Lightning and Flame

by V. S. Holmes

  It could have been stone, save for the expanding chest. Puffs of smoke rose from the gap in its teeth. It made a low rattling moan, like pebbles shaken from the hillside. It sounded like a death rattle. With the grinding of stone it slowly tilted its head. A hunk of red sinew hung from the claws of its left hand.

  Arman still made no move. He did not draw, but his hand stayed resting on the hilt of his knives. The death rattle call sounded again. “Ehnah. Ehnah.”

  Arman frowned. “Eana? You think I’m Eana?” He lifted his hand from his knife and tapped his chest carefully. “Arman.”

  The head tilted the other way. “Ahman.”

  “Probably sounds that way, with my dialect.”

  Stone ground and the creature’s hand rose from its perch and tapped once, twice, on its own armored breast. “Ehnah.”

  Shock hit Arman’s mind as he recognized the golden eyes, the crooked scar. He stepped back, tripping over the bones. Eana’s claw tapped rhythmically as he muttered over and over the death rattle of his own name.

  Arman raised his hands defensively. “All right, so you’re not what I expected. Are any of you sane?”

  Aral scrambled down from his perch with the speed of something that had been hunting birds and lizards. He moved like the apes in menagerie caravans, an arm supporting his body when his legs swung forward.

  Arman skittered back a few paces. His heel crunched on a skull too large. “You’ve been eating people, Eana. Is there anything about the Earth Shakers that isn’t disgusting?”

  Eana made a wholly worse noise that Arman realized belatedly was a laugh. His jaw worked, steaming breath rolling from between his battered teeth. “Not cannibalism.”

  Arman’s brows rose. “So you can speak.”

  Scales clattered as the creature shrugged. Eana moved to the edge of the outcropping, sharp eyes finding the prone figure of Aral below. “Pathetic.”

  “You’d be too, if you’d been trapped in your own temple.”

  Eana’s mocking eyes swiveled to look at him pointedly. “Others?”

  Arman mimicked the shuddering shrug. “I can sense them, barely. Most shelter in old Laen cities, or temples, like Aral. I’m not sure how many are left—I’ve found a few dead. Two by their own hands. Claws. The third was poisoned not long ago—perhaps by the gods, same way my city was destroyed. I saw their power, as if it still echoed after they were gone.”

  “War?”

  “The same war we fought centuries ago. Time to finish it.” Arman realized each word was a struggle for Eana, the thick tongue and cracked teeth too much for more human speech. As mocking as Eana’s eyes were, there was also desperation.

  “Help?”

  “In the war?” Arman asked.

  “Finding. Others.”

  “Yeah I could use some.” Arman looked down. “Thank you, for driving me here. You’re a right ass, but it helped. How long have I been hearing your voice, thinking it was my own thoughts?”

  “Since I heard yours. Years.” He shuffled down the slope.

  Arman followed after him, frowning. “You can hear me like I hear you?”

  “Started as whispers. Been shouting for months now.” He hissed at Aral, the sound of steam on coals. Get up you bastard. There are others, even if only a few. Don’t tell me a missing limb prevents you from flying. I know better.

  The mental tirade startled Arman. “Don’t be cruel, Eana. He flew here with me.”

  “Cruel, cruel,” Aral echoed. The creature rose on his good leg, flexing a hand and steadying himself on a crag. At first it looked as if his body rotted, the skin peeling back to muscle and deeper to bone.

  Arman backed away as the two dissolved into whirling smoke, spiraling into the clouds and west. I’ll see you at war. Don’t be late.

  Don’t think we’ll miss this. We’ve waited long enough for you to get your head from your ass.

  Φ

  The 24th Day of Lumord, 1252

  Bren groaned when someone knocked on his door for the fourth time in an hour. “I give up on getting any semblance of work done.”

  Kemer laughed. “Just ask them to make appointments.” Aldac bent over the queen’s missives while she and An’thor poured over a strategic map.

  “This is war, I doubt Azirik would be so obliging.” He heaved himself to his feet.

