Prologue
STRONGROOM WITH A VIEW
The night in the city of Triana was a dark and silent thing. Lights were not allowed after curfew, and any noise would bring the merciless guards running to your doorstep. No-one was allowed to disturb the queen’s sleep.
Mitsey Boo sat on the narrow ledge and looked down upon the sprawling rooftops of the fairy queen’s palace. Her perch was four-hundred feet above the palace walls. Above her, and within her reach, were the pink tiles that covered the tallest of the palace’s five spires. The tower’s white-stone walls were almost flawless, but Mitsey was an accomplished climber. She had climbed slowly and carefully, taking most of the night to accomplish the mammoth task. Now that she had finally reached the ledge, she took a moment to catch her breath. Mitsey had perfect night-sight, and so from her viewpoint, she could see the whole royal complex and the small circular city that surrounded it.
The pink tower upon which she was sitting sprouted from the centre of the gaudy palace; the other four spires were on each corner of the walls surrounding it. Each had a different pastel shade – blue and yellow looked north out onto the city’s trade district, and green and terracotta coloured the south wall.
Many terrible things happened in the terracotta tower. Horrific things, only spoken of in hushed tones behind closed doors. No prisoner ever came out of it in one piece, let alone alive. Mitsey knew full well that she would spend the few remaining days of her life inside that terrible place if they caught her today. She was anxious to avoid that fate, but the abject fear of it fuelled her. It made her feel alive.
Anyone looking up at the ledge would never have spotted her. She had taken every precaution possible to avoid detection by the palace’s numerous security patrols. She’d covered her light green skin in night-time camouflage, and her bright eyes hid behind tinted goggles. Goblins were known for their abilities to evade detection. Among her kind, Mitsey was the best and had no trouble avoiding even the exceptional hearing and sight of the fairies. For this mission, Mitsey was employing her talents as a thief. If she succeeded, her place in faie history would be assured.
Tonight, Mitsey was on vital Defiance business, a nickname given to their resistance movement hundreds of years ago. The name had stuck despite their leader, Sintra’s preference. She felt It much harder to find something that wasn’t officially there.
Mitsey sat there, chewing on some moistened fruit, a rare treat these days. The energy she had used getting to this point had been considerable, so she needed to take a little time to replenish some of it, despite there being a lot left for her to accomplish before the sun came up.
Mitsey broke her reverie and got back to business. She carefully removed four of the large, oval tiles from the edge of the spire’s roof and slipped silently through the hole she’d created. She fished around in her pack, and once she’d found the special hooks she’d prepared, she quietly restored the roof to its previous state. Before she hung the last tile, she took a long look at the surrounding city. She sighed and made a wish that she would see it again tonight.
The sun hadn’t broken the horizon yet, so she still had time. The climb had gone well.
Using all her skills, she stealthily made her way out of the tower loft. Mitsey crept down the spiral of the white-marble staircase until she reached the door to the fairy queen’s trophy room. It was a heavy, thick metal door with a spoked wheel in the centre, guarded by two heavily armoured palace guards. These creatures were orcish elite, a large, particularly vicious breed of regular orcs raised as killers from birth. They were fierce, vindictive fighters that Mitsey had no hope of defeating alone. Over four hundred of them were in the employ of the queen, along with another one hundred ogres. They guarded Triana, a city with a population of only three thousand, and most of those were slaves.
Sintra had warned her these monsters would be here. Such an important room would never be left unguarded. The problem was, no-one Mitsey had spoken to could be confident that her solution would be effective against such creatures. They were a tough breed.
The goblin donned her custom-made breathing apparatus and withdrew a heavy demijohn of green liquid from her pack. She carefully removed the bottle’s cork, making sure it didn’t make a noise and betray her presence. She laid it down horizontally on the inside edge of the stair’s spiral. Olive coloured goop started to glug out from the jar’s wide neck and flow slowly down the steps. As the liquid touched the stairs’ pure marble, it reacted, and dense smoke erupted from the stone. The corrosive goop oozed down further until it reached the landing upon which the guards slouched.
