Chapter 47 – The Shadow of the Master, Part 2

Zull didn’t wait another second before turning and sprinting back towards the table in the center of the cavern. Prince Blyth’s gaze flicked to follow his path, then instantly snapped back to Zaphyr as she hemomantically hurled another blood bolt at him. With the slightest twitch of his finger, the bolt halted once more. This time, after leaving it hovering in the air for a moment, frozen, he sent it careening back towards Zaphyr.

Zaphyr, who stood leaning against the cave wall to support herself now that she had lost her right leg, raised both her hands before her as she exerted every ounce of hemomantic will and power which she possessed. She felt like she was pushing against an oncoming wall which steadily and inexorably advanced towards her with each passing second. Sweat dripped down her face, and she gritted her teeth so hard that she nearly bit clean through her tongue. Blood poured through her mouth, filling it with an iron, acrid taste. She spat to clear some of the blood but remained unshakably focused on stopping the oncoming bolt. All of this had happened in the span of five heartbeats.

To Zaphyr’s relief and Prince Blyth’s frustration, the bolt gradually lost speed, coming to a halt just in front of Zaphyr’s face, so close that had she leaned forward, her nose would touch it. She let out a ragged sob, overjoyed just to be alive. Prince Blyth, sneering dismissively, raised a single finger. Zaphyr ducked her head down just in time as the bolt surged forward once more, splashing against the cave wall with a sickening splattering sound. The entire cavern now smelled of the metallic scent of blood. It was a familiar smell to both the twins and the prince by this point, but that did not make it any less vile or noxious.

While Prince Blyth had been distracted in this way, Zull had reached the table. Skidding to a stop and knocking the standing chair over onto the ground, he snatched up the ring of keys before he sprinted back to the cell. “Thank you, Lad,” Vyle said appreciatively when he saw Zull’s return.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Zull said, frowning with concentration as he studied the ring he held in his hands. Dozens of keys hung from the ring, all vastly different in their size and shape. He tried the one that he thought looked the best fit for the keyhole, but to his frustration, the cell door refused to open. He frantically slotted another key into the lock, with a similar result. Turning to Zaphyr, he mouthed the words, “Keep him occupied.”

“Is that the best you can manage, ‘Master?’” Zaphyr shouted up to Prince Blyth. “Throwing my own blood bolts back at me? I thought you were the most powerful hemomancer the empire had ever seen.”

Prince Blyth snorted, the sound equal parts amused and utterly disdainful. “If I thought you worth my time and energy, I might try and think of something a little more creative and painful. Since you asked so politely, however, perhaps you would like to lose your other leg?” He moved his hand as if to snap his fingers, then let out a strangled yelp, equal parts pained and surprised, as his fingertips began to blacken and wither. They returned to their normal coloring an instant later as he exerted his own powers upon them, but that brief moment of vulnerability had clearly left him shaken.

“Did you like that?” Zaphyr called. “I thought what you did to my leg was a very neat trick, so I tried something similar. I’m glad to see that it worked. I used your own blood to try and eat away at the tissue in your hands. I’ve noticed most hemomancers use their hands to direct their power; it’s an unconscious means of focusing the power. I wonder, how effective you would be without your hands, ‘Master?’”

Prince Blyth pursed his lips, studying Zaphyr with an introspective expression. “You think you can distract me with endless chatter. It won’t work. Such raw power, such cunning, and paired with such a vicious, innovative attitude. You could easily have been the greatest hemomancer in the land, had you lived.”

“I’m not dead yet,” Zaphyr responded, blood trickling down her chin from the corner of her mouth.

“A matter of details,” he responded with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I’ve heard a lot of braggarts over the past few weeks,” Zaphyr told him, standing as tall as she could while trying to balance on her remaining leg. “Skir and Geth, Zared Choler, Aldus and Sangue Phlegm, and now you. Every one of you had a few traits in common. You all liked to boast about how powerful you were, and you all declared yourselves the victors before you truly won. In case you failed to notice, I’m still here, Blyth, and none of them are. If you are truly as invincible as you say, then prove it. Come down here and fight me, personally.”

Blyth chuckled, tossing his long, faded blonde hair back across his shoulder as he did so. “Very well, if you insist.”

