Monsters & Mist

by Taylor Fenner

  The darkening of his eyes tells her he’s thinking of their shared night as well. He kneels before her and kisses the back of her hand, “Your Majesty.”

  “Guard Murgan, what news do you bring me?” Lyra asks, her eyes lighting up mischievously.

  Murgan sighs, “It's the Watierai Warriors.”

  Already sensing bad news Lyra sighs, “What of them?”

  “General Cruelseas has refused to follow your declaration to wipe out the Mistborn population,” Murgan reports. “He says that killing all Mistborn goes against everything that the Warriors were founded on and that unless a Mistborn is caught on land or posing a threat to the coastal villages they will not seek out and kill Mistborn in their natural sea territory.”

  “That is absurd,” Lyra scoffs. “The Mistborn are a threat to all Vacantians which is why we must strike now. The attack will not be anticipated therefore we will have the upper hand.”

  “I agree, Your Majesty,” Murgan nods, “but it appears that General Cruelseas does not.”

  “Fine,” Lyra says dismissively. “Have him removed from his post effective immediately and put a man named Garlyn, he’s another member of the Warriors, in place as General. He will obey my orders.”

  “Very well, Your Majesty.” Murgan bows his head.

  “How goes the hunt for Andromeda?” Lyra asks as she fiddles with the rings on her fingers.

  “She has not been recovered yet, my queen.” Murgan’s voice is regretful, cautious. Lyra had been adamant from the moment that she took the throne that she wanted Andromeda found and killed so “she was not a threat to Corvi.”

  “Why ever not?” Lyra demands as she sits upright and slings her legs to the floor. “How hard can she be to find? The last I heard she was with the Watierai Warriors, surely hundreds of trained Warriors versus one Mistborn girl should be no trouble at all.”

  “She has vanished, my queen.” Murgan splays his hands. “It is as if she vanished through the stone walls of Watierai Warriors’ dungeon. A search of the grounds and the area has proven fruitless.”

  Lyra slams her fist down on the arm of her throne. “That’s even more of a reason to kill all the Mistborn. We can’t have them vanishing and appearing whenever and wherever they wish! Think of the deaths and kidnappings that could occur. Send my amended orders to Warrior Garlyn.”

  “Yes, my queen,” Murgan bows again before rising and scuttling from the throne room.

  Alone again except for her lady’s maid Lyra glares at nothing and taps her long fingernails on the armrest of her throne angrily. “Who does she think she is? What does she want?”

  Lyra knew all those years ago that someday she would have trouble with the child she had taken from the Mistborn maiden. It just figured that the trouble would arise once Lyra was getting everything she had ever wanted. She sighed and covered her eyes with her right hand.

  “Your Majesty?” Her lady’s maid’s breathy voice reminded her that she was not alone.

  “What is it?” Lyra asks tiredly.

  “Are you all right?” the younger woman asks nervously.

  “I’m fine,” Lyra snaps. She sits up straighter as an idea begins to form. “In fact, I’m better than fine. Fetch Murgan before he leaves for the Warrior’s camp. Tell him that I want my ex-husband Grus and my eldest daughter, Midgella arrested for treason and transported to the palace dungeons.”

  “Right away, Your Majesty,” the younger woman’s eyes are wide with fear but she curtsies and goes to fulfill her task without another word.

  Finally alone, Lyra smiles satisfied with how things are shaping up.

  ❖

  Thane

  Thane wakes to the feeling of something sharp poking his throat. Opening his eyes, he reaches for the dagger hidden in his boot next to his bed but comes up empty handed. As his eyes adjust to the darkness inside his quarters he can just make out the shape of a figure quivering beside his bed and the glint of a steel blade whose tip presses into his Adam’s apple.

  The figure realizes he has woken and steps closer, the blade pressing harder into Thane’s throat as he gurgles. The figure is young, inexperienced with the sword he holds but Thane is unarmed and at the intruder’s mercy.

