Gheeor’s hand shot out and grabbed the guard by the throat, the motion smooth like oil. Catharina pressed her hand to the man’s chest as they pushed inside, and stopped his heart with a squeeze. The guard’s knees buckled but he couldn’t fall.

Instead, Gheeor sat the man down on the chair beyond. The wailing of the storm followed them in until Catharina closed and latched the door. Ten men to go, and their target. Nine, if the other metal mind wasn’t a threat. She could feel it questing out, awkward and graceless, trying to latch onto her. It had pitiful control and was easily shrugged off, Gheeor given protection by her own defence.

No grand hallway here. No decorations. Like the rest of the compound, this building was square and unadorned, the corridor a narrow space that led between several rooms locked tight. She expected most of the doors she could see were no different than the entrance one, thick and strong, built like safes to protect whatever they hid.

It was a good thing she had no interest in this.

Four large rooms, judging from the doors. All closed.

“We’re in luck,” she whispered as she moved forward and clasped her hand on the first door’s handle. Brass, or something close enough to it. Lightning discharged into the lock, a short, intense burst that fused the mechanism inside.

She quickly moved to the next as the handle began rattling on this one. A mind inside reacted in panic.

It was quick work to seal four men inside their guard posts. The storm shutters were drawn outside, thick and securely latched. Whoever was inside would remain there.

Muffled voices sounded past the doors she’d sealed. A sound of something smashing. Curses. Some panic floated on the air, and so did the mind, reeling from whatever was happening.

Someone slid open a hatch in one of the doors. A shout began. Catharina’s lightning dropped the man with a crunch of armour and a gurgle of blood.

Gheeor led the way as she blew her bloody nose on the stolen cloak. She discarded the helmet, too large anyway for her. Out of the rain, it stank with a sour odour. It spoke of soldier’s sweat and of washing only when it rained.

Some things, like hygiene, even good discipline couldn’t impose.

“Narrow stairs,” Gheeor said as they reached the corkscrew heading up. “Right-handed.” He neatly passed his sword from his right hand to his left as his eyes peered up.

Another narrow corridor led at a right angle to a wooden door. This would be, she thought, a servant’s entrance. Pascal’s map of the compound had shown the kitchen as a separate unit, as well as the dormitories for the guards and the help. All of them nestled deep enough inside that they’d require little other protection.

It wasn’t worth exploring that way. Instead, she walked and sealed the lock just as she had the others. The door could be broken down, but it would take time.

On a night like this, servants had likely been sent away come the dark.

A single lamp lit the ascension. They could head up to the third level easily enough through here, but it didn’t seem prudent to allow for guards at their back. And she was curious of this other presence that stalked her progress.

“Second level first. Five people. Nice and careful,” she instructed in a whisper. Gheeor nodded.

Sneaking about was easy. This wasn’t a place built to burn. As was rare on Vas, Letinn had built his home of cut stone. Their steps made no noise on the solid steps. She expected the roof was the only wooden thing, but wasn’t certain. Easy to defend, yes, but also easy to be locked inside with nowhere to go.

There was some irony in that.

It was obvious immediately that the next level wasn’t the same as the first. From the twist of the stairs, she could make out a large, open room. Here there was the pomp she’d expected below, the concession made to a business that needed opulence.

Furs. The motif of the room was fur. Hunting trophies occupied the walls. Dray heads made a grim display. A gold-tongue drake’s skin hung on another, oiled up to shine in the light.

Two men stood leaned against a high table, playing dice, the only sound the clink-clink of the bones rolling in a wooden case. They turned their heads to Gheeor stepping into the room. It impressed on Catharina how quickly both reacted, reaching for their weapons. Swords and shields. Pointed, as if expecting to protect against a channeller’s first salvo.

“Attend!” one of them shouted. They took defensive positions, one next to the other, shields pointed at her. Two doors opened to the side and crossbows peaked out, black bolts at the ready.

Were they waiting for her? It seemed impossible. Was this… normal for these men?

Catharina dove back as black quarrels loosed on her. They cracked against walls as she crouched in the stairwell.

Gheeor passed her quietly, shield raised to his head, sword tucked behind it. He erupted into the room and charged wordlessly forward. Two more quarrels pinged off his shield as he closed the distance.

Catharina rushed in his wake, arms wreathed in pulsing light. The crossbowmen were quick to reload. She picked the one on her left and a pulse of power exploded the weapon in his hands. A scream followed. Another pulse dropped the man before he could draw back into safety.

The other one rushed out at her, hunched low, gripping a dagger. He was on her in less than a heartbeat, knife point aimed between her ribs. She drew back, lashed out with a fish wreathed in power. He dodged, elbowed her forearm away, and threw a quick jab at her face. It snapped her head back and stars danced across her vision.

A sword rang out as it met a shield somewhere to the side. She distantly registered the groan of someone getting slammed back. It wasn’t Gheeor.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Her own opponent was skilled. He’d faced channellers before. Followed all the right tenants of facing a lightning wielder. Kept out of grasping reach, fought to shatter her concentration, made sure never to be in line with her hands. Smart man. She wouldn’t kill him.

Another jab came for her face as she reeled. She allowed it to connect again, twisting just enough out of the way that the fist slammed just beneath her ear. It bloody hurt! But she discharged enough electricity into the assailant that it sent him to the floor in painful spasm.

A quick readjustment cleared her head, just in time to see Gheeor driving his sword through the belly of one of the other soldiers. A headbutt cracked the man’s skull and he slid down the sword’s edge into a boneless pile on the floor.

