Knite

The camp, if you could call it that, was badly chosen and set. No tent or shelter, no cover or canopy, no nearby sources of water or grazing spots for the horses. Sanas was never much for honing her traveling skills. She’d chosen a muddy site in an open space—an oddity considering her aversion to dirt. A fire built from a haphazard jumble of wood lay without a ring of stone, the smoke visible for miles around. She sat on a blanket-covered log, vacantly prodding a stick into the waving flames. Merkon slept on the other side of the fire, lost to his fatigue. Neither noticed me as I approached.

“Why did you send them?” I asked.

Sanas’ head whipped around. She settled after seeing me, releasing a sigh of relief before turning back. It was a sad sight. There was a time she would’ve had me trapped within an airless ball of fire before the question was half asked.

She shrugged. “They wanted to.”

“And you let them.”

“Did they not rescue you?”

“You thought me in need of rescuing?”

“You said you would join us. You didn't.”

“Am I not here?”

“So I take it they had no hand in that.”

“Not even the tip of a fingernail.”

She shrugged again.

“Would you have waited at all if this happened during the war?” I wanted to say ‘before your imprisonment’. I didn’t. “Would you not have taken my return as truth and continued west as I’d ordered?”

“Much has happened since the war.”

I growled. She did not react. My patience was wearing thin. Her indifference to my expressing it had worn it thinner more quickly.

“Wake the boy and ready the horses,” I commanded.

Sanas stood and stepped over the fire, ignoring the flames. She grabbed the boy by his shoulders and shook him, his waking a matter of stages. He groaned and sat up and she went about readying the horses. The four she’d acquired from the stables had been tied clumsily to a lone tree a little ways off the camp. My mare was in the opposite direction, no doubt separated for being unwelcoming of her more tamed kin.

“Where are Helena and Roche?” Merkon asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Better.”

“Can you walk?”

“Depends on the distance.”

“Back to the Haloreyarey?”

“Yes, though the walk will tire me.”

“Good. You’ll only need to walk when we break the tree line.”

Sanas returned with the two of the geldings, handing them over to Merkon. “May I leave the mare to you?” she asked me. “She’s a nightmare around the others.”

I nodded and went about retrieving my horse.

The spirited creature was straining to bite at me before I was in range. I got closer and let her. Her teeth found the flesh of my cheek but could not find their way through. I made no reaction. The next nipped the skin between jaw and ear. It tickled. The third took the corner of my nose and part of my upper lip and she reared back her head in hopes of ripping them free. She could do me no damage. As though realizing this, she ceased her mutiny and snorted her defeat. I wished Sanas would do the same.

I mounted the horse and led it back to the camp, finding Merkon and Sanas ready, each on a horse and holding the reigns of another.

“Follow,” I commanded, turning back to Haloryarey.

I guided us to the mansion gates: tall things set between taller walls of marble, its intricate design more ornamental than functional. We had waited for the flurry of carriages going through to come to a stop before we made our way, letting the summoned godlings hurry to their liege.

One of the four guards at the gate—a wispy woman who wore the least armor among them—stepped forward as we neared. “What business do you have here?” she asked Sanas.

“I believe Lira is expecting us,” I interjected.

The guard backhanded me. I wondered if Lorail’s proclivities had, by way of her children, trickled down and been adopted by all her subjects.

“Do not speak unless you are spoken to, worm,” she said. “Seeing as you aren't wearing a collar, I thought you better trained or bonded.” She turned to Sanas. “Why is this unruly mongrel free and without collar?”

Sanas stood, silent, unworried but almost angry with curiosity.

“Have you, or have you not been told to expect us?” I asked.

The guard tried the same response. I grabbed her forearm and crushed the bone to paste. She screamed and stumbled back. The other three readied their weapons: an ax, a longsword, and a spear. Merkon pulled on his horse’s reign. Sanas dismounted, her flames coming to life about her naked arms before she set foot on the smooth stone road.

“Stop!” called a voice. All turned to it. Danar was limping towards us, hurrying as fast as his injured foot allowed. “They are guests of the Mistress! You must let them pass!”

“This man?” the guard with the mace asked, pointing at me with her weapon. “A guest of Mistress Lira? And you think we’d suffer the mistress’ ass-licker telling us what to do?”

Danar came between us, facing the enraged soldiers. “I am a bonded of the Mistress. I would gladly lick her ‘arse’, as you so eloquently put it, and then thank her for the honor. So, unless you want this master of mine—and yours, in case you’ve forgotten—to come here herself, I suggest you give way.”

