Mist & Whispers (28 page)

Theone watched on as her hands grabbed hold of a chair and her body twisted to a crouch. There was no time to wait for reinforcements. Something was terribly wrong.

The people around her began to panic, Eleazar included. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked Morcades, looking half frustrated, half weary.

All eyes were on Anya now and when she looked up and locked hers with Theone’s, he felt himself shiver with fear. Never had he seen flames engulf a set of eyes like that, not even when he faced the grimmest of the Darkness’ abominations.

She erupted, and a table came crashing off the dais in his direction. He leapt from his seat to duck its path, and when he turned back to see what was happening, Eleazar was clambering up from behind a smashed chair, his face bloody, and Anya was fighting.

Theone stood, stunned as she disarmed a horde of men as easily as pulling petals from a flower and scattering them over the ground. For a second time in as many hours, this girl had reacted uniquely to an intake of blood, and now, as he watched her, the only girl possessed by rage in a room of endless despair, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else about her, perhaps something even
she
wasn’t aware of.

A blade was thrust in her direction and he had to stop himself from crying out to her, though he needn’t have worried. She moved with immense speed and precision, and her attacker fell to his death, impaled by his comrade’s sword.

Gavriel, be ready for my call. Things are getting out of hand; we can’t wait for the Crown Guard.

A breath later and Anya was suspended in the air, encased by a green glow. He knew the magic, but it was against their moral code to use such a hold. Magic like that was only allowed in extreme circumstances, to stop someone who is falling to their death for instance. He didn’t recognise the young woman casting the hold but he could tell she wasn’t strong enough for Anya... at least, not Anya as she was now.

Eleazar began spitting orders. A guard of enormous size put his hand around Anya’s neck and Theone knew they’d run out of time. It had to be now.

His fingers extinguished the fires from the floating torch bowls and the hall fell into darkness. He allowed a few waves of silence to wash over the men and then spoke to Gavriel once more.

Drums!

On light wings, he crossed to Mardone’s stone and lifted it by hand. Using magic would have betrayed his presence, as even something that simple would create light.

The drum beats distorted as one by one, the Stragglers rose from the secret passage and came to Theone’s side. There they stood, united as a single thrum of thunder and ready to strike.

Now!

His command was heard only by his men, and the drumming ceased instantly, leaving only echoes behind.

In the muffle of panic stricken murmurs, they readied their weapons for the attack.

Wolfond, can you take out that brute with his hands on Anya?

The Straggler’s only response was the click of his crossbow and the hiss of the bolt as it flew into the target’s head. The man dropped to the floor, and though Theone could not see her in the dark, he could hear her gasping for breath. He thanked the Gods she was still alive.

‘LIGHTS!’ Eleazar cried, and as they were finally revealed, the people of the castle were frozen in their gasps.

Theone’s eyes drew close and fixed on his brother. ‘Eleazar, you treacherous varlet! You have one chance to remove my crown from your head and tell me where Lynessa is, or by the power of the Gods, I will tear every bit of flesh from your bones, and I will make a feast of it. A slow, excruciating death, and oh, how it awaits you!’

Eleazar, and indeed every man in the room considered Theone. Considered their position. They were shocked to see him – Eleazar because he thought he’d eliminated all possible threats of a siege by taking Anya from Theone’s arsenal, destroying all hope of salvation, and the men because they thought their old king was dead. It was visible in their faces as they looked at him, as if he were a ghost. The sheer disbelief. The King they once fought for was actually alive, and with this revelation came a choice. Do they remain loyal to the leader that kept them alive and safe and fed during the reign of the Darkness, or do they pick up where old allegiances left off?

Heads turned to look at Eleazar, incredulous looks which gave him no choice but to speak up and to speak fast.

‘I didn’t want you finding out like this,’ he sighed. ‘I didn’t want any of you finding out at all. It is a horrific truth, but one that must now be spoken for you to understand why I told you all that our King – my brother – had died. I felt it kinder that you thought him dead, rather than the monster the Darkness had turned him into. I knew he couldn’t go on leading us after what he did.’