Satisfied that she had released enough of her concoction, Mitsey carefully lifted the bottle upright and recorked it. There was about a quarter of its original contents remaining. She allowed herself a small smile as the smoke spread, engulfing the stairway. After a short while, Mitsey heard coughing as the miasma began to overcome the guards. Then she heard two loud thuds as her victims succumbed to the fumes. The guards hadn’t managed to utter so much as a squeak in alarm. The goblin knew that the smoke would reach the tower’s base in about ten minutes, and its appearance would raise the alarm. The clock had started; she needed to get this next part done with all haste.
Using her natural mana-sight on the door, she saw what she had expected, the delicate webbing of a powerful protection spell. The lock was magical, built to defy everyone who did not have access to its power. This place was inside the queen’s mana-restriction dome, a shield constructed to keep magical energy in and restrict what got through to the outside world. The magic here would be active.
That is how the fairy queen had enslaved all the faie. Mitsey could feel her anger rising at the thought. Her people had fled to this world when the humans threatened to eradicate them from their original homes on Earth. The queen had offered them safety in her realm, and the faie had readily accepted her offer. However, almost as soon as the waygate they’d fled through had crumbled away, the evil creature created a magical regulation dome that encapsulated the realm’s one source of power and only allowed enough energy to escape to permit the faie to stay alive. The rest, the winter fairies hoarded – evil, greedy bastards, every one of them. The queen then decreed that unless the faie submitted to servitude, she would cut off the energy flow altogether and destroy every creature beyond the dome.
Mitsey admonished herself severely. She had stupidly let her mind wander. After a deep breath to steady herself, she began to concentrate hard. Using a technique that had taken her many months to perfect, she syphoned off the mana used to create the door’s protection spell. She shivered as she absorbed the casting’s raw power. The luxury of having spare magic inside her felt decadent. It was for this feeling that the resistance was fighting. It was a shame the mana was useless to her.
She heard the lock mechanism clunk as the spell finally died, and the locking wheel released. Mitsey then wound the door bolts open and pulled the door, which swung outwards smoothly on well-constructed hinges. Mitsey slipped inside. She knew that she had taken two hundred and thirty-three seconds to open the door because her internal clock kept track. It irked her that she’d spent at least sixty of those seconds lost in her thoughts.
Staying pressed against the circular wall, she eased herself a third of the way around, clockwise. Mitsey inhaled sharply when she spotted her objective. There it lay in all its glory, underneath a delicate glass hood. Even in its dormant state, it was beautiful. The intricately cut keystone-crystal glowed with a deep blue light. A finely crafted golden frame encased the magical gemstone, and a delicate chain attached to the encapsulation turned the crystal into a pendant. It was amazing to think that a priestess had found someone capable of holding this artefact. At least, so she claimed. If true, though, there may yet be hope for all of them.
She took a few deep breaths to slow her quickening heartbeat and stuck her jaw out in determination. Mitsey steeled her nerves. She reached into her pocket and fished out the enchanted velvet pouch that the elders had prepared for the task. Any mortal that touched the crystal would instantly crumble to dust, a victim of a dire curse that the fairy queen had placed upon it. The queen was a master of curse magic, and Mitsey did not doubt the dire consequences that could befall her. The small pouch was the only thing that would save her from becoming a desiccated pile of powder.
Mitsey took another deep breath. In a heartbeat, she’d flipped the dome up and away, not caring that it shattered noisily on the floor. With a swift movement, she pulled the pouch over the glowing pendant and pulled the drawstring tight.
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A high-pitched wail sounded throughout the palace, its tone rising and falling. That was her signal to flee. On her way out, she grabbed the remaining goop in the bottle and threw it down the stairs as hard as she could manage. She didn’t wait to hear it shatter. Instead, she fled like a breeze, back up the twisting staircase.
Mitsey had prepared for this mission over the last few months, and her focus had been mainly on her escape. She was an accomplished engineer and had worked hard on something new that would enable it. At least, that was the plan. When she made it back to the tower’s attic, she removed the tiles again and took off her jacket.