“This…man has done me harm,” the injured woman said, looking back at a fellow guard who watched me and Sanas with a calculating look. Another of the guards—the ax-wielding brute of a woman—stood by her injured ally, leaking sensus into the arm through a surgeon matrix. She hadn't the skill to fix what I’d broken.

“He’s a rabid dog that must be put down,” the injured guard continued. “Under Halor law, I demand his punishment.”

The last of the guards sheathed her blades and approached Danar. “I know you are incapable of betraying our mistress.” She smiled slyly at her own words. “By that authority alone, we will comply. However, the next time you show such disrespect to your betters in my presence, be prepared for the consequences, for I will not stay my hand a second time. As for this cretin who has injured my subordinate, I’ll be having words with the mistress on the matter. She will surely bestow on him his due comeuppance.”

Danar bowed. “By the will of the Mistress, so shall it be.”

I followed Danar as he led us to the steps of the mansion, a bewildered Sanas and a rapt Merkon at my heel. Lira met us by the doors.

“Apologies for the error,” she said. “I had imprudently busied myself with your other instructions, neglecting this possibility. In my defense, who would’ve thought you’d walk through the front doors so brazenly.”

Sanas was looking between Lira and me, her confusion building. “What in Manar’s name is going on?”

“Kill the guards,” I told Lira.

She sighed. “Must I?”

“Yes.”

“All of them? May I spare one? Losing her would cost me.”

“Crowol?”

Lira Nodded.

“The longsword?”

She nodded again.

“Is she bonded?”

“By way of words.”

“Very well. Lock her in one of your skeleton cages for now.”

Lira stepped past me and reached out a hand. Her sensus lashed out, the rope-like tendril splitting into four as it flew forward. Each strand latched onto a guard nape. Three crumpled to the ground, soulless, detached spirits hovering above their mortal shells before disappearing into the bright void. Crowol ambled towards the back of the mansion, eyes glazed, unaware or unconcerned by the death of her subordinates.

“Done,” Lira said, turning back to me.

"Helena and Roche?” I asked.

“In rooms adjacent to yours.”

“Your daughter?”

“In the great hall with the other godlings.”

“Rahala?”

“The same.”

I nodded. “Lead the way.”

Lira took to the stairs. We followed her up the winding path to the topmost floor, running across a few servants as we went. Not one dared let their eyes wander, chins tucked into chests.

The floor we landed on was silent. Here, the marble was pure, the hallways furnished with elaborate chairs, plush rugs, animated statues, and heart-rending paintings, all of them illuminated by a startling number of matrix lanterns.

Merkon’s came first. A large room with a canopy bed at the center of the far wall, a wardrobe sectioned into a corner, and a relatively modest desk in the other.

“Danar, help the young man prepare the bath and find him some clothes,” Lira said, watching Merkon knowingly. She was too good a tunneller not to recognize a fellow Fiora—especially a brother who was as inept and inexperienced as he at hiding his soul.

Sanas’ came next. But for a few trivial details, it was identical.

“I assume you still know how to operate a matrix bath,” Lira said.

Sanas closed the door with a huff.

The last was mine. It was twice the size of the others, the far end a single pane of clear glass showing a picturesque view of the mansion’s idyllic garden. The bed, also twice as large, lay in the center, its head facing the window, blue drapes hanging from its canopy. At the foot of the bed, dark clothes lay atop white sheets.

“I remember your fondness for darker shades,” Lira said. “I hope the attire I’ve chosen is to your liking.”

I walked into the room, surveying possible entries and exits. “Is the painting on the glass divine?”

“A gift from my mother. She did it herself. No one looking in will see through it.”

“I see. Call me when Sanas is prepared?”

“What of Roche and Helena?”

“You may tell them their presence is permitted but not required.”

“And my daughter? May I assume she will be kept from harm.”

I closed the door in her face.

Sanas approached my room. She was never much for stealth. Lira’s slave accompanied her. She came to stand before my room, hand raised to knock. I opened the door before knuckles met wood.

She was dressed in red like she so often was, the practical cut of her clothes cutting her into a curvaceous woman. I noticed her hair was long again. It suited her well. Seeing her like this reminded me of when we’d first met, of the blood and carnage we wrought that fateful night.

“What games are you playing?” she asked, her earlier curiosity having bloomed into angry confusion.

“We’re late,” I said, brushing past her. Danar, his back mortared to the wall, waited in the hall wearing a frown. “Lead the way, slave.”

Unused to the flippancy of another man, he bit back a retort and proceeded down the hallway in silence. He led us across the staircase and towards the other side of the mansion. Several turns later we came into a corridor twice as wide as any other I’d seen, finding Helena and Roche standing before a pair of thick doors, both of them wearing their I’m-hungry-and-I-can-smell-blood grins. I think they knew what I was planning. Sanas would've too if she cared to remember who I was.

