Monsters & Mist

by Taylor Fenner

  ❖

  Thane

  Thane was standing in the western watchtower fully armed as the rain ran from the roof of the tower in thick rivulets. Beyond the protective covering of the roof the rain fell in every direction, whipping back and forth like Zarouk couldn’t decide which way to send it.

  Lester, one of the senior Warriors who made it through the rebellion, was stationed with Thane standing at the railing staring out into the distance. Lester wasn’t a big talker. He hadn’t said a word in the three hours they’d been standing watch. Not because he resented Thane for being his superior, no. It was entirely because Lester seemed to prefer watching the world around him than participating in it.

  Lester catches Thane studying him so Thane quickly refocuses his eyes on the road leading up to the camp gates. He squints as something black appears in the distance. A cluster of some kind. A murder of crows maybe?

  “Do you see what I’m seeing?” Thane turns to ask Lester but the older man already has a spyglass to his eye to get a better look.

  “Men on horseback, General.” Lester observes. “Eighty, maybe one hundred riders in all.”

  “Is it Garlyn and his rebels, can you tell?” Thane asks, wishing he’d had the forethought to bring his own spyglass.

  “That I cannot tell from this distance.” Lester shakes his head. “For now, we wait. They will be in view in the next twenty minutes.”

  Thane lifts the trapdoor to the steps below the watchtower platform and call for a young message boy, “You there!”

  “Yes, General,” the boy appears at the trap door and salutes Thane waiting for orders.

  “Go to the eastern tower,” Thane commands. “Alert them that there is a company advancing from the North. One hundred riders at most. Tell them to be on guard. And find Cutter and tell him to gather a platoon at the gate just in case.”

  “As you wish, General,” the message boy disappears below as the trap door slams shut in his wake.

  “Children.” Lester shakes his head. “All too green to join the Warriors. They wouldn’t last five minutes in battle.”

  “I was a message boy at his age,” Thane points out.

  “Aye,” Lester acknowledges. “But not for long. Soon you were on the front lines, then you were leading your own squad. You were two heads taller than the other lads your age, thrice as fast as our fastest men, and your strategic skills are what got you to your post at such a young age.”

  “I did not know that you noticed that,” Thane mumbles awkwardly uncomfortable with the praise.

  “I’m a scout, General.” Lester grins a toothless grin. “It’s my job to notice things.”

  Thane didn’t know how to handle Lester’s observations so he spent the next moments arming himself in silence. His aquaswift was sheathed in the scabbard at his waist and a set of curved blades fitted into the holsters peeking out from each shoulder.

  Lester clutched and released the hilt of his aquaswift, shrugged into a chainmail vest, and placed a dagger in each of his boots. At his back he slung a quiver of arrows. He held his longbow in his left hand, an arrow already nocked and ready.

  Turning away, Thane signaled to the East tower using a small mirror and the flicker of a match. A minute later the East tower’s mirror reflected its’ own flame. They were ready. Down below Thane was pleased to see Cutter and Castor leading a group of Warriors on horseback waiting at the ready at the gates.

  The advancing company moved slowly, as if they were uncertain about what they would find when they reached the Warrior camp. Good, Thane thought, for if they are enemies they will regret each step closer they get to the gates. Thane would personally make sure of that.

  Lester raised his longbow and Thane saw the archer in the East tower do the same. But then, just as the riders came into clearer view, Lester gasped in recognition and lower his bow.

  “What?” Thane demanded. “What do you see?”

  “An ally, General.” Lester grinned. “The Order of the Thorn has arrived.”

  “The what?” Thane asks. He can feel his brow creasing in confusion.

  “The Order of the Thorn, General.” Lester repeats. “A sacred order of men formed by the last Waterborn king forced into hiding over time. Tell the others to stand down. The Order is under my command.”

  ❖

  Cygni

  “Stand down!” Cygni heard the command ring out from the western watchtower overhead. His feline companion pawed at the ground anxiously and growled low in the back of his throat as his eyes zeroed in on the armed warriors stationed in the watchtowers above. Cygni began to raise his hands in surrender until he heard the order that followed, “Open the gates and let our guests enter!”