The room hung on his every word.

‘He killed the Queen, and with the madness and the guilt, he tried to convince himself that someone had taken her. Believe me when I say, this man that stands before you today is not the king that once protected this Kingdom and its people.’

Lies. Straight-faced, calculated, brazen lies.

Some men turned their incredulity on Theone. How could they believe such manure, especially after the way Theone looked at his brother? The pained look of betrayal should have been unmistakable. And not just any betrayal... betrayal by blood; perhaps the most painful variant next to true love.

It seemed a few men didn’t believe Eleazar’s story, as in the time it took for Theone to cry ‘Perjurer!’ and lunge into battle, they crossed the room and joined his cause, saluting the Stragglers with the Virtfirthian gesture of camaraderie.

Long live the King. Long live Virtfirth
, the V in their fingers spoke.

Arrows flew, swords clattered and men bled, all the while Anya was still bound by the woman’s magic. But her hold was fleeting, and any minute now the darkened metamorphosis of Anya would be let loose once again.

S
HE FELL HARD
against the stone floor but she didn’t feel pain. Her blood was still an inferno and she’d lost sight of the fine line between right and wrong, between defence and revenge.

‘Anya! Anya we have to – ’

Her vision still somewhere between flame and blur, she felt a hand grab her as she rose from the ground, but she wasn’t going to let anyone touch her again. Without stopping to take the voice in, she forced it away, sweeping it and its owner off their feet and throwing them into the wall behind her with as much force as a tornado.

When she looked back, the woman that had held her was gone.
Coward.
She didn’t have time for cowards – their demise was but an empty victory.

Across the room, an axe tore through the skull of a Royal.

Good. One less to worry about.

But a face stopped her from moving on; the face of the axe-wielder. She knew that face, but she was too clouded to place it. A little of her rage dissipated, and a crack in her memory began to appear. A vision surfaced and immediately, she cupped her right hand. She remembered a bolt piercing her palm, and as she looked to see the perpetrator – the grizzly beard, the hooded eyes, the long hair – it was the same man in front of her now. Why did she not feel anger for this man after he’d shot her? There was something about him that actually made her feel safe.

Something caught her eye behind the wolfish man and a sense of fear stirred within. Creeping like a rat to stab her axe-wielder in the back was a silver haired man, dressed in what appeared to be religious robes.

She dove at him, sending his intentions veering off course. He staggered with her clung to his back, one of her arms locked around his face, blotting out his vision, and the other attacking his sword hand, an attempt to have him drop his weapon.

It worked. The sword hit the stone just as the axe-wielder clocked what was happening, and as she leapt down, the wolf-like man dropped to retrieve it. He wasted no time in returning the sword to its owner, straight to his gut.

Something – someone – ploughed into her.

She and he skidded into the collision of tables that had formed in the centre of the room around the battle, and together they sent food flying in every direction. When they came to a halt and she caught his face, more of her past memories sparked, but no sooner than she tried to rise did he pull her into a roll by the silk of her gown. As she looked back, a barbed mace cracked the ground where the pair had originally landed.

The muscle bulging soldier snatched up his sword and brought it down hard on his other side. When she looked up, the over-indulged, liquor-pungent man that hurled the mace at them staggered backward. He raised his arms in shock, for where his hands should have been, there were only stumps, cascading claret all around them. After the initial shock, he began wailing at his lost limbs, dropping to the floor and flailing with sensory-numbing agony.

The soldier turned back to her, the enemy’s blood peppering his face. ‘Are you ok?’

That voice.

More of her anger subsided at the familiar sound.

‘I know you?’ she asked, wiping the blood spatter from her own face. It was more of a question than a certainty.

‘Anya, it’s me, Agro.’ He waved his hand in front of her eyes and scoured them as if looking for a familiarity himself. ‘What happened to you? Your eyes are literally burning!’ His concern cooled her blood further, and more memories began to flood in. Faces of men she’d stood with, fought beside and learned from. Names began to spring up too, and she turned back to find her grizzly, axe-wielding warrior, locked in battle with another of the disturbed-King’s men.