He jumped down from the ledge to the cavern floor, which cracked beneath his boots as he landed. Zaphyr’s mouth nearly dropped open, awed as she was by this casual display of power and brute strength. She kept her composure and hid her shock, however. No use showing him how terrified I am right now. It would only give him another advantage. Stalking to the wooden table, he grabbed it by one end and lifted the entire piece of furniture effortlessly above his head, the half-eaten plates of food sliding off onto the floor with a loud clatter as he did so. Grinning cockily, he proceeded to hurl the table at Zaphyr.

Without any other options, she threw herself to the ground, then rolled to the side. The table hit the wall she had been leaning against just a few seconds before, smashing into a pulp of splinters and wooden fragments which rained down on her with a thunderous clatter. Looking to her side, she spotted one leg of the broken table lying on the ground, just out of her reach. She turned to look up at Zull, who stared back at her, pale-faced and shaking, as he frantically tried key after key in the lock in a desperate attempt to finally get the door to open.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you are trying, Zull. You think you can free Vyle and simply run away?” Prince Blyth said mockingly. “It won’t be that easy to escape. Not this time.” He moved towards Zull, but Zaphyr, pulling herself back upright by grabbing onto the bars of the cell door, moved to block him.

“What do you hope to accomplish this way?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in bemusement. “You’re crippled, weak, and exhausted.”

In return, Zaphyr spat in his face. Using her hemomancy on the blood as it left her mouth, she transformed it into a miniature blade, aiming it directly at Prince Blyth’s eyes. Recognizing what she was doing a fraction of an instant too late, Prince Blyth moved without thought, jerking his head backwards. Zaphyr’s makeshift blade barely missed his eye, gouging him along the cheek and leaving a narrow cut which ran from the tip of his nose to his ear. Reacting with evident panic, he took an unsteady step back and raised a trembling hand to his face, which had gone ashen pale with fear. When he realized that the wound was so shallow as to not even be bleeding, he gave an involuntary smile of relief, before turning his attention back towards Zaphyr and Zull.

“Your blood illness may be gone, but you still act as if you have it,” Zaphyr said, thinking aloud as she carefully studied her opponent’s face, studying his reaction.

“I must admit, the wound you dealt me truly frightened me for a second,” Prince Blyth responded, unconsciously running a hand along his wounded cheek as he spoke, “But in the end, as you said, I no longer have that weakness. Look what each of us has managed to accomplish so far in our little skirmish: I’ve cut off one of your legs, and you have given me a cut on the cheek.”

“I warned you, Prince, about what happens to braggarts,” Zaphyr said. “You haven’t won yet.”

Prince Blyth’s smile faded. “You are correct. I spoke too soon. Perhaps you truly are my match in hemomancy, Zaphyr Tyrell. But now that your wolfish knight and dearest Sangue are both gone, no one alive can contest my strength.” Before Zaphyr even had time to question how he could possibly know about that, he moved forward with blazing speed, swinging at her head. Zaphyr twisted sideways, trying to prevent herself from losing balance and falling over. Blyth’s fist connected with the wall beside her, leaving a long, narrow crack from the force of the blow. Zaphyr, taking a desperate chance, lunged and grabbed the broken leg of the table from where it had fallen, then twisted as she stood back up, wedging her free hand into the crack in the wall to support herself. She struck back, hitting Prince Blyth across the jaw with her makeshift wooden club. He slowly raised a hand to his jaw, gingerly poking at it.

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“I felt that,” he said, furrowing his eyebrows in annoyance.

“That’s only the beginning of what you’ll feel, monster!” Zaphyr shouted as she whipped her other hand around, striking Prince Blyth directly on his ear. He reeled back, clutching at his head as he groaned in pain. As Zaphyr had correctly guessed, though his physical power and endurance was greater than that of anyone she had ever fought, and his mastery of hemomancy was unparalleled, he lacked any experience or training when it came to personal fighting. A savage grin lit up her face. I might just have a chance to win this fight after all, she thought.

Meanwhile, as he continued agitatedly fiddling with the keys, Zull nearly shouted with relief as one not only slid into the keyhole of the prison cell but turned within the lock. Zull thought the resulting metallic click was the sweetest noise he had ever heard. Trembling, he carefully reached out and pushed on the door. It swung inwards, and he stepped into the cell, keeping a watchful eye on Prince Blyth and Zaphyr the whole time. So far, the prince didn’t seem to have noticed what they had done.