The other soldier was just getting back up from where Gheeor had thrown him against the wall. He took one look at his companion lying in a growing puddle of blood, and the one still twitching at Catharina’s feet, and then threw down his sword.

“I yield,” the man said, arms raised. “I yield.”

Catharina spat and twisted her neck, mind questing out in two directions. The man was honest. It only took a glance to get his measure and see the cold logic behind the decision.

The other side of her power quested upward and found a single mind above, undisturbed. The peels of thunder outside had masked enough of their scuffle down here. Good.

“You won’t die for your master?” she asked the soldier.

“No. Not for this one,” he answered, meeting her eye. “I yield. Please. Don’t kill him.”

It took a moment for Catharina to realise who he meant. The man at her feet, groaning now that the shock was passed, tried to move. Her gaze passed between the two. Some semblance there, in the set of the jaw and the features of the face.

“Your brother?”

“Aye. We yield. Please.”

Blood ran thicker than gold. Good.

“Gheeor? See to them,” she said as she moved towards the last mind. The other channeller had been trying to peek out at her, but Catharina’s own strength buffeted it its efforts.

The last door to the left of the fur-lined room opened up to reveal a small room beyond. It held a bookcase, a desk, and a chair. On the left-hand side there was a narrow cot. As far as holding cells went, Catharina had seen worse. This was about as much opulence as she’d enjoyed on Nen.

On the cot sat a girl, her arms bound from the elbows down. Her hands had been forced into fists, then wrapped as such. In that Catharina recognized the old understanding of how channelling worked, that a witch would need her hands to show her power.

The girl was young. Twenty summers, maybe. Probably younger. Raven-black hair overgrown down her shoulders. Small and willowy, trembling as she set black eyes on Catharina herself. She trembled horribly.

Catharina hadn’t drawn back her power. It was smothering the girl.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Iliaya, lady.” There was no tremble in the voice. “Iliaya of Azurite Holding.”

Catharina looked up at the ceiling, an eyebrow raised. “The daughter?”

“Yes, lady.”

“I’m here to kill your father. Do you object?”

The girl’s eyes followed her gaze, then slid back down to stare at the sack tied at her waist. She went quiet for a time.

“May I watch?”

Catharina burst out laughing. A flick of her fingers cut across the bindings on Iliaya’s arms, freeing her. Heavy manacles dropped to the floor with a dull thud. The girl slowly opened her hands, the fingers bone-white in the light of a single candle burning on the desk. By the looks of things, she’d been bound for a long time. Sparks of lightning danced across her skin as she drew in power.

“You will not hurt the men I’ve spared,” she warned the girl. “They are under my protection for the time being.”

“My guards you mean? I wouldn’t touch a hair on them.” Iliaya shrugged and offered a trembling smile. “They’re kind men. It was my father who feared me, not them.”

True enough, the two men did not react when she emerged with Iliaya in tow. Gheeor had tied them together.

“Taken the offer?” Catharina asked.

“Aye. We’ll serve,” the oldest of the two answered. His brother still looked to be dazed and she worried she might’ve shocked him a tad hard. He’d snap out of it eventually, but for now she couldn’t expect to trust them.

“Once I finish here, I’ll cut you loose. Be at the pier come the first light of morning and you will be found.”

“And if we don’t show?” the soldier asked, holding her gaze.

She shrugged, “Then you don’t show.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. I don’t need cowards and turncoats. You either serve, or you go your own way and pray we never cross paths again.”

She gestured for Iliaya to follow. Gheeor raised an eyebrow as she signalled for him to wait. “Girl wants to watch. I’m happy to let her.”

Letinn turned out to be a well-groomed, middle-aged man that looked to have gone deep into his cups. Or, quite possibly, even taken a liking to his own stock if the bulbous eyes and inflamed nose were anything to go by. Catharina speared him on a lightning bolt that burst his heart and dropped the rest of the meat in an instant.

Iliaya said nothing as she watched her father’s corpse being beheaded, the grizzly trophy joining the other one. Catharina would pass the heads to Gheeor. One was bearable. Two on her belt and she feared she might lose her trousers by night’s end.

“Can I come with you?” Iliaya asked as they descended from the office and made their way back into the lashing rain.

“See that you go to the pier and we’ll talk then. I don’t need you for what happens next.”

“You’re killing the lords of Amaranth. I can help,” she insisted, a strange excitement coating her words. “I want to see them brought low. All of them.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.” Perceptive chit of a girl, Catharina had to admit. “I’ve achieved what I meant to do for the night.”

“But there’s more. I can feel it on you. You’re not done.”

Catharina turned her head towards her shoulder and was rewarded with a squirming feeling.

“I said nothing to her,” the god whispered. “I wouldn’t dare. We have an understanding. I respect it.”

What galled Catharina was that she’d felt nothing of the girl’s attention. The shyness from earlier, the tentative outreach, the fractured contacts… those had all been clumsy and rough. But this, to probe her without even leaving a scent?

Maybe it was just simple intuition.

“Go to the pier. I will find you come the morning. I’ll see then what I’m to do about you.”

Reluctantly, the girl agreed. So far, the night was going entirely too well for her liking. Even the blast of cold air and the lashing rain did little to dampen her spirits. She’d achieved two of her three goals, and found a channeller in the process. Maybe a powerful one, if she trusted her gut’s estimation of Iliaya.

Something was going to go wrong. It must. Or else she’d be quite disappointed that it had all been, after all, quite that easy.