called to their queen. Evelyn waved the wand behind her quickly, keeping her gaze steadfastly upon me. I could feel the pressure as she attempted to use that power to open the door to the soldiers beyond, but I was stronger than this Malkind instrument. It was a tool, powerful to an extent, but nothing compared to the energies commanded by Bright Ones like myself. Otherwise, the houses would never have bothered to cultivate the Daughters of Eliam for their bonds.

  We both heard the timbers of the door groaning to obey her, but still the door did not open. I was holding it with an iron will. Evelyn had now pushed me too far and she would face my fury.

  I began to realize what I was doing, as my energies rose to the point of bursting, as my anger threatened to overwhelm my reason. I was actually prepared to kill the mistress of House Rainier, Queen of the Realm. If I did this, I would become a criminal, hunted until the day I died. I would never have a home or family, never be allowed to live at peace with Killian.

  Evelyn noticed my hesitation. She could at least sense my fury welling. I saw in her expression that she expected me to kill her, but my slight reluctance was her one remaining opportunity to save herself. She did not beg for her life. Instead, being the woman that she was, she attacked.

  Flinging herself sideways, in a move that I did not anticipate from a woman of her age, she fired off another more powerful bolt of lightning. She was desperate now; both desiring to save her own life and preserve me as her son’s bond. Yet, this was her weakness: she could not kill me.

  If the king expired before Prince Nathan could assume the throne, then the monarchy would become available to the other great houses. Political resolutions were slow and cumbersome by nature. A war for power would surely erupt. The strongest house would take the crown for themselves, leaving House Rainier subject. Historically, it had been the practice of every newly reigning king to assassinate the members of his predecessor’s family. It was so much easier to start with a clean slate.

  Evelyn must have realized that I was the only salvation for her and her family. Yet, I was also the very person trying to kill her and escape my imprisonment. And I meant to do exactly that. She would not harm Killian.

  Instinctively, I shielded myself from the lightning bolt that stabbed through the air toward me. I barely managed the effort, instead desperately absorbing part of the energy and redirecting it back at her. Evelyn cried out when the bolt hit her. She flew back into the wall near the door, sliding down in a daze. Her wand rolled from her hand across the floor.

  I had her exactly where I wanted her. If I attacked now, there would be nothing she could do to stop me. Mistress Evelyn would die, and I would escape to find Kil
lian. If I left her alive, I would never be with him. Even if we were hunted, at least we would be together. I felt certain Killian would feel the same way.

  I reached for the power and then focused it upon Evelyn lying upon the floor. My aim was to put fire into her body and end her life. Finally, I had the will to stop this woman.

  Then the door burst open, and everything changed in an instant. Kane stood in the threshold with his right foot out where he had just kicked the door in. He did not speak. He didn’t have to.

  His presence was all that was required to throw me off of my attack. My plan would come to nothing. I knew that I could not defeat him.

  Still, I refused to give up so easily. I had to at least try. If Evelyn was rescued, then she would do all that she had threatened toward Killian on my behalf.

  I redirected my energies, throwing caution to the wind. My fire hit him squarely, drawing a cry of pain from the assassin and cries of alarm from the soldiers waiting behind him. The Malkind spirit within the man awakened in time to counterattack, hurling me backwards before I could even mount a defense.

  This attack was far more forceful than anything Evelyn had produced during our brief altercation. Her wand, which drew power from the Malkind, was nothing in comparison with the very spirits themselves. This inner malevolence meant to kill me, but Kane still possessed the self-control necessary to rein in the spirit’s destructive potential.

  As I regained some of my composure, pulling myself off of the floor, a shadow loomed over me. Kane’s hand shot out to grab my throat. He pulled me bodily from the floor, my legs dangling beneath me, my breathing choked.

  I desperately attempted to muster my energies for another attack, but the Malkind spirit dampened my ability. I felt dizzy, and not just because I couldn’t breathe. The spirit was forcing me into a place of confusion and fear. I was trying to fight it, but its power was overwhelming.

  “Don’t kill her!” I heard Evelyn cry out behind the assassin.

  His gaze slipped sidelong in deference, then back to me with a grin. His other hand rose. There was no weapon in his hand. He brought it down, striking me such a blow that my consciousness snuffed out like a candle flame.

  Dungeon Master

  Killian woke in the darkness. He remembered the evening before when the soldiers from the royal palace had placed him deep within the dungeon keep. Despite his heroics the day before, and despite his pleas of innocence, he had become a criminal in the eyes of the king and the royal house.

  His cell was a dark yet dry place. It was reasonably warm as well, making Killian wonder if the furnace supplying hot water to the palace might not be nearby, possibly somewhere in the structure above him. A spelled gemstone, of little monetary value, sat within a wall-mounted sconce outside the bars of his cage. Still, very little of the amber-colored light emanating from it actually reached his cell.

  Killian sighed heavily. As far as he could tell, there were no other prisoners present in this part of the dungeon. A lone palace guard slept at the end of the corridor.

  He began to pray to Eliam. Laughter from the back of his cell startled him. Looking from the illuminated hall toward the sound, Killian found that his eyes could not find the source of the noise.

  A sulfur match ignited in the dark, lighting the head of a pipe and briefly illuminating the face of the one smoking it. Killian spotted the tell-tale eye patch of the man who had killed both Yeager and his daughter. He rose from the stone floor, ready to attack the man, but stopped when Eye Patch laughed again.

  “Don’t be so foolish, Killian Radden-son,” he said, waving the match sharply to extinguish it, returning the cell to near complete darkness. “You have no weapons, but I do.”