“Good work, Lad!” Vyle said. “Now, help me up.” Zull pulled the bandit lord to his feet, who asked, “Which way did the two of you use to get here?” In response to his question, Zull pointed towards the tunnel he and Zaphyr had traveled through to reach the dungeon. “There is another way, at the opposite end of the cavern. It’s much quicker and will take you right up back into the palace,” Vyle said. “I know the way; they brought me down without even bothering to blindfold me. Overconfident idiots. I’ll show you where to go.”

“What about Zaphyr?” Zull hissed.

Vyle winced at the mention of Zull’s twin. “She seems to be handling herself well enough for now, Lad. We must stick to the plan; she will keep him distracted, and we will rescue Prince Grevel. You know as well as I do it’s the only chance we have.”

Zull seethed for a second, chewing his lip and frowning worriedly, before with a groan of frustration he grabbed Vyle by his left wrist and began practically dragging the weakened man behind him as he left the cell and followed his companion’s whispered directions. Hang in there, Zaphyr, he thought, not daring to even glance back in her direction. Help is on its way, no matter what it may seem like.

Zaphyr, on the other hand, felt more confident than she had in days. She now wielded the broken leg of the table like a sword, battering the shaken prince as she lifted it above her head and struck at him repeatedly. Prince Blyth, taken completely off his guard, could only raise his arms to shield his face. While Zaphyr’s blows did not harm him, neither did she give him a respite. Retreating slowly, he stumbled backwards out of her reach. With one leg missing and one arm occupied supporting herself against the wall, Zaphyr could not easily move to pursue him and press her advantage. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she instead decided to taunt him, hoping to goad him into attacking her physically again.

“Not so mighty now, are you, ‘Master?’” Zaphyr called tauntingly. “You’re being beaten by a one-legged woman! Hah!” When he failed to respond, she reached back and threw the leg of the table at him with all the strength she could muster.

He caught it out of the air before it hit him, holding it there for a second as if contemplating what to do with it. Then, he lifted it up and brought it down across his knee, snapping it in two with ease. Tossing the remains of her only weapon aside, Prince Blyth smirked at the fear evident on her face. Drawing himself up to his full height and crossing his arms in a casual pose, Prince Blyth swiftly regained his former serenity. “Enough of this,” he said dismissively. “I have other enemies I must dispose of this night. Using the blood from your mouth was an admittedly clever trick. Let’s see how you like it when you drown in your own blood.”

Zaphyr reacted with horror as she felt the blood pooled in her mouth being forced down her throat. She fought back, testing her will against Prince Blyth’s. Raising her hands to her neck, she tried hitting herself in the chest, hoping to force herself to cough up the blood, but to no avail. Though panic clouded her thoughts for a moment, she closed her eyes and blotted out all distractions. Slowly but steadily the tide turned in her direction, until she could breathe normally once more. Lowering her hands, she opened her eyes then, just in time to see Prince Blyth running towards her, hand pulled back in a gathered fist ready to strike her with all his supernaturally enhanced strength.

She never even had a chance to dodge the blow. He hit her cleanly across the face, the blow sending her flying and landing near the open entrance to the prison cell. She hit the ground hard enough to let out a pained wheeze, all the air forced from her lungs. Her entire face ached, and each futile attempt to breathe only increased the pain.

Reaching a hand up, she gingerly touched her jaw, which had clearly been both dislocated and broken in several places from Prince Blyth’s punch. She tried to push it back into place, but the pain proved overwhelming. She nearly blacked out, her hand dropping limply to her side of its own accord. After that, she tried to push herself up to a kneeling position, but that too proved agonizing to even try. I must have a broken rib, she thought foggily. Through her blurred vision, she saw Prince Blyth walk over, grab her roughly by the front of her cloak, lift her to her feet, then slam her into the iron bars of the prison cell behind her. She cried out, then coughed up a glob of blood which spattered across Prince Blyth’s hand and sleeve. Several broken ribs, she corrected herself.

