Wraiths and shadows flee the night
But horror stalks in dawn’s bright light.
Everine woke to a morning that was unusually quiet, but bright. Dawn sunshine beamed through the open windows in long, low, orange-hued shafts, heralding another warm day. Yawning and stretching, she sat up.
She’d been given the bed opposite Lady Araynia, after convincing the nurses she was too ill to go home. They had forced her to drink some kind of revolting concoction, which she had spat out as soon as no one was looking, but it must have affected her anyway, as she had fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep – in fact the best she’d had for many weeks.
Tossing aside a blanket, she reached for her boots and pulled them on. The nurses hadn’t bothered undressing her, simply dumped her on the bed to sleep off her problems, which was fine with Everine. She was still clothed in the fine, colourful dress that she had purchased – by generous donation from the Freeroamers – specifically for the previous evening’s act. Standing up, she fussed with her skirt and blouse, smoothing out the creases and brushing her curly hair out of her face.
Putting her hands on her hips, she smiled. Well. Last night went quite well! She felt satisfied that some men, at least, still found her attractive enough to be distracting.
Glancing down the ward, she hurried over to Araynia’s bedside. The infirmary was silent: the other patients still asleep at this early hour. But it wouldn’t be long before the nurses started the breakfast rounds. Everine had to get the noblewoman out of here by then.
Lady Araynia was still unconscious. Everine tried to rouse her, softly calling her name, but got no response. Straightening, she put her hands on her hips again, regarding the girl.
She had to admit, the noblewoman looked considerably better than she had the previous day, as far as Everine could tell with the bandages and dressings. Everine had given her up for dead when they’d parted ways in the forest. But she could not deny that this young woman’s courage was something she hadn’t expected and worth deep respect: not many in this world would have chosen to interfere in a fight between a sorcerer and a demon-wraith. Everine wasn’t sure she would have made the same decision in her place.
Such a decision had cost Araynia dearly: she had almost been destroyed by what she had encountered. Everine had been convinced that she wasn’t going to last another night.
Of course, she hadn’t expressed this thought to Ben, it would only have upset him. She had gone along with his plan mostly because she was curious to know if this magical Sword of Healing worked as her brother said it did.
Carefully, Everine drew back the blanket covering Araynia. The Sword lay there, along the length of the girl’s body, her small, bandaged hands resting upon the hilt. Blue light shimmered down the blade, casting a cool, flickering glow over the sheets.
Breathless, Everine covered it quickly back up again. It was true then – this little waif of a noblewoman really was a sorcerer!
Impressed and slightly afraid, Everine sank into the chair beside the bed. But time was moving fast, and, sorcerer or no, if the damned girl didn’t wake up soon, the Sword would be taken away again. Already, in her mind Everine was formulating another possible distraction…
It was then that she caught a whiff of smoke.
Blinking out of her thoughts, perturbed, Everine examined the bed again, worrying that the magic had inexplicably caught something alight.
But nothing was amiss.
Then she turned and saw it: grey wisps leaking beneath the door to the foyer.
With a gasp, Everine froze. Demon-wraiths were known to take on the appearance of smoke. But the ward around her was still bright, and stiflingly warm: there was no sign of any dark shadows.
Hastening to the door, Everine touched the handle, only to jump back with a yelp.
It was scorching hot.
Smoke was rapidly coiling around her feet.
Fire!
Whirling, Everine took off down the ward. “FIRE!” she screamed. “SMOKE! FIRE! EVERYONE OUT!!”
The patients were slow to respond. Everine grabbed the first person she came to, a frail old man, physically dragging him out of his bed and shoving his crutches at him, she almost threw him out into the aisle. Looking back, she saw that the far end of the ward was now a haze of smoke and horribly bright flickers of light could be seen between cracks in the door, as though the dawn sun herself was trying to force her way in.
Running the other way, towards the interior of the building, Everine burst into the hallway, screaming again. Several nurses appeared, some running towards her, others sending out the alarm.