  Outside his quarters a horn sounds the alarm throughout the encampment. The sound seems to startle the intruder whose grip loosens on the blade allowing Thane to move back so the tip of the sword is no longer at risk to puncture his throat. Abruptly the horn cuts off and the sounds of wood cracking and splintering fills the air. Someone has taken control of the watchtower, the Warrior camp has been breached. Thane may very well die tonight, but he’ll go down fighting if that’s the case.

  Playing on the intruder’s nervousness, Thane grabs one of the heavy boots discarded beside his bed and swings it as hard as he can. The silver toe of the boot connects with the side of the intruder’s head and he falls back with an “oomph.” The intruder’s sword clatters to the ground and Thane leaps from the bed and grabs the sword while the intruder rolls on the floor incapacitated for the moment.

  Before the intruder can get up, Thane plunges the sword through the figure’s chest, skewering his heart with a wet squish.

  Shoving his feet into his boots and retrieving the sword from the intruder’s chest, Thane rushes into the lane in front of his quarters. The watch towers and the building containing the kitchen are burning and women are screaming in the distance as invader’s kick down their doors and storm inside. Everywhere Thane looks his men are engaged in combat with the invaders.

  Up ahead he finds Cutter struggling to hold off a much larger man. Swinging his sword, Thane charges toward the man. His feet barely touch the ground in his sprint across the dirt lane. Plunging the blade through the bulky man’s throat, Thane shoves him to the ground as Cutter leaps out of the way and wipes at his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm. Together Thane and Cutter dart between the armory and the small dwelling next to it.

  “What in Baster’s name is this?” Thane shouts over the din.

  “Garlyn,” Cutter grinds out, “he and his followers have declared a rebellion against you.”

  “Gods-dammit!” Thane roars. “I knew this day was coming. How bad is it?”

  “As you can see,” Cutter gestures around them. “Those loyal to you still outnumber the rebels three-to-one but they have physical size and strength on their side. The wives of the Warriors are at a significant disadvantage because they have not been taught to fight and they have their children to think about. The rebels that are not as skilled in combat are burning everything in sight.”

  “Gather all those loyal that you can find and work together to overcome the rebels. We must maintain control of the encampment, that is the highest priority.” Thane orders.

  “Right away, General,” Cutter throws himself back into the fray and Thane follows his lead.

  Quieting his mind, Thane darts into the midst of the fighting cutting down rebels, easily identified by the dark masks covering their eyes, as if they were leaves on trees.

  Grunts of frustration and groans of pain fill the air mingling with the sound of steel on steel. Warm blood splatters across Thane’s face as he spins and kicks and slices his way across the middle of the camp leaving mutilated bodies in his wake. At one point he sees Octavia a dozen or so feet away, long blonde hair dyed red from blood and her delicate features contorted into a mask of fury as she launches herself at a female rebel twice her size who had been attempting to set fire to the training fields. The metallic scent of blood is everywhere as the siege wages on through the night.

  Thane doesn’t stop to count numbers or see who is winning this rebellion, he ignores the cries of anguish and the cheers of success and becomes a killing machine with one goal in mind: make it through the night alive.

  By morning the ground will be painted red-brown and littered with bodies. One-third of the cottages, shacks, and outbuildings will be nothing more than smoldering ash. Then, and only then, will Thane know where h
e and his loyal men stand against the rebellion.

  ❖

  Octavia

  Octavia woke in the dirt and choked on the scent of smoke and blood in the air. She was alive, but as she raised her head she saw that so many around her had not made it through the night.

  Blood soaks into the cracks of the drought-stricken ground and strewn as far as the eye can see bodies carpet the ground. Octavia shudders as she gets to her feet. She’s grown up with the Watierai Warriors, she is no stranger to death, but this — all these lives lost because of greed and power - sickens Octavia to the point that she has to pause next to a still-standing cottage and retch until her sides ache and her throat is raw.