“Would it be braggadocious of me to say that it is finished now, Zaphyr?” Prince Blyth asked. “Normally, I would expect you to respond with one of your snappy retorts, but I doubt you can even speak with your jaw like that. You might even have a punctured lung if I broke your rib cage just right. It’s a tad disappointing. I had hoped to hear you screaming as you die, after all the frustration you and your brother have caused me. It’s the least I deserve.” A frown flickered across his face for the barest of seconds. “Your brother. Where is-” He looked around frantically, expecting a surprise attack from Zull at any moment. Instead, he spotted the empty cell. His eyes narrowed as his mind worked, putting together the truth. “They are going to Grevel,” he muttered, expression darkening.

Though she could not talk, Zaphyr could smile lopsidedly, though even that effort made her shattered jaw ache. Grimacing with disgust, Prince Blyth threw her to the side like a discarded toy. She landed on the ground roughly, wheezing with anguish. Lifting her head slightly, she watched as Prince Blyth ran off in the direction which Zull and Vyle had gone. She smiled weakly to herself, even as she drifted in and out of consciousness. I hope I bought you enough time, Zull…everything’s up to you now…

While this had all been happening, Zull, with Vyle under his arm, had made their way to the end of the tunnel Vyle had spoken of earlier, reaching a stone staircase leading up to a closed wooden door, with a lit torch set to either side of it.

“If we can make it through that door, we’ll be safe,” Vyle told Zull. “The throne room is just down a long corridor from there.”

Zull glanced back, squinting to try and see through the gloom. It had fallen eerily quiet back in the cavern, and the silence unnerved him. “Maybe,” he said, though he doubted it himself. He made his way up the stairs, pulling Vyle behind him. The bandit was in worse shape than Zull had expected, his body weary and sore from the night of horrors he had experienced. Zull couldn’t help but notice the numerous blotchy bruises covering his arms and neck, all signs of the repeated beatings he had received. With no strength left, he was little better than dead weight, which made it all the harder to climb the slick, steep stone stairs.

Regardless, Zull made his way up, one step at a time, each harder than the last. The only thing motivating him to push on was his fear of what lay behind, and the consequences should he fail. Reaching the top of the stairs, he grasped the door and pushed it open before him. He nearly stumbled through, still holding onto Vyle. They found themselves in a small room, decorated with several sets of armor as well as plaques set on the walls displaying various weapons. The only other way to leave the room was a closed door at the opposite end.

“Can you stand on your own?” Zull asked Vyle.

“I…I think so, Lad. Yes,” Vyle said. Zull let the bandit go, who did manage to stay on his feet, despite wobbling unsteadily.

“Good,” Zull said. After closing the door behind him, he walked across to its counterpart, then hesitated. “No, not just yet,” he said aloud. He paced around the room in a frantic circle, studying each weapon in turn, mouth working in silent sentences as he took them in. Finally, he stopped before a wooden plaque displaying a small dagger, the edge of which was caked with dried blood. The inscription on the plaque explained that the dagger had been the failed tool of the first assassination attempt the Empress had ever been the target of, which she had decided to keep as a trophy. Reaching up with trembling fingers, Zull snatched the dagger down from the wall before surreptitiously hiding it in his sleeve. “We can go now,” he said.

“We’re close,” Vyle told him as they stepped to the door. Zull pushed it open, silently thankful that had not been locked, and they entered the hallway beyond. “The throne room is right at the end of this hallway.”

They turned, and saw that, halfway down the hall, between them and the ornate oaken doors which plainly served as the throne room’s entrance, stood General Steroth and a half-dozen of his soldiers, all carrying spears. They had evidently been heading towards the throne room as well, and now turned back to stare in surprise at the newcomers.

“General Steroth!” Zull said, relief washing over him in a wave. “Good. Together, we can…”

“Halt there, young man,” the General said, interrupting him. “Have you found the Prince yet?”

“What?” Zull said, bewildered. “Yes, of course. He’s currently pursuing us.”

“Did you try to slay him?” General Steroth demanded.

“My sister and I fought to defend ourselves,” Zull said, “But that’s not what’s important right now. He is on his way!”

“Silence, Zull. Right now, your confession is all that matters. I understand that you may be confused, so listen to me clearly: you and your friend – a known conspirator against the Empress, I might add – are now under arrest.”