Barging back into the ward, past a throng of confused and now panicking patients, Everine raced to the end of the room, lifting an arm to cover her face as she plunged into the smoke.
She could hear it now, a terrifying crackling roar, as of something impossibly angry seeking to consume her. She could feel the heat of it radiating through the wall. Reaching Araynia’s bedside, coughing as the smoke wormed its way into her lungs and eyes, she threw off the covers again and, with only a moment’s hesitation, snatched up the Sword of Healing and shoved it into her belt, its magic fading as she did so. The blade was so long it dragged on the floor and sliced through her new skirt. Heedless, Everine gathered up the recovering girl in both arms and hurried back out into the aisle.
She had barely gone five paces, however, when the door behind her exploded, throwing burning chunks of wood in all directions, striking her back and setting her dress on fire.
Everine tumbled to the floor, girl, Sword and all. Rolling frantically, she managed to extinguish the flames from her clothes, but then she grew rigid with horror.
A woman walked calmly out of the inferno gushing through the door. At least, the black shape had the basic figure of a woman, but was more like something risen up out of the depths of Caer Sync’s netherwordly Pit.
Everine had survived many life-threatening situations in her time, had always believed that there was a way through anything. She had never allowed herself the luxury of hope, but had simply gotten on with things, of the opinion that they would work out or they wouldn’t, and that you made your own luck.
But this was different. Now, as she lay on the floor with the world burning around her, she felt her heart sink away into bitter, cold despair.
There was no escaping this demon. She would hunt Everine, and her brother, and her friends to the end of Arvanor. She was unstoppable.
Now, here, today, it was all going to end.
This is where I am going to die.
It was all Everine could do to get to her feet, but she forced herself to do it. The Sword had come loose and was lying a couple of feet away. Lady Araynia was sprawled like a rag nearby, where Everine had dropped her.
Staring bleakly at the girl, something sparked in the sailor woman’s chest, spurred on by the heat rushing towards her.
After all that girl has been through!
Bending down, she picked up the Sword of Healing, glancing unhappily at the now dim gemstones. Everine was no sorcerer, she couldn’t use the magic. But this was a silvertine blade…
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Taking the handle in both hands, she took up a defensive stance in front of the fallen noblewoman.
Carmine walked forward unhurriedly and stood about three feet from the end of the blade. She appeared wholly unharmed from her passage through the flames, though remnants of her clothing and brilliant red hair were alight.
“Give me the girl,” she said simply. “And the Sword. And perhaps you will have a chance to escape.”
Everine’s eyes stung and swam with smoke and tears as she thought of Ben. Carmine would have had to pass through the entire town to get to this building. What had she done along the way? Had she found the others? What of Hawk? Had she taken him already?
Carmine’s trigonic armour seethed with reflections. Her remaining skin was bone white, framed with clutching black veins. Her grey eyes pierced Everine’s, predatory and emotionless, like a wolf’s.
How could this… thing ever have been the person she once knew as a friend?
“What has happened to you?” she whispered.
Carmine didn’t reply. Instead, she came forward again, step by step, until her chest was a mere inch from the tip of the Sword.
Everine swallowed. She could usually handle herself in a fight, but not with someone of Carmine’s calibre. Not against a girl who had run off to join the army at the age of five…
“Give me the girl,” the demon-woman repeated. “And the Sword. And tell me where Mekka is.”
“MEKKA IS GONE!!” Everine screamed.
A ceiling beam collapsed to one side, sending up a shower of sparks and broken wood, feeding the ravenous fire. “The Angels took him! They took him and cast him into the Pit at Caer Sync!” Tears slipped from her eyes, drying instantly on her cheeks.
Carmine stared back at her dispassionately. “You lie.”
“WHY WOULD I LIE??” Fury, mixed with despair, ravaged Everine’s insides. “You’ve lost him! You’ve lost Hawk, and your father, and everyone you ever cared about! Nothing you do will bring them back! Wherever they’ve gone to is a place you’ll never reach!”
Carmine continued to regard her, saying nothing. Then, slowly, she smiled.