  Octavia limps through the lanes and alleys of the encampment toward the heart of the camp, the open-air eating area. Or, at least, where it used to be. The long tables have been overturned, some splintered and destroyed beyond repair, others stained heavily with blood and innards. The torches that had lit the area and given it a welcoming, familiar feel had been snapped in half, several used as crude shivs buried in the chests of her fellow Warriors.

  Octavia forces herself to keep going and find signs of survivors. She needs to find Thane and Cutter. She doesn’t know how she would go on if something has happened to them, especially Thane. She’s been in love with him since the first time she laid eyes on him, not that he took the time to notice.

  Turning round, Octavia notices a curtain of black blocking the gate between the camp and the outside. No, Octavia realizes, not a curtain, a wall of black cloaks. The Warriors.

  Racing ahead, Octavia pushes her way into the squirming bunch of Warriors, yelling and gesticulating, toward the front of the crowd. As Octavia pushes to the front she realizes what her allies are carrying on about. One of Garlyn’s closest friends kneels at Thane’s feet, bloodied and broken. The rebels huddle behind the broken man looking disheveled and wary.

  “I have a message for you to take back to your leader,” Thane’s voice is alive with power and rage. He raises his sword and beheads the man before him in one clean sweep. “I know Garlyn is a coward, my men know that he is a coward. That’s why he ran, why he is hiding and letting his second take the fall for him. But if I ever see his ugly mug anywhere near this camp again it will be his head rolling on the ground and all of your blood staining the ground.”

  The rebels murmur amongst themselves, unable to look away from the head on the ground. Those that looked ruthless through the night have been reduced to a bunch of cowering downtrodden men and women.

  “Get off these grounds before I change my mind and end you here,” Thane snarls when they make no move to be gone from the camp.

  One bold rebel steps forward and spits at Thane’s feet before turning on his heel and stalking through the gates. The remaining rebels file out behind him, some limping while others are supported by their fellow rebels.

  Once the rebels are out of sight Thane sighs dragging his hands down his bloody face and turning to those loyal to him. “All right, I want everyone to split up and take stock of the encampment. See if any women and children are trapped in their cottages, smother any smoldering fires, and move the bodies of the dead to the training fields. We will meet later today in the square to report losses and discuss rebuilding.”

  The loyal Warriors break off, splitting into separate paths. Octavia notes how exhausted they appear. It’s been a long night and it will be a long time before any of them feel safe amongst their own again. An insistent tingling travels down Octavia’s shoulders and arms into her hands. Her hands begin to shake from the raw energy trapped in her veins.

  It’s time, a voice Octavia only hears in fragments of memory whispers to her.

  Taking a deep breath Octavia steps toward Thane, standing a few feet away talking to Cutter. She clears her throat and rubs her sweaty palms against her fighting leathers as she summons the courage she’ll need, “Thane.”

  He turns toward her and exhales hard in relief. “You’re all right.”

  “Thane,” Octavia repeats as a bout of sickness churns in her stomach, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

  Chapter 13

  Cygni

  From the edge of the city Cygni travels east, toward the mountains and the untouched coastline beyond. It rained constantly and Cygni was soaked through walking in clothing that had no chance to dry so his skin chafed as it rubbed against the cloth.

  Finally when his feet were blistered and his eyes were drooping and his body kept propelling forward on autopilot Cygni found a cave in the woods and crawled inside to sleep.

  The first night was the worst. In his exhausted state Cygni was in no hurry to search the cave for deadly companions or even start a fire to keep animals away so he woke in the middle of the night with hot humid breath fanning his face and glowing yellow eyes staring hungrily at him. A mountain cat, large mule sized beasts with fur the color of whitecaps on the sea, teeth sharp enough to puncture whale skin and massive paws that hide claws as deadly as knives. In his fatigued state, Cygni was at the animal’s mercy, his throwing knives were unreachable in his boots and his sword was leaning against the cave wall out of arm’s reach. But in that moment as the cat stared at him and Cygni lay there quivering knowing that death had caught up to him at last and that he would be sailing into Baster’s kingdom soon, the cat lowered its head and nudged his chest with its’ chin before curling up at his side and offering Cygni its’ body heat to get him through the night.