  Killian heard the metallic scrape of what was probably the man’s knife-hand. He remembered the deadly appendage from the attack at the Mangy Cur. Obviously, Eye-patch wasn’t a prisoner here, but that still didn’t explain why he was in the cell with him, or how he knew Killian’s name.

  “Who are you?”

  Killian had originally supposed that this man was a mere mercenary, a bottom feeder living paycheck to paycheck and having neither honor nor allegiance to any particular great house. However, a mercenary would not have the ability to place himself inside this cell unless he knew the royal family personally. Very uncharacteristic of House Rainier, even during desperate times like these.

  He heard the man’s leather gauntlets stretching as he stood up in the dark. “My name is Rosta, General Rosta.”

  A general—this was nothing like what Killian expected. To his knowledge, there was no General Rosta serving with House Rainier. In fact, he had never heard the name before of any great house.

  “Why are you trying to kill me?” Killian asked, raising his voice, wondering if the guard would hear and intervene. After all, this man claimed to have at least one weapon, possibly more.

  Rosta laughed in the darkness, moving closer, his features just coming into the light now. “Boy, if I wanted you dead, you would already be rotting in the ground like your friends at the inn.”

  Killian’s emotions got the better of him. He thought of Yeager and Wendy. He snapped, lunging for the older man. Weapon or not, he meant to kill the man with the eye patch.

  However, Rosta was cunning. He kicked out with a heavy boot, catching Killian’s legs. He stumbled forward, right into Rosta’s gauntleted elbow.

  The blow caught him across his jaw, forcing his head sideways and further confusing his progress towards his adversary. Killian spun like a top, falling sideways. He landed awkwardly against the general’s chest, disoriented and seeing stars in his vision.

  Rosta laughed in his ear, dropping two forearms like hammers down across Killian’s back between his shoulder blades. He crumpled to the floor heavily, the cold stones adding further injury to insult. Rosta began to circle him where he lay struggling to regain his composure.

  “Your father was commissioned to create the blessed sword for Prince Nathan,” Rosta said. “You happened to be the errand boy transporting it.”

  Killian spat blood from his mouth onto the floor of the cell, attempting to raise himself up on his arms. “You’re too late,” he said between ragged breaths. “The Prince already has the sword by now.”

  Rosta planted a boot in Killian’s ribs, lifting the younger man off of the ground with the kick. “You pathetic fool,” he said. “Do you really think it matters? House Rainier is compromised to its core. How do you suppose I came to be in here with you?”

  “Help! Guard!” Killian cried out desperately.

  “Yell, all you want,” Rosta said, mockingly. “Half of Stephen’s soldiers belong to me already. House Rainier will soon fall.”

  Killian tried to holler again for the guard, but Rosta kicked out at his side. He managed to flip Killian over onto his back and then planted himself astride the young man. A meaty fist pummeled Killian’s face and head over and over again. The other hand was replaced not with a blade, but with some sort of prosthetic, resembling a hand.

  “Don’t worry, boy, my master isn’t ready to kill you yet.”

  Rosta continued to pulverize his face, raining down vicious blows while laughing the entire time. The guard remained at his post down the hall, seemingly hearing nothing at all. Rosta pounded away even after unconsciousness took Killian, leaving him a bloody mess upon the dungeon floor.

  Radden waited impatiently in the vestibular seating area outside King Stephen’s private audience chamber. It was here that the king, in days gone by, would see certain of his subjects by special appointment. On one occasion, Radden had enjoyed the privilege of meeting the king personally in this very chamber. It had been on that day that Stephen had commissioned his first weapon, a sword, from him.

  However, he had been instructed to wait here today by one of the queen’s stewards. No doubt, King Stephen was indisposed, being too sick to see anyone personally now. If Radden was lucky, perhaps the queen would at least see him regarding Killian’s arrest.
He did make it clear that he was the boy’s father, when he arrived at the palace over an hour ago.

  Now, however, his nerves were beginning to wear thin. He had been treated politely enough, so far, but the steward had given him a wary look when he had told him what his business was regarding. Intuition told him that Killian’s arrest was not a secret among those working in the palace.

  Radden waited another twenty minutes before a servant appeared from behind one of the gilded doors to the chamber.

  “Her Majesty, will see you briefly,” the young female servants said to him, ushering him from his seat with a beckoning hand.

  Radden was quick to his feet, striding through the door not a little indignantly. Still, he managed at the last moment to remember decorum. He was about to meet with the most powerful woman in the kingdom. Considering that her husband, the king, was near death and her son was preparing to take possession of the throne from his father, Evelyn was more accurately the most powerful person in the entire kingdom.

  Upon entering the room, Radden found before him a purple carpet with gold embroidery leading from the door to the dais where sat a throne of gold cushioned in that same royal purple. Queen Evelyn—though her title was actually Mistress of House Rainier—sat upon that royal throne, staring at Radden as he made his approach along the carpet. She remained statue still, only her eyes following his progress.

  Radden bowed to her before the dais, dropping to one knee. Evelyn did not wait for him to brook his complaint. Instead, she immediately took command of the exchange, catching Radden somewhat by surprise.

  “You have come to beg for the life of your son,” Evelyn said matter-of-factly.

  Radden stammered only for a moment. “My Queen, should I beg for Killian’s life when he has committed no crime? Unless, of course, saving the prince’s bond from certain death at the hands of the Cindermen has lately become a crime. My son fought bravely against the enemies of House Rainier in the interests of the royal family. I confess myself perplexed by his arrest.”