“Tell me you haven't conspired with Lorail scum,” Sanas hissed. Only Roche hated House Lorail more than she. I couldn't fathom why she thought he would be supportive of the very collaboration she was accusing me of.

I ignored her and stepped forward. Helena and Roche followed my cue and pushed open the heavy doors, Roche sparing Sanas a sympathetic look before he sensed the room’s occupants and bloodlust took over.

Across the immense hall, a silent Lira sat atop a veritable behemoth of a throne, the first to notice our arrival. Godlings huddled before her, clustered in groups by way of alliances. They chattered, speculating and plotting. As the sound of our entry echoed across the vast space, their heads snapped around, attention falling on me and mine.

“Matriarch, who is this man who dares barge in without invitation?” an elderly woman asked. “Has a delegate from another House come to our city? Have we fallen so far that we merit a Named instead of a House cousin?”

My group and I neared. Danar stepped out and closed the doors behind him; slaves weren't allowed to witness royal proceedings.

Sanas chose to stay near the entrance, watching the event unfold without offering participation.

The godlings’ whispered theories. Whispers grew to murmurs when our approach forced the middle of their pack to part before us. One woman refused to move, standing her ground and wearing a contemptuous smirk as if winning some game of bravery, some test of self-importance. I gave Roche the slightest of nods as an answer to the silent request in his hungry eyes.

A faint line of red drew itself along the middle of the arrogant royal’s face. Expression frozen, her body parted down the middle, each half collapsing in opposite directions. I’d forgotten how skilled an Armorer Roche was and how skilled a Zephyr he’d become.

Some yelped, some screamed, some opened their mouths but made no sound. All, bar none, moved back in shock, falling into each other in their haste to create some distance between themselves and the violent insanity that had stalked into the room.

These rulers of Haloryarey were the dregs of House Lorail. Deemed skilled enough to be useful but too incompetent to be relied upon, they’d been sent here to provide the labor of training slaves. Knowing this had humbled them some. Even so, given confidence by the realization of their superior numbers, they switched to outrage. A handful inched closer to us, a subtle precursor for their intention to strike.

“Quiet,” said a voice, freezing the heat of complaints and the possibility of retaliation. Lira stood from her throne, casting a firm gaze across the godlings for any who dared defy her word. It was times like these her imitation of Lorail almost rang true.

I stepped between the corpse. Helena, who walked behind me and to my right, kicked one half to the side, letting it slide towards a pair of godlings who teetered out of its way, a trail of blood and other bodily fluids marking the corpse’s path along the marble floor. Roche stepped on the loose innards of the other half, making a point to dig his heal into the bloody mess, the wet sounds amplified by the echoing silence Lira had ordered and augmented by the squelching sound of the wet footsteps that followed.

I paused at the base of the dais, looking up at Lira as she stood before the throne. Rahala stood behind her, eyes wide. My grandniece, Illora, was by her mother’s side, her emotions buried behind a blank stare. I spared her a look and felt no emanations come from her. Impressive, I thought. Not a speck of evil had touched her core. There were smudges here and there, but none had invaded her true self. Another seed that has fallen far from the grove.

“Are all present?” I asked Lira.

She stepped aside and bowed. “Yes, Master.”

Gasps rang out, synchronizing into a roar of disbelief. I ignored them.

The throne hungered for attention, ostentatious in all the ways it could be: large, gold-encrusted, and embedded with jewels. I refused to sit on it—empty shows of authority would lessen me—and instead, chose to remain on my feet as I turned to the godlings.

“Greetings, house Tarneel,” I said. “I have gathered you here today for several reasons, but only one that would interest you.” I started with a rather petite girl near the front, the youngest of those present. The ink of her evil was sharp and deep, slipping her past my promises and into my grasp. My souleyes swept the room, scanning the rest of them one by one, finding the black infection wherever they went. I smiled. “And I must thank you for what is about to happen. Without your penchants for more…pernicious vices, it mightn't have been possible. As it is, please endeavor to make your deaths enjoyable for us.”

As if it were a race, Roche and Helena flew into action. Before my words had sunk into meaning, he’d decapitated his first and she disembowel hers. Then, hysteria ensued.

A few braver and more quickwitted souls tried for mine. They failed, screamed in anguish, and fell to their knees, vulnerable to my two guards, who, with joyous abandon, were darting about sowing death.

One older soul—a century and a half but outwardly more like forty—made it to the entrance. She yanked on the door. Failing, she tried to push outward. