Gods of Shadow and Flame

by M. H. Johnson

  Apple desperately grasped Malek's hand. “Come on, this one's a loss, let's go!”

  “Get out, you madman!”

  There was so much he wanted to say. But he couldn't even risk turning around. Malek forced himself to follow his companion's lead, his furious gaze causing both knights to step back, glaring their shared hate, but content to leave him be, so long as he was leaving.

  4

  “Malek, what just happened?”

  Soft, frightened eyes looked searchingly into his own.

  They had walked for some moments in seemingly random directions. Malek had his reasons, though mostly, it was to put as much space between Lord Girighet's manor and himself as possible.

  “Malek?”

  Malek still hungered for that sneering lord's screams. Daring to mock Apple's mixed heritage right to her face. Shaming her with her own birth, unclaimed daughter of the king that she was, her mother no harlot but gone willing to her king's bed to spare her husband's barony utter ruination. And Apple, poor Apple. Beloved by all, raised as Arthur's own, the king himself now in fond approval of a clan he had once sought to break. And no lord had dared to so much as whisper Apple's true heritage, let alone mock her with it. No lord, that was, until Girighet had thrown it in Apple's face, leering as she crumpled with shame, even as Malek had been rendered momentarily speechless, in peril of blacking out to a storm of red rage, just a heartbeat away.

  He recalled the vile lord's mocking insults with crystal clarity now, with the benefit of a good half mile pacing the snow covered city streets, a panting Apple in tow.

  And that odd scent that had tickled the back of his nose. Now it clicked. Old musk and bitter spice.

  The agent had been there as well.

  “Malek.”

  He forced himself to stop, gaze down apologetically at a panting, irate Apple.

  “I'm sorry.”

  “What happened back there?”

  He gave a bitter shake of his head. "I learned that I'm every inch the savage all my father's cronies claim me to be."

  Apple hit his arm in frustration, before wincing, forgetting for a moment the scale armor he wore.

  “Are you okay, Apple?”

  "Yes!" she said, rubbing her hand still. "Saints above, Malek, what were you trying to do?"

  Malek grimaced, shaking his head. "Come on. Let's head for the southern gate up ahead. On the off chance that lord would make trouble, I'd rather not have to dance apologies to the Guild. Too much is at stake, and not enough time."

  “Has Twilight talked to you since...”

  “Since my dream? No. But he was clear. And his information's proven accurate so far. But we've already spent every coin to my name, getting just these half dozen writs, and for all that we have a handful more to go, we don't have time to call upon any other markers.”

  Apple grimaced and nodded. “I know how much Raphael adores my sister, yet when we came to the manor...”

  Malek gave a sad shake of his head. "Their whole family, vacationing in the southern isles, ostensibly looking to establish spice routes, but I'm sure it's to escape the political storm brewing as much as anything else."

  Apple's gaze turned solemn. “You don't think...”

  "Intimidated?" Malek sighed. "I know that Raphael would walk through fire for Jess. The seneschal even made it quite clear he would be happy to extend credit to me in the exact amount of that last writ, right before we went to call upon that pustulent Girighet. And for him to make such an offer, a fortune no less, based on nothing more than Raphael or his father's parting counsel... no. The diOnni clan is, and always has been, the most loyal of friends, keenly aware of the debt they claim to owe Jess and me both."

  Malek gave a sympathetic shrug. "But they are a clan of traders, not warriors. Traders savvy enough to know that the most assured path to survival is to avoid perilous times entirely. Not try to face a nest of serpents head-on. They no doubt caught wind of trouble brewing months ago, and left Erovering back when no one thought Jess would even recover. Honestly, I doubt Raphael has the faintest awareness of the daggers being aimed for our sister's heart, and no doubt it is only because your clan is so vulnerable at this moment, with Ulric gone and our allies out of reach, that these bloody bastards have dared to strike!"

  Malek glared, and the bow wave of their passing seemed to only grow wider, people now making a deliberate effort to stay out of their way, even as they approached the southern gate, the grand wall of pristine white stone sparkling so peacefully by the light of the setting sun. An odd contrast, Malek thought, to the ugly secrets, plots, and cowardice infecting the lives of so many nobles calling this wondrous city their home.

  “Malek?”

  Apple's voice, anxious, as they approached the lords gate.

  Yet the pair of halberdiers, upon seeing them exit, nodded them through, without saying a word.

  Who, after all, wanted to make trouble with Delvers radiating danger like a charging bull? Especially when they were exiting the glass shop, so to speak, allowing everyone still inside to breathe easy once more. Malek shook his head ruefully, his thoughts having turned grim indeed.

  As well it should. He had almost committed a high crime, all in a moment of pique.

  “Malek?”

  Apple's voice, softer now as few indeed were taking the southern gate at nightfall in the coldest winter on record. Few, save a Delver or the wealthiest of lords with pavilions in tow, would even dare.

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  Malek smiled. "Anytime, Apple."

  His open face helm, for all that it was constructed of rawhide, bone, and scales all sundered from the most dire beasts of Shadow, did absolutely nothing to stop her lips from softly pressing against his own once more.

  Malek blinked in surprise.

  “My knight, forever protecting my honor and virtue, from bloodthirsty slavers and slandering lords alike.”

  Malek grinned, bending down to gently kiss her forehead.

  Apple's lips intercepted his own.

  His heart began to hammer.

  Arms, treacherous arms, suddenly holding the sweet girl tenderly in his embrace.

  No.

  No!

  Never again.

  He had sworn, never again.

  Hurt green eyes gazed into his own. “Malek?”

  He grimaced and looked away. “I'm sorry, Apple. Please. I'm sorry.”

  “Malek?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you care for me?”

  Malek smiled sadly. “More, I think, than you will ever know.”

  Apple smiled back, squeezing his hand tightly. "It's okay, you know."

  Malek gazed curiously at the girl in the twilight. “What's okay?”

  "I don't mind that you and Jess were lovers."

  Malek stumbled and coughed.

  Apple grinned playfully. “Have a sip from your flask. No doubt you swallowed a fly. And pass it to me, I'm thirsty too.” She drank for some moments. “Watered mead. Why am I not surprised?”

  Malek shrugged. “Water goes bad. Most people mix their water with ale. It keeps better, and your water is less likely to freeze in winter.”

  Apple nodded. "Unless you're carrying child, or it's a toddler less than eight. Then it's boiled water. That also seems to kill the demons that sometimes sicken a man. Strange, you'd think Hell is a hot place."

  “It is,” Malek allowed. “Hot as bitterest regret, cold as endless sorrow. Not a place you want to be, Appolonia, trust me.”

  Her gaze turned arch in the dim light. “You're like Jess, you know. Always hinting at the strangest things, always full of dark lore and forbidden knowledge, yet truths plain in front of you scare you all to dickens, or you don't even see them at all.”

  Malek chuckled ruefully. “I am not quite so blind to things as that, my dear Appolonia.”

  Their pace had quickened as they passed the forest to their right, knowing the discrete path to the isolated farmhouse
would show itself as a trailhead close by.

  “Malek?”

  “Yes?”

  “What really happened between you and Jess?”

  Malek felt his heart lurch. His hand suddenly pulled Apple close.

  Her triumphant smile turned to one of shock and alarm, even her scream turned to a shocked gasp as Malek launched them both into the trees with near inhuman speed.

  The deadly whistle of crossbow bolts cut through the air.

  Apple cried out before Malek furiously covered her mouth, cowing her instantly to silence.

  In one instant his serpentine Zweihander was free of its sheath, startled recognition near instantly morphing to hot fury.

  The faint humming of his crimson orbs whistled through the air, red with the blood from his savagely bitten lip, he having kissed both with his promise of death to whoever had dared attempt to assassinate them.

  The faint odor of musk and bitter spices permeating the air had given Malek the instant warning he had needed to look closely, listen as would a wolf in truth, catching scent of oiled leathers, steel, and the sour sweat of unwashed men.

  A mocking clap echoed through the cold winter air. “Well done, Malek de Sousel. Well done. Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement?”

  Malek smiled coldly. He heard the hurried winching of crossbows being reloaded. His enemy thought to distract them. And to get him to reveal his own location.

  Malek, however, was no one's fool.

  Coolly, he led Apple deeper into the wood, by the expedient of picking her up, his blade resheathed, finger to frightened mouth, seeking to put as many evergreens between himself and his enemies as he could, his exquisite hearing picking up every word the melodious voice behind him taunted him with.

  “Come now, Malek. No need to be coy. I know you have been making inquiries of a certain nature, seeking to acquire marks that really are of no concern to you. I know as well that a certain royal bastard accompanies you. A royal bastard sworn into the protection of Crown Agents. So you see, young Malek, you are actually committing treason! It is a shame. I would so dearly love to threaten you with the horrific price your family will be forced to pay for your crimes, but considering how much you and your family despise one another, quite amusing in other circumstances, that denies me considerable leverage."

  The voice behind them chuckled. "Which is to your credit, young Sousel! I will tell you what. But hand over those writs, and I shall allow you and your little tart to walk free. I am curious, however. How did you ever manage to get ahold of young Appolonia? I was assured that she would be most thoroughly... taken care of."

  Desperately Malek searched, till he found the perfect spot, even as his enemy continued to bait him. There. A surge of relief, carefully muted. The tree he chose few indeed would be able to scale up easily. With Apple cradled close to him, Malek used his terrible strength to force himself up the tree, armored gloves digging into it like a badger's claws. In short order, a trembling Apple was hugging the trunk, secure upon a thick nestle of branches, even as Malek calmly tore and knotted his own cloak into a safety rope, looping it about under her shoulders and around the tree.

  “There. Now it won't catch on any branches. On the off chance those bastards actually get the best of me, just use this to help you scale back down. It should not be necessary, but if you slip, at least the knotted cloak around you and the tree will prevent you from falling completely free. Just always keep it under your shoulders, okay?”

  Trembling, Apple nodded, Malek's acute vision picking it up even in the dim light. "If I don't pop back in an hour's time, slowly, carefully, make your way back down. See the moon? Head in that direction and it will take you to the main road. Just turn left and walk and you will be by the city. If cold is grabbing you tight, just head on in, claim you are a noble lady who was assaulted, and cry for the Guild. Do everything you can to alarm as many people as you can, even offer a gold talon to whoever takes you to the local Guildhall without delay. Our goal is to make it as hard as possible for our enemies to intercept you or silence observers.

  “If cold is not stealing all your strength, walk along the great wall until you get to the west entrance. Our enemies are less likely to be waiting for you in ambush at any gate but the closest one. Once there, pay a litter to take you to the Guild without delay. Once you are there, declare that it was my dying wish for the Guild to protect you. The bards will be all over that, as well as many of my more idealistic brethren, and the Guildmaster won't dare risk political expediency if it means alienating his Delvers, as that would be the most foolish political move of all.”

  Malek sighed, gazing carefully into Apple's frightened eyes, kissing her once, softly, for luck. She gasped in surprise.

  Her lips were sweet.

  Malek felt himself blush furiously. "What happens after that, Apple, I will leave to your wily skills in the political arena to determine your best course of action, should I not make it back."

  Breathlessly, Apple nodded, but Malek had already thrown himself free from the tree, falling through the air, dropping a good thirty feet as adroitly as any cat.

  Grinning fiercely, Shadow infused predator that he was.

  Hungry for his prey.

  "Well, Malek de Sousel, will you take me up on my offer?" queried the melodious voice once more. "Or will you make me chase after you. I assure you, boy, whatever gifts you think you might have, it is nothing compared to true powers of darkness! Powers I shall be more than happy to... share with you, if you are so foolish as to deny both of us the opportunity for civil discourse."

  Soft as a Shadow, Malek dove across the road, even as his enemy shouted from the edge of the forest.

  Malek could make out the blades the man had unsheathed, but what stuck out most to Malek was the foul stench of the man.

  Franken.

  This man wreaked of the same taint.

  Just as potent, if not more so.

  Crimson balls spinning tightly about his head, emitting a high pitched whine he thought only he or a dog could hear, Malek slowly withdrew his dagger as he slipped through the dense trees at the edge of the forest by the road, sniffing out his prey.

  There. Just ahead. Five men close enough together that his mentor would have castigated them, instinctively seeking the comfort of the group as they had waited in ambush, at least having the discipline to be deathly quiet, five heavy crossbows aimed at the road where their leader still hoped to draw Malek out.

  Malek grinned fiercely in the moonlight, measuring the close, cramped quarters he was about to spring upon them from. Underbrush thin enough to shoot through without hindrance, but the men were far back enough that drawing his Zweihander and attempting to hack them would meet with endless branches which, for any normal human, would have made it all but worthless, save using half-sword style.

  Use every tool at your disposal, Malek thought, remembering Eloquin's lessons well.

  His strength was a tool. As were his enemies themselves.

  As was the growing darkness.

  “Well, Sousel bastard? Are you going to face me as a man, or hide like a mewling beast?”

  All five of his men perked at their leader's sharp tone. Distracted.

  It was then that Malek sprung, silent as death itself.

  The first crossbowman, armored in boiled rawhide that even a mercenary could afford, completely oblivious to the death that stalked him, until the moment Malek slashed his throat and grabbed his back, lifting the hapless armsman up with effortless, terrible strength, the man crying out in horror and pain, his windpipe deliberately not cut, giving him a handful of moments longer to live and scream, blood spraying forth, a living shield.

  Yet for all his panicked moans and desperate clenching of his neck, he sprayed a fine crimson mist of blood before him, exactly what Malek wanted, exploding forward with the speed and force of a bull, the second man nonplussed just long enough with the blood spraying in his eyes to flinch back, only beginning to bring his crossb
ow to bear as Malek's dagger slammed under the man's chin, ripping straight up into his brain. With an abrupt shake, Malek tore his dagger free, charging into the third crossbowman still blinking in confusion, his friend's slashed neck spraying him with blood even as Malek's own blade sliced open his throat to the bone. A dying gurgle choked off, Malek immediately charging into the next crossbowman.

  The fourth man had time to cry out and fire his bolt, Malek ducking as he threw his dying shield before him, the bolt lodging into the mewling corpse, Malek charging in with a roar, smashing aside the fourth ambusher's crossbow, then throwing his struggling foe into the fifth and final sniper, the final bolt flying wide with the impact, and Malek dived under the savage sword blow his true nemesis had swung, charging him through the underbrush.

  Malek wasted no time slamming into the two stunned crossbowmen once more, his dagger lashing out with deathly speed, spearing one man through the eyes. The fifth and final crossbowman he had time only to stomp viciously as he leaped free of the underbrush, even as his true enemy, the swordsman of rank musk and bitter spice roared and charged him, laughing hideously.

  With a fierce burst of speed Malek raced, feeling his enemy a hairsbreadth behind.

  "I'm going to gut you like a fresh whore, Malek!" the man shouted, even as Malek felt his muscles seethe with vitality, feeling as alive as he ever had before, begging, demanding his legs put on an extra burst of speed, exhilarating in the almost painful shiver of release as he opened himself up fully to the darkness, embracing all of what it meant to be so entrenched in bitter dreams and darkest nightmare.

  He howled then, and raced through the night, leaving his hunter far behind.

  But no.

  This wasn't how the story was supposed to go.

  Remembering himself in that moment, he pivoted just so to draw his wicked serpentine blade.