“You are afraid,” she whispered. “So, so afraid.” She lifted her right arm. “Let me take your fear from you.”
And before Everine could react or respond, the demon-woman’s fingers elongated in a rush of sweeping tendrils, snatching up her wrists, binding them in an instant in a freezing, terrible grip.
Gasping in shock, her hands going numb, Everine dropped her weapon.
Carmine kicked at the Sword. It spun across the wooden floor, bounced off a burning screen and away into the rubble.
The first thing Araynia became aware of as her consciousness finally returned to her was the heat.
Heat, and light, and the choking tang of smoke.
She awoke coughing.
A few chaotic seconds of confusion overwhelmed her as she tried to figure out what was happening. She was in some kind of building, and it was burning, and she was lying on the floor… Where was her Sword?
Coughing, she looked around, but couldn’t see it anywhere…
Then all the breath left her lungs in horror.
Carmine was there, and Everine, only a few feet away, the two of them locked in a cruel and demonic embrace. Serpentine tentacles ensnared the blonde-haired woman, coiled around her waist, her chest, her throat. Whimpering, gasping noises emanated from the woman’s throat.
Carmine was completely fixated on her prey, ignoring Araynia entirely.
Memories of Luca slammed back into the noblewoman’s mind – those same black tentacles, bursting through his chest, snatching his life away… Araynia shoved the memory away in distress, choking and gasping, her gut twisting.
Panic flooding through her, she tried in vain to calm herself.
Where is my Sword?!
As though in answer to her frantic, silent cry, she saw it. The Sword of Healing lay several yards away, off to one side behind Carmine, its bright gleam almost obscured by flames.
Araynia knelt on the floor staring at it in horrified dismay. Even if she could make it past the demon-woman, she would be burned alive trying to get to it…
More memories assaulted her in an ugly conflagration.
… pain, and the all-consuming, agonising, scorching white glare…
… she suffered, and could not die, and the suffering was so great that it ceased any longer to have meaning…
She screamed.
Not again! Not again!!
Clutching at her head, flames licking out at her, Araynia fought to stay sane.
Lord Requar, help me!!
If the dead sorcerer heard her, she never knew. Letting out a wrenching sob, through a blur of tears she raised her hand in the direction of the Sword, so close and yet beyond her reach…
It was a gesture of utter hopelessness and defeat… and yet… she felt something. A faint, cool rush through her fingers, like a wash of pleasant water on her skin.
She blinked, staring at her hand. She had felt such a sensation before, but usually only when holding her pendant…
Lifting her left hand to her throat, she found that the stone was there, and clutched it as though her very life were contained within. Straightening her right arm again, she concentrated on the spot where she had seen her Sword.
The blade was invisible now, consumed in the roaring blaze.
She focussed all her will on it, all her strength. Nothing mattered now but the Sword…
Everine had gone ominously quiet. Dark mist streamed off Carmine’s body, mingling with the smoke. The demon-woman’s gaze turned now to Araynia.
The young noblewoman filled her mind with the Sword, summoned it with everything she had, trying to ignore the heat and smoke which were becoming unbearable, soon to destroy her, as they had done once already…
In her peripheral vision, she saw Carmine release Everine, tentacles whipping into the air, writhing.
Araynia’s hand shook with desperation and effort, tears and sweat rolling over her face. PLEASE!
And the Sword, at last, responded. Quite suddenly, it leapt out of the flames like a glorious, sharp and silvery bird. With a final cry of desperation, Araynia surged to her feet, sweeping her arm to the side as she did so.
The Sword followed the movement, whirling through the burning air and plunging deep into Carmine’s back.
The reaction was instantaneous. There was a flash of light far brighter than the inferno around them, causing Araynia to shield her face, and Carmine screamed.
The scream was a long, terrible, gut-wrenching shriek, as of someone being torn apart.
A sound of thunder came from behind Araynia and she cowered, then screamed again as something seized her, pulling her to her feet.