  Cygni looked to Rolfe in askance but the older man’s eyes were on the western tower as an amused grin spread over his lips. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  The stone gates into the Warrior camp groaned as they were opened from within. Heralds announced their entrance into the camp, the vibration from the sound of their great horns echoing through the ground beneath his mount’s feet and traveled up from his feet to his thighs and sent a ripple through his empty stomach.

  He felt eyes upon him as he followed Rolfe through the gates and into the camp. Men and women lined up, watching the members of the Order ride into camp, their eyes narrowed in suspicion. An older man and a mountain of a man with thick black hair and a long black beard, both heavily inked in tattoos descended from the western tower and were the only ones who dared to break through the line of onlookers and approach Cygni’s company.

  “Rolfe,” the older man grinned up at the man at Cygni’s side. “Clearly the gods have answered our prayers and sent you to us at the moment we needed you most.”

  “Aye,” Rolfe nodded. “We were unsure whether we were to find friend or foe when we reached the camp. We have traveled through a coastline of destruction to get here. The few villagers that were left alive say the destroyers wore the uniform of the Warriors.”

  “What do you mean?” The younger man steps forward to question Rolfe. “What has happened?”

  “Villages from here nearly to Vanyia have been burned to the ground.” Rolfe tells the Warriors, his eyes encompassing all of them. “Save for one village that had perhaps twenty survivors, every other man, woman, and child that dwelled on the western coast has been burned, hanged, or dismembered.”

  The younger man’s face darkens. “Garlyn.” He spits angrily as he utters the name.

  “They were not riding on your orders?” Rolfe raises the twin halves of his scarred left eyebrow questioningly.

  “No,” the younger man shakes his head vehemently. “The Warriors you speak of are Warriors no more. A monstrous oaf of a man named Garlyn led a rebellion against the bulk of our forces and he and his followers were banished after the failed attempt. He is no brother in arms of mine.”

  “Forgive me,” Rolfe scrutinizes the young man. “Just who are you son?”

  The older man snorts and gestures to the younger man beside him, “May I present Thane Cruelseas, General of the Watierai Warriors and defender of the Vacantian coasts.”

  “A little young, aren’t you?” Rolfe grins. General Cruelseas’s face darkens but Rolfe laughs, “Don’t mind me lad, I’m just messing with you. I am Rolfe, second-in-command of the Order of the Thorn under our sworn leader, Lester. And may I present His Majesty, Cygni of the House Golongai, the one true king of Vacantia.”

  General Cruelseas immediately drops to one knee and bows his head as he thumps his right fist against his chest. “Forgive me Your Majesty, I did not recognize you.”

  “That was the idea,” Cygni smirks. “Please, rise. I still feel awkward having men bow before me.”

  “Now that everyone is properly introduced,” Rolfe pauses as General Cruelseas rises to his full height. “What is being done about the disgraced Warriors?”

  “At this time nothing,” General Cruelseas looks guilty. “Word of Garlyn’s genocide had not reached
us before your arrival. But I swear on my honor that Garlyn and his followers will meet swift deaths when we catch up with them. He has already tortured one of our own and his rebellion has reduced our numbers more than we would like. Pray, tell me what brings Your Majesty to our camp.”

  “Surely you have heard of my father’s death,” Cygni’s hands involuntarily tighten around the reins still clutched in his hands. “My stepmother has had me declared illegitimate and banished me from going near the city of Vanyia. The Royal Vacantian Army is unfortunately the usurper queen’s to control, and if I am to rise up against her and reclaim my throne I will need an army behind me. I remembered that Lyra’s daughter Andromeda had been sent to your ranks and was hoping she would lend me her ear and help me persuade you to join my cause. The Order of the Thorn was kind enough to swear fealty to a king without a kingdom and accompany me south to your camp.”

  General Cruelseas and the older man who up to this point had been comfortable letting his superior do all the talking exchange a peculiar, pained look.

  “What?” Cygni asks. “What is it?”