She climbed back out onto the ledge and pulled a cord hanging down from the harness she wore. Wings mounted on her back, unfurled, and extended outward. Mitsey took a deep breath, crossed her fingers, and leapt outward into the air. She sighed deeply with relief as her invention took her weight, and the wings bore her quickly away from the palace.
Now all she had to do was land safely.
****-****
The room smelt dank and abandoned. Many years ago, its original occupants had been dragged off to the Terracotta tower by the royal guards. The floorboards were just as warped and twisted as the rough plank door that hung loosely in the corner. The wattle of the walls had long since dropped most of their daub on to the floorboards.
Sintra hefted the velvet pouch in her hand. The small drawstring bag was covered in sigils and wards, protecting everyone from the object inside. While her acute elven eyes could easily see the tiny, intricate runes, she had no idea what they meant. She looked at it thoughtfully as she considered what Mitsey had gone through to retrieve it.
The queen’s screams of rage had been heard throughout the city when she learnt of the pendant’s theft. Entwaine, the queen’s sadistic advisor and second in command, was already out on the streets with hundreds of elite orcs, fairies, and ogres. They’d flooded the city, searching door to door for the item and the culprits that stole it. Corpses of many servants and slaves already littered the streets as rough justice was applied without hesitation.
“All of that suffering for this thing,” Sintra said as she held the pouch up for the other elf in the room to see. “They will be searching for this for weeks. Hundreds are likely to suffer as a result.”
The elf standing in front of Sintra was standing rigidly to attention. She had long raven hair, softly curved features, and radiant eyes that were a vivid shade of azure blue. Her expression was severe, though. She was currently looking over Sintra’s shoulder at something.
“Isabelle? Dammit! Are you even listening to me?” Sintra asked, the frustration evident in her voice.
“Yes, of course, Sintra. Blah, blah, people are dying, blah. People are dying every day. One day those winged psychopaths will run out of people to murder. That is what we are fighting to stop. Is it not?” Isabelle replied, her gaze flickering briefly to look at Sintra. Her voice was snarky, her natural cynicism radiating through her words.
Sintra looked at Isabelle sternly. She shook her head and clasped her hands tightly in front of her. Then she thought about what her friend and co-conspirator had endured throughout her life, and her look softened. She had every right to be angry at the life into which she had been born. All she had ever known was the resistance. Sintra had rescued her when Isabelle was just a young elfling. Her parents had once lived here in this house until they had been dragged off to the terracotta tower, never to return. She’d been forced into a life she had grown to hate, but it was that hatred that made her one of their best operatives. She was not only a fierce, relentless fighter, but an academic and dedicated priestess of the Wayfarer too. It was Isabelle that had spent many years tracking their old god down and creating a desperate plan to retrieve him.
“Isabelle of Triana. I have answered your summons. Your plan is rash, but it has my blessing. I have seen the possible outcomes, and most end badly for you,” A mature, stern voice said from behind Sintra.
Sintra jumped and spun around to face the unexpected voice in shock. Stood there was a lady of slightly advancing years, clad in flowing silver robes that sparkled when she moved. The woman had radiant golden eyes and seemed to be only partially there. No wonder Isabelle had been distracted. “Uhm! Uhm! My sincerest apologies, Lady Fate. I did not realise you had already joined us.” The elf’s mind wanted to crawl away and hide under a rock as the goddess’ golden eyes seemed to pierce her entire existence. Fate scowled at her and then turned her stare on Isabelle.
Sintra knew that this was an auspicious occurrence for the elves. Gods and goddesses could not usually leave their Pantheon, but Isabelle was a priestess and had issued a powerful divine summons in the temple earlier. Isabelle needed divine assistance for the next stage of her plan, and so she went out and got it. Her friend was single-minded in the extreme.
“Are you certain this is something you are ready to do, child?” Fate asked Isabelle.
“Lady Fate, I wish to strike a bargain. I offer you my soul when I die, in exchange for taking me to him,” Isabelle said, without bothering to answer the goddess’ question.