Her struggles were in vain. Looking up, she saw to her astonishment a huge female Centaur, black as coal save for a white flash on her right leg and a streak of blonde in her long braided hair.
“Get astride me!” she ordered, dropping to her knees.
Araynia did as she was told, too fearful to do anything else. Then the Centaur rose, scooped Everine up in her arms, turned and galloped through the flames, leaping over debris and bearing them all from the burning building.
Carmine’s scream dwindled and was quickly lost in the rage of the fire.
They gathered at a safe distance from the fire: scattered groups of survivors and onlookers, watching great black billows of smoke rise into the morning sky. Sunlight cast a dirty yellow hue over the almost deserted town. Flames soared and snapped unchecked: the entire large building was fully ablaze. Fortunately, the infirmary stood on its own, occupying one side of a square close to the town wall, and the conflagration had not spread to any surrounding structures. There was no wind to fan the flames.
One group stood apart from the others, a little closer to the fire, three of its members brandishing silvertine weapons. They observed the fiery wreckage with intense, mute vigilance.
Nothing moved within the raging depths, however, save for disintegrating masonry.
At some point, Lieutenant Raemint left them, going to order what remained of Meadrun’s citizenry to leave.
The small crowd complied with little argument, sombrely accepting that their town was lost to wraiths, and filtered morosely out of the western gate.
“The rest of you are to leave with them,” the Centaur announced as she returned. A fine grey horse, fully harnessed, accompanied her obediently.
Both Ben and Araynia turned to her in protest.
“I cannot abandon my Sword!” the Lady insisted.
“We are NOT going to leave!” Ben put in. The boy looked pale and stricken over what had happened to his sister, but was managing to hold himself together. His brown eyes were fierce, his hand tight on his dagger.
Raemint came right up to him, her expression weary, but hard. “You will not disobey me, this time,” she growled. She gestured to Everine, who was lying on the cobblestones, unconscious but alive. “Your sister is afflicted and all of you need rest. If Carmine still lives, you will not survive another battle with her in such condition. I will not be able to protect you.” She held Ben’s furious gaze. “Sergeant Flint will escort you to the nearest village, which I believe is Hillbank.”
Flint, for his part, looked less than impressed with the pronouncement, but sighed, grumbled a bit and nodded dutifully.
“But you said yourself, we have to make a stand here!” Ben continued, his voice edging close to a whine as his resolve began to crumble.
Turning away, Raemint set her spear firmly. “As I intend to do.” Her expression was immovable as iron. “Alone.”
Ben gave up, seemingly too tired to maintain an argument. Flint, lowering his crossbow carefully to the ground, walked over to Everine and hauled her onto the back of the grey mare like a sack. Then he headed for Hawk, who slumped silently in his wheelchair behind them all, resplendent in his new shining armour, like a fallen general.
Sighing in frustration, Ben nevertheless went to help him.
Araynia stood staring at the fire, looking and feeling like a lost child. “My Sword,” she whispered.
The Freeroamer Lieutenant came to stand beside her. “I will retrieve your Sword and return it to you,” she said softly. “It will not be lost. I will do so whatever it takes from me. You have my word.”
Araynia looked up at her, at the Centaur’s fierce and graceful dark face, at her stance full of the passion of a warrior, and knew that she believed her word to be true.
Araynia wanted to believe it, too.
She wanted to believe that Carmine was dead.
“Alright folks, move out!” Flint called from behind them, Eliminator in hand once more. Ben, taking up the reins of the beautiful mare – now burdened with two fallen companions – exchanged a hopeless glance with Araynia, then grudgingly followed.
Araynia lingered, gazing not at the fire now, but at the ash drifting across the empty square, just as it had on the morning she had discovered Lord Arzath dead, consumed by his own spell, and almost Carmine and herself with him.
Almost.
Slowly, she turned and trailed after the others. They were nearly at the gate when Araynia looked back.
The black Centaur stood there beneath the wafting smoke where they had left her, resolutely facing the flames with her long silver spear at her side, alone in a town now occupied only by the dead.
Then they passed through the wall and she was gone.