  That was nearly a week ago and the cat has remained by his side like a loyal pet. His clothes dried and he had left the cave to hunt for food to sustain himself several times while he planned his next step. The cat had proven to be a capable companion in the hunt and Cygni has reaped the rewards of the feline’s sharp teeth and sleek agility.

  Cygni decides his best option moving forward is to head for the Watierai Warriors camp and meet up with Lyra’s daughter, Andromeda. The usurper queen has no love for her second daughter and the girl seemed to like baiting the woman who had abandoned her so Cygni has no doubt she will align with him. Together they will convince the general of the Watierai Warriors to back them.

  The encampment for the Warriors lays on the far southern coast of Vacantia at Ravenwing's Point and it will take him three or four days to travel there on foot following the ridge of the mountains.

  Cygni’s assesses his strengths as his determination to get his crown back, his skills as a soldier, and the beast at his side to keep him going until the point where they go their separate ways. His main weakness is his physical health. The blisters on his feet have burst. They’re bloody and scabbing over and he feels like passing out every time he stands and walks around on them. He’s in no shape to travel the length of the kingdom but he has no choice. He cannot stay in this cave forever.

  On the next morn Cygni wakes to the sound of twigs breaking in the forest and the low rhythm of voices coming closer to the cave. Crawling on his knees he slinks further into the cave where the gray rain-splattered light of the morning cannot hit him. Cygni’s feline companion hisses at the mouth of the cave and darts to his side. Cygni slides his throwing knives from his boots and grips the hilt of each tightly in each hand.

  “Curse Zarouk,” A deep voice growls as a figure appears at the mouth of the cave, “I’m so gods-damned sick of this unending rain.”

  “It is unseasonably early this year,” a second, slightly higher pitched voice agrees as a second figure appears beside the first.

  “Maybe the murderess queen put a curse on Vacantia after she wiped out Pavo.” The first voice muses.

  “I wouldn’t put it past her,” the second man spits audibly and steps farther into the cave. “I can’t believe Pavo is really gone.”

  “I know,” the first man bows his head. “He was a good man.”

  Who are these men that speak of Cygni’s father as if they knew him? Clearly they share the same opinion of Lyra that Cygni does. Cautiously he forces himself to his feet. The s
oles of his boots scrape the ground as he takes a small step forward.

  “Who is there?” the first man reaches for his sword as he steps forward.

  “Eh,” the second man tilts his head, “it's probably a beastie of some sort. Lots of bears and mountain cats in these mountains.”

  “If someone is there show yourself,” the first man demands as he draws his blade.

  Cygni coughs as he takes another cautious step forward. The light from the mouth of the cave teases the toes of his boots.

  “Come further,” the voice demands again.

  Cygni bites back a curse and a groan and forces himself to take a few more steps.

  Cygni knows when the light hits him and the strangers realize who he is even though he cannot yet see their faces because the light and rain pours in from behind them keeping their identities hidden.

  “Bless the goddess,” the second man gasps. “It’s Prince Cygni.”

  ❖

  Andromeda

  “Would you like to explain exactly where you thought you were going, Andromeda?” Queen Carina pinches the bridge of her nose as she swipes her other hand across the top of the green sea glass table in her strategy room.

  “I,” Andromeda begins but bites her lip and considers her next words carefully. “I wanted to go to the surface and tell my sister that her son is alive and well.”

  Queen Carina’s face softens a touch but Andromeda can still see the anger and disappointment simmering beneath the surface. Andromeda knows Carina believes that she belongs here, she just wishes Carina would let Andromeda decide that for herself. “That’s admirable, darling, but you’re not well enough to leave the infirmary yet, let alone handle a journey to the surface. And then what would you do once you got there? Think of the dangerous circumstances that led to your discovery and our reunion.”