The goddess snorted in disgust at the elf’s words. Her eyes flared a brighter gold, and she looked annoyed. “I do not want your soul, foolish elf,” she said. She shook her head as she said the words. “You have no value to me. I want our Reaper back. You already have my goodwill for finding him. Now fetch him for me. Fail, and I might yet take your life, simply out of spite.”
“Isabelle, if this goes wrong, you will surely die,” Sintra said. Her face was full of concern for her friend, knowing that she would never back down from this. She also knew that Fate’s ultimatum would only drive Isabelle harder. She was stubborn that way.
Fate closed her eyes, and her image faded slightly. “You have two minutes to say your goodbyes. It is nearly time.”
Sintra dashed through a nearby door and quickly returned with a battered-looking satchel. She opened the flap on top and dropped the magical pouch containing the crystal inside. “This contains everything we can offer him. Be lucky, my friend. We will pray for you.”
“To the street,” Fate said urgently.
The two elves dashed down the grimy stairs of Defiance’s headquarters, and the door-guard opened the outside door to let them pass. The guard never saw the goddess pass her by, but she yelped as she felt it happen. Fate grinned mischievously; spooking mortals was one of the only pleasures she had left.
The elves stood beside the road and waited. Sintra’s heart fell when she heard the marching of heavy feet approaching their position. A squad of elite orcs by the sound and stench of it. The street corner obscured their approach, but her acute elven senses could easily pick them out from the city’s daytime hubbub.
She hastily handed the satchel to Isabelle. “Good luck,” she said. “We are all depending on you.” Then she sprinted off down the road, away from the approaching troops. There was nothing more she could do for Isabelle. Now, self-preservation was all that mattered.
“Your friend is wise to flee. Take a half-step to your right and a full step forward,” Fate instructed Isabelle.
She did as Fate had told her to and nervously listened to the approaching troops. They would be rounding the corner in seconds. Then she heard it. The sound of a heavy horse’s hooves moving quickly across cobblestones. The sound came from the opposite direction of the troops’ approach, but there was nothing there when Isabelle looked.
“Pay attention and get ready to jump upwards. I can only guide you, not lift you,” Fate said.
The owner of the pounding hooves should have been in sight by now. Then Isabelle saw a mist in the middle of the street that swirled and quickly darkened. A vertical, swirling disk of darkness engulfed an area twenty feet in diameter and out of that hurtled a huge, black horse. The horse’s eyes were wild, and foam flecked its mouth and flanks. It was evident that it had been running hard for a while.
The troops rounded the corner at that moment, and a cry went up. Heavy, orcish boots pounded towards them, seemingly unafraid of the wall of equine muscle that was thundering their way.
“We are leaving,” Fate said. Her voice was bright with amusement. “Three, two, one, jump.”
Isabelle felt firm hands grip her under her armpits, and she leapt as hard as she could. The world had gone mad, and she was just going along with it. She shot upward and saw a robe-clad arm shoot forward from behind her and grab the pommel of the horse’s saddle just as it arrived within the goddess’ reach. The forward momentum of the animal and the upward inertia from her jump created a beautiful arc that landed her firmly in the horse’s saddle –perfectly timed poetry in motion.
As soon as she had touched the saddle, everything started to fade from view. They passed right through the rampaging soldiers, and some of them toppled over in fright and confusion. Then the world around the elf went black. She could sense the motion and hear the creak of the saddle as the horse pounded through the void around her, but she could see nothing. There was just emptiness.
Isabelle began to feel the arcane vacuum pulling at her form. Faie creatures could not maintain their shape outside of a magical field, and in the void, there was nothing. She hastily stuffed the bag into the horse’s saddlebag, hoping that it was a safe place. She would not be capable of holding it soon, which was a severe oversight. She prayed to the god she was searching for that this would not turn out to be a serious flaw in her plan.
There was a loud roaring of something approaching fast and then a thump. The void winked out of existence, and Isabelle found herself floating above the horse in her manifest form. Whatever world she was now in, it had no magical energy. If mistaken about her objective, death would claim her within a week. She didn’t have enough spare power to keep her cohesion for longer, even as a pinprick of light.
Isabelle glanced behind her and saw that Fate had disappeared. If I die, at least I died while trying, she thought bitterly.