  “It’s Andromeda, Your Majesty,” General Cruelseas explains ruefully. “I’m afraid she was the catalyst for Garlyn’s rebellion. During her training she was found to be of Mistborn descent and while I was away attending matters at court, Garlyn imprisoned and tortured Andromeda. I rode for our camp as soon as my second, Cutter Longbow and another Warrior tracked me down and brought me the news but by the time we arrived back she had vanished. It was when I ordered the Warriors to aid in a search for her and refused Lyra’s orders to slaughter any Mistborn found on Vacantian soil without cause that Garlyn decided to move on his plans to rebel against my leadership and take the Watierai Warriors for himself.”

  “Mistborn? You’re sure of it?” Cygni rubs his chin thoughtfully. “And has Andromeda been found?”

  “No, Your Majesty.” General Cruelseas looks devastated by the admission. “Based on my research and what little I know of Andromeda’s upbringing I believe that she is the missing Mistborn Princess.”

  “The child that’s taking caused years of reaping from the sea maidens?” Cygni looks incredulous.

  “The pieces fit,” General Cruelseas nods. “And it would explain how she vanished from the dungeon without a trace, even with the injuries she surely sustained at Garlyn’s barbaric hands.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Cygni chuckles. “A Mistborn Princess hidden in plain sight. It’s brilliant. I definitely could have worked with that.”

  General Cruelseas bows before Cygni once more, making him uncomfortable. “Your Majesty is welcome to our camp even though Andromeda is gone and we would be honored if you would use it as your base. My Warriors and I are ever loyal to the true king and fully yours to lead. Please, come inside and get out of this torrential rain. You and the men of the Order of the Thorn must be exhausted and hungry after your long journey. We will sup together and strategize on your next move.”

  ❖

  Andromeda

  “You’re not bad,” Daegan huffs as their blades dance and bounce off one another. The sound of steel on steel echoes off the walls of the training room. “But I’m better.”

  Daegan twirls and switches his sword from his left hand to his right as he advances on Andromeda harder than before.

  When Daegan discovered Andromeda testing out the swords in the training room the night of the ball Andromeda was certain he would run back to the ballroom and report back to Carina. Instead he told Andromeda to meet him back there at dawn and to wear something more appropriate. And each morning since, while the rest of the royal family still sleeps and the servants are too busy preparing the palace for the day ahead Daegan and Andromeda meet in the training room. Andromeda in a loose tunic and form-fitting trousers borrowed from a male servant and Daegan in his fighting leathers and his distractingly beautiful bare chest.

  Daegan puts Andromeda through the paces of the more simplistic methods of Perscesian swordsmanship and Andromeda teaches him the lyrical movements of the Warrior’s swordsmanship. For two hours each morning Andromeda doesn’t have to be flawless at Carina’s side, the heir to a kingdom that is still foreign to her.

  More times than not Andromeda has found herself staring at Daegan, at the way the muscles in his arms ripple and flex and the way his braided hair slaps his back as he advances and retreats. He wipes sweat from his brow now as he motions for Andromeda to hydrate.

  Daegan moves to the basin filled with icy cold water piped up from the deepest, purest part of the sea and splashes water over his face and dabs the back of his neck with a thin white piece of linen. His eyes flick up to meet Andromeda’s and catches her staring with her mouth slightly agape. His one gold eye sparkles, his white eye as colorless as whitecaps on the sea. The angles of his face are sharp making him look cold, ruthless, cruel even. Yes, Andromeda finds herself thinking, he is perfect. They sure don’t make men like him in Vacantia. Not even the enigmatic Thane Cruelseas.

  “What?” Daegan asks and Andromeda realizes she’s still staring. She chokes momentarily on the water she’s breathing in.

  “It’s nothing,” Andromeda turns away as she feels her cheeks heating up. “I zoned out is all. Are you ready to get back to it or what?”

  “Whatever you desire, Princess.” Andromeda can feel the smirk on Daegan’s face even if she cannot see it.

  Before they can get back to sparring a harried looking maid rushes into the training room.