  Eras waited outside, a slight frown curling her copper brows. “Lord Commissioner Barrackborn, I wanted to discuss some plans with your sister, but as I came to call on her, this letter intercepted me.” She waved it in the air. “Care to explain what the Dhoah’ Laen is doing in Neneviir two weeks before battle?”

  Bren looked away. “It’s complicated.”

  An’thor slid from his chair with a rough cough. “I think I’d better explain. Come in, fetali.”

  “This is my room, An’thor, not your parlor.”

  “I’m your ally and Her Majesty hold a damn fine grudge, so until I have my own, yours will have to do.” An’thor leaned on the mantel. “When we met in Mirik, your sister asked a favor of me. She needed to find the Laen’s Crown. It was in Claimiirn before she fell, and Lyne’alea suspected it could still be there. I suggested she try Neneviir as well, given the fact that Edrodene ransacked Claimiirn’s treasury.”

  “And you sent her there unguarded?” Eras scoffed.

  An’thor rolled his eyes at the general. “Eras, she sent herself. I merely gave her what she needed. May I see that?” An’thor unfolded the letter curiously, skimming it. “She reached the capital.”

  Bren slumped in his chair. “I still wish you had told me she was leaving.”

  “And I still agree with her choice not to.”

  “I’m not Arman, I wouldn’t have stopped her. What did she say?”

  “Precious little. Says they aren’t friendly, but are cooperating. Her handwriting leaves a bit to be desired.”

  Bren frowned. “What?” He beckoned for the paper. By the time his gaze reached the bottom, his face had twisted into a grimace. “This isn’t her handwriting. This isn’t her voice. She’d say more, explain more. Complain about the weather.”

  An’thor grabbed the letter back. His eyes picked out the sharp points on some of the letters, the hard lines at the ends of the sentences. “You’re right. This is Mel’iend.”

  “Who?”

  “My nephew. A kind boy, but useless.”

  “Why would she have him write a letter for her? It can’t be that cold.”

  “She didn’t. Something’s gone wrong.” He tugged the earlier letter from Edrodene from his pocket and scanned it. “‘As always, I weigh the strength of the sides, and the benefits each offers. The choice is clear.’” He handed it over. “Where does he explicitly name his allies?”

  Bren looked it over. “He doesn’t. Not once. He could mean anything.”

  Eras met Bren’s eyes. “He’s Azirik’s. She’s been captured. An’thor, take care of this. I’m going to deal with the army. We need to be ready for battle as soon as she returns.”

  Bren surged to his feet as soon as the general closed the door. “I’m going to get her.”

  “Like shite you are.” An’thor pointed to the stack of papers on Bren’s desk. “I understand your sister transcends all else in your mind, but you will lay it aside. You duty is to Mirik now. I’ll handle this.” When Bren bated, An’thor pushed him firmly back into his seat. “Ready your soldiers. Ready yourself. I know the Nenev, I know the Northlands.”

  Bren cast a longing look at the door. “All right. But if you fail, I’ll gut you.”

  “If I fail you won’t have to.” An’thor jogged down the hall to his rooms. Within a minute his packs were ready and he was saddling Theriim. It had been decades since he had last been home. It seemed fitting it would be to make war with his brother.

  Φ

  The 25th Day of Lumord, 1252

  The City of Neneviir

  Pain was like water, patient and persistent, worming its way through chinks in the walls until t
he pressure build up enough to flood. The layers of shadow between her mind and their actions began to crumble.

  Her head rocketed back as Tennic’s fist rearranged the bones of her nose. Her mind flooded back into her body, her eyes flying open. Her left eyelid was swollen and stinging on her cheek told her something had split the skin. The fingers of her left hand were black and bent at wrong angles. Nausea hit her stomach like a stone. She heaved, splatters of vomit freezing on the iron floor.

  Tennic stepped back, muttering what sounding like a curse in Nenev. “You going to give us anything else?”

  “I thought,” her voice hitched every few words, “your boots...needed polishing.”

  The door opened suddenly. Through her bloodshot, good eye Alea recognized Mel’iend. He looked horrified. “Sir, the Warlord wants to see you. Immediately. Something about His Majesty Azirik.”