‘Wolfond.’ Her hand fell on her mouth as she spoke his name, like she’d forgotten who she was until that moment. She looked around the room. Gavriel, Cael, Basra, Bear – the Stragglers – they were here. Well, most of them. ‘Where’s Harrion?’

‘He’ll be here soon, with any luck.’

A body landed in the pool of blood beside them, an arrow jutting from its chest. The man that had lost his hands was still wailing, and Agro turned around and drove his sword through his gullet. A cruel kindness.

As Agro turned back, his eyes widened and he ducked, but he wasn’t quick enough. One of the great, iron cages that had housed a dancing woman came soaring across the hall, and it took Agro with it.

Anya ran after it, leaping over the fallen and the battle damaged. Cael emerged from the throng of steel and magical melee and was on the cage at once, using all his might to lever it off of Agro, but to no avail.

‘Agro!’ she cried, kneeling at his side, reaching a hand through the cage as the only way to get close to him. His eyes flickered, open then closed. He was alive, but seriously hurt.

She looked at the cage and took a deep breath. This is Agro’s life or death, she told herself as she closed her hands around one of the bars. She held on to her breath and used it like a wall to lift off from. By her hands alone, the cage lifted into the air.

Cael stepped back, his mouth agape in awe of her.

‘CAEL! GET HIM OUT!’ This was not the time to be amazed.

He nodded, and then disappeared beneath the bars of iron. A few seconds later, he emerged with Agro, and Anya dropped the cage.

Back at his side, she surveyed Agro’s wounds. A good few bruises on the surface but the real trouble was his mouth. Blood was spilling from it freely.

Although a bookworm at heart, Anya had watched enough TV to reach the conclusion that Agro was bleeding internally. But where his wounds were exactly, it was hard to tell. She held her hands over his body and willed his injuries to call out to her. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the chaos that raged behind her. She felt a pull towards his chest, and focused everything she had on it.

It wasn’t an easy exchange. It felt as if her own soul was pushing the life out of her body and ferrying it to Agro through her hands. She tried to breath, to keep herself from keeling over while her borrowed magic pulled Agro back together from the inside. She could see her glow reflected in his skin fading as he came round, and she knew her job was done.

‘Agro, it’s Cael – can you hear me?’

Agro nodded and tried to shift up into a seated position.

‘Whoa, wait,’ came another voice Anya knew well. She turned to see Harrion hurrying towards them. He sheathed his blood-dripping sword and knelt beside her. ‘Don’t get up yet, give it a minute to let everything settle.’ He turned to Anya, looking pretty impressed. ‘I can’t believe you just did that, and after the Dark Blood! It took me years to learn healing.’

The compliment would have felt great if she didn’t feel so muddled and mixed inside. She smiled, the fire in her blood and her eyes completely gone now. ‘It’s your dad’s magic, not mine.’

Harrion gave a raise of his eyebrow but didn’t pursue the matter. There was too much going on to dwell on it. ‘Cael, find Agro some shelter. He’s going to need rest, he can’t fight like this.’

‘I can, I’m a man,’ Agro tried to argue, but Harrion shot him a look.

‘You’ll be a
dead
man very quickly if you don’t do as I say. Anya’s just given her strength to save you, so don’t argue, otherwise she did it for nothing.’

Agro’s eyes complained, but he surrendered all the same. Harrion drew his sword and defended their exit as Cael dragged their brother-in-arms to safety.

With her white gown nought but a blood stained rag, and her woven hair spilling curls around one side of her face, Anya stood among the battle, looking for something to do.

It was then she realised Steph was no longer at the table on the dais, and that Theone and Eleazar were engaged in a knot of power. Eleazar’s black wings glowing sinisterly silver against Theone’s brilliant blue, each hitting one another with crushing blows, light ricocheting around the room in a showdown beyond sibling rivalry.

She spotted Basra and Bear crouched behind a fallen table. They seemed to be having a whale of a time, stuffing their faces with the scattered banquet. Unbelievably, they were still fighting. Men were coming at them as they appeared an easy, distracted target, but the pair worked in perfect unison, fending off foes one handed whilst scoffing down meat and guzzling moonshine. She even saw them using the bones as weapons, throwing them at their would-be attackers and stabbing them with their jagged ends. Watching them made her realise, she herself was unarmed. Her vambrace was missing and she was no good with a sword. Close combat was her thing.

She scoured the dead for some sort of weapon until she found a dagger. The Dark Blood hadn’t taken her magic – a fact she couldn’t quite understand – but she didn’t know how to use it to defend herself. The thing with the dragon was a fluke, and there was no telling what might come at her next. She was a fledgling out of the nest, relying on instinct and dumb-luck.

The smashing sound of glass shattered the discord, and Anya’s hands rose to guard her face. Tiny splinters of window showered the hall like falling stars. A purple glow ascended from her hands again, but it was not as impenetrable as it had been against the dragon’s fire. Healing Agro had weakened her and in turn, had weakened the magic in her blood.

When all the shards had fallen, Anya looked up. The Crown Guard were here, having burst through the windows of the Grand Hall quite dramatically on winged horseback. Their steeds snorting and their weapons ready, the members of the Crown Guard – Linos, Tark, Efrem and a few others she knew from the sparring match in Silver Forest – got straight into the thick of the fighting. Some of them remained on horseback, their height giving them an advantage over Eleazar’s men. Some dismounted immediately, sending their horses running through the castle – a tactic that caused the lesser able of the court to flee the room behind them, dwindling Eleazar’s side even further.

They had the advantage and, for a naive moment, Anya thought the battle was almost won. 

How wrong she was.

‘MORCADES! Summon the Omens!’ Eleazar cried, plainly struggling against his brother’s power.

‘But you are doing so well, Sire. I’m sure you’ll have him, any moment now.’ It was hard to tell if the God of the Damned was being serious or satirical, his tone was so indifferent.

‘STOP WA–STING – TIME!’ Theone was so close to overpowering him; he was straining between every syllable as he fought against his brothers crushing magic. ‘YOU KNOW – WHAT – YOU – STAND – TO LOSE!’

Morcades rolled his eyes, but he did as Eleazar demanded. He stood, and began chanting in a tongue unlike anything Anya had ever heard before, his eyes zoning in a strange, ritualistic way. Then, patches of the stone floor began darkening. She couldn’t tell why at first, they appeared damp, as if someone had dropped a barrel of wine and left it to soak into the ground, only these patches weren’t thinning nor fading. They were getting wetter, with no visible source of spillage anywhere.

One appeared around her feet and Anya knelt low to touch it. Water, black as ink was rising from the stone, and by the time her feet were completely immersed, everyone else in the hall had become aware of it too. Where it was coming from, no one could tell. It appeared to be rising from the ground beneath the castle, but that was ridiculous – the Grand Hall was far above the surface of the lake.   

Within seconds the water was level with Anya’s waist, waves sloshing up against the walls, twisting and falling back in on itself, pulling men from both sides under.

She waded her way across to one of the cages, where a woman was still trapped inside. Using the table below, which was now invisible beneath the black water, she lifted herself up and held on to the bars tight. The woman inside saw the water rising around her naked body, but she didn’t appear afraid. She looked as if the prospect of drowning was somewhat of a relief to her. 

Then the water began to swirl and split into hundreds of inverted whirlpools, winding round and round into varying forms of – monster? – Demon? – Devil? What they were was hard to fathom. Each seemed to be an amalgamation of creatures, exposed bone, human flesh and animal skin. One had a face reminiscent of both reptile and canine, teeth sharp as jagged flint and a crocodilian snout. Another was a horrific concoction of Falcon, stag and sea creature, suckered arms where clawed feet should have been and antlers upon an avian mantle.

As the creatures snarled and twisted into shape, Gavriel vaulted over the fray and came to Anya’s side. ‘Go find Michael and the others and get yourselves out of here – ’