  “Forgive me, Your Highness,” the young girl drops into a deep curtsy before Andromeda. “Your presence is required in the throne room.”

  “Is something wrong?” Daegan asks. All signs of humor has been wiped from his face as he steps up beside Andromeda and tightens his grip on the sword at his side.

  “I am unsure,” the maid replies nervously. “An unexpected visitor has arrived and Her Majesty has demanded the entire royal family be present to receive the visitor at once.”

  “Tell Carina I will be with her as soon as I have changed.” Andromeda tells the maid as she begins to hand her sword over to Daegan.

  “There is no time, Your Highness.” The maid shakes her head frantically. “Her Majesty insists I bring you to the throne room personally.”

  Andromeda sighs, “Very well then.”

  A valet appears from the shadows to take the swords from Daegan who quickly throws a tunic over his head as they trail the maid from the training room and aboard the vessel to spirit them to the throne room.

  ❖

  Daegan

  Daegan watches the princess drum her fingernails along her forearm in frustration. Over and over like she is counting her digits. The annoyance of their shortened session is plain on Andromeda’s scarred face. Or perhaps it’s annoyance at herself for getting caught staring longingly at Daegan.

  Daegan smirks, feeling slightly flattered that a member of the royal family would look at him that way, and also amused at how Andromeda tried to hide it.

  The gondolier pulls the boat up alongside the entrance to the throne room and Daegan hops out and turns to help Andromeda out. She ignores his outstretched hands and leaps from the boat to the floor as graceful as a landborn cat. Stalking briskly to the throne room doors, Andromeda mutters to herself, her words too low for Daegan to make out.

  Two guards open the twin doors and Andromeda masks her annoyance and transforms into the dutiful princess and heir. Queen Carina sits upon her throne, Ajax at her left shoulder, and Andromeda’s younger sisters flanking her on both sides. Their faces are stoic, expressionless as if they were sitting for a portrait. A man with shaggy brown hair roughly cut at his shoulder and plain, conservative clothing stands facing Carina but at the sound of Andromeda’s booted feet on the floor he glances over his shoulder. His mouth slackens in shock.

  Andromeda stops in her tracks when her eyes see the man’s face and Daegan hears her sharp intake of breath as he comes up beside her and places his hand on her forearm, pausing to look
at her questioningly.

  “Ezra?” Andromeda murmurs the name, disbelief clouding her eyes.

  “Andromeda?” the man exclaims at the same time. “How are you?— Why are you?—”

  The man turns back to Queen Carina and asks, “How is this possible?”

  “I take it you have already met my eldest daughter.” Carina lounges on the throne, her fingers caressing the symbols etched into the surface of the sea glass arms. “The babe stolen from my arms so long ago has finally found her way back to us, brother.”

  “Brother?” Andromeda sputters as she glances wildly between Carina and the stranger.

  “Daughter?” the stranger turns white as a ghost.

  “Will somebody please explain what in Baster’s name is going on?” Carina snaps impatiently.

  “Andromeda is the sister of the woman I have taken as a wife.” The stranger explains. “She has not been seen since she left with a search party to look for my missing son. A son you procured for your collection, sister.”

  “A wife and a child,” Carina’s smile turns cruel. “How quaint to hear what you turned your back on your people for. And to think, you married the daughter of the woman who stole your niece.”

  Andromeda stands unnaturally still next to Daegan. Thus far he has never heard the princess so quiet and he has to check to make sure she is still breathing.

  “Perhaps you should sit down, Highness.” Daegan murmurs as he guides her to the edge of a pillar and urges her to sit.

  “I didn’t know Andromeda was your daughter,” the stranger argues. “And I never met Lyra.”

  “You didn’t see any signs of our lineage in her?” Queen Carina snorts in disbelief.

  “She does have unique coloring of course,” the stranger speaks slowly as he takes another look at Andromeda and shakes his head. “But it was also possible she could have been born of Waterborn heritage.”

  “You’ve always been an idiot, Ezra.” Carina shakes her head. Her disappointment is written clear in her features.