  Tennic growled in disgust and gestured sharply to the others. “Put her back. We’ll continue this later.”

  She landed on her knees, the rough iron floor of her cell scratching her skin.

  “I’m sorry.” The words were low, almost drowned by the muttering of the wind through her barred window.

  Alea pushed herself up. Her eye was completely swollen shut now. Mel’iend crouched just outside her cell. “Come to taunt me? Or warn me?” She spit a thick clot of blood from her mouth. “I think I’ve caught on to the Ageless not being terribly friendly.”

  He ignored her words. “I had to make sure they were properly gone. You said you came here looking for something. Said it was for the war. We’ve got plenty of weapons, sure, but I know a fighter and title or not, you’re no captain.”

  Her pride stung at his words. She was never a good actress, but she thought she knew enough of the military to fool an isolated city. “I don’t know what you think I am.”

  He raised his brows pointedly. “Not once did you ask us who we thought you were, only what. Why are you so convinced we think you’re something other than human? And you’ve got the walk, the stance, the fighter’s glare down wonderfully. I almost believe them. That look though,” he gestured to her eyes. “That has far too much power and anger for a captain. Whatever you are, you’re the damned general.”

  Her jaw clenched. “You’re mad.”

  “Maybe.” He jerked his head at the stairs. “What are you looking for?”

  “Allies, that’s all. And if you think this sweet, innocence will make me talk, you’re more stupid than I thought.”

  “Mad, stupid, you’re probably right.” The joking act was gone. His black eyes were exhausted and his features broken. “They don’t give a shite about me, ma’am. Take me with you and I’ll get you out.”

  Her brows rose. “Help me find what I need and we’ll see.”

  “I’ll make the way clear and be back in an hour. Wait here.”

  “I was planning on waiting in the hall.” Her wry smile softened the bitter words. “Go.” She shoved herself against the rear wall. Snow had blown in through the barred window, but sitting in a drift was better than being prodded from the door. The blood from her nose dripped down her face, but she was too dazed to stop it. Her vision unfocused as the hot blood melted red canyons through the snow.

  Φ

  Half an hour had passed when she heard boots on the stairs. She scrambled up. “Mel’iend?”

  Tennic appeared before her cell, eyes narrowed. “It seems the Warlord did not actually request our audience. Mel’iend lied.” He shoved her cell door open. “What does that coward have planned? He can’t possibly think to outsmart us.”

  “You’re right.” She raised her hands, backing away. “He’s not the bravest. But neither am I. Thought I could stand the questioning. Turns out I’m just too tired of pain. Call me a coward if you wish.”

  Tennic stepped in, the other warrior following him, weapon leveled at Alea’s head. “I think you’ll tell us who you are now.”

  Alea stepped back again, until her back pressed against the hard iron of the rear wall. “The thing is, you don’t have to be brave. You just have to be clever.” Her power roared through her body. Blackness filled her skin and lightning crawled from her back, burrowing like roots through the iron.

  Tennic opened his mouth to scream, but the electricity wormed up both men’s boots. Their muscles jerked, bones heating and flesh cooking in a moment. The smell of burning hair and meat flooded the cell as her power bore down. She pushed harder, watching as they fell, still spasming. The life was gone, but she let the lightning puppeteer them across the floor for another minute. The sound of boots pounding on ice broke her concentration and she slumped back against the wall, power curling back into her skin.

  “I told you to wait!”

  “They got friendly and I wasn’t sure you’d get here in time, or at all!”

  “Shite.” He glanced down at the bodies. “Well. Are they dead?”

  “Yes.” Alea shoved herself off the wall. “I need my pack. You take care of these two.” She slammed her boot into Tennic’s face as she passed. The interrogation room still smelled of blood and vomit, and her stomach clenched anew. The table along the back wall held her things, clearly searched. She fumbled with the ties of the pack, one handed when Mel’iend dragged the second body into the room.

  “You need help with that?”

  “They broke my damned hand.”

  “Can I see?” He took her hand in his, peering at the bones. “Some of these are just dislocated. Nothing looks crooked. Is there anyone coming?”

  Alea ducked her head to peer up the stairs while he continued to examine her fingers. “Nothing yet.”

  “Good.” He grabbed her fingers and tugged them back into place with a swift motion.

  A scream ripped from her dry throat and she whirled to glare at him, clutching her hand her to her chest. “Really?”

  “You were distracted and that thing would be useless if I didn’t.” He shrugged. “I’ve learned things being around too many warriors.”

  She tried to flex her fingers again. The last two had only been disjointed, but the others were too stiff and painful to move. “Thank you then.” She swung her pack over her shoulder. “What about the nose?”

  “Can you breathe through it?”

  “A bit.”

  “Then it’ll heal all right.” He grabbed the weapons from the two dead warriors and headed to the door. “Come on. I’ll take you through the rear gate. We’ll pass the treasury on our way.”

  She followed him up the stairs and down a hall. It wound around the Warlord’s hall and to the rear of the city before climbing higher. “You only build upwards it seems.”

  “The ground is too frozen to dig deeply. Our lesser used rooms are higher instead of lower, that’s all.” He stopped at a large door and began fumbling with the lock. His knobby fingers coaxed it open with his picks after a moment. He shoved the door open and ushered her inside. “I’ll stay here to guard. Are you sure it’s here?”

  She closed her eyes and reached out. The treasury was cold, and the air still. Far in the back, under a rolled carpet and inside a large chest was a leather bag. It buzzed in her mind, a clouded black smudge in her thoughts. “It’s here.” She navigated through the stacks of books and wardrobes. The chest was thankfully unlocked, but it took her a moment to shove the rug from its top with only one hand. The moment the leather met her hand she shuddered. The Rakos Crown had felt hot and itchy in her hand, but otherwise inert. This was like grasping lightning by the tail. She shoved it inside her shirt, tying the bag’s strings to her breastband before weaving her way back to the door. “Got it. Let’s go.”

  He slid the lock back into place, glancing back at her. “You have any plan as to how we’re going to leave?”

  Alea grinned. “You know how to drive an engine?”

  “I have an idea.”

  “That’s more than I do. How do we get there without them seeing us?”

  “Luck? They’ll be looking for me too, now.” Me
l’iend broke into a jog. “Can you run?”

  “For now.” Her adrenaline was wearing thin, but it would carry her home. It had to. She followed after him, not bothering to be quiet. The ice was surprisingly insulating and the sound of their footfalls carried only a short distance. He led her through another series of halls before they emerged behind the line of engine berths. They edged to the engine furthest from the city and ducked to the far side.

  Mel’iend handed her his pack and pointed at the engine door. “Hop up into the cabin, I’ll grab a few things.”

  She hoisted herself up into the machine, eying the levers and two things that looked like compasses attached to the wall. A small iron door hid a mound of black rocks and ash.

  She heard Mel’iend climb in behind her. “Light her up, I’ll manage the speed.”

  “My powers are ice and water and lightning, not fire!” She said it without thought and winced.

  “That’s why I brought the torch, ma’am.”

  She turned to see he did indeed hold a torch from the wall outside. “Sorry.”

  Either he was more stupid than she thought or he already suspected her true identity. He did not bat an eyelid. “We’re escaping from my home and your captors, tension’s natural. I’m surprised we haven’t had a screaming match yet. Shove this in the coals.”

  “Right.” She poked the mound with the torch gingerly, delighted when they caught. The flames licked high, the coals growing orange. One of the compasses on the wall began to twitch. Mel’iend pumped a lever that must have worked a set of bellows and the coals roared into life. He nudged the door shut with his knee and flicked the latch shut.

  “All right. I’ve seen this before.” His tone sounded like he was reassuring himself more than her. After a few moments of tinkering, the engine rumbled and belched a puff of steam from its chimney. “Well if they didn’t know, now they do.” He depressed a heavy lever on the side and the wheels ground against the rails, lurching into sporadic motion. He depressed it further and the engine lurched again then glided out from under the arched door and onto the tundra. The noise of the engine drowned out any shouts of alarm, but the ping of metal against the sides told her they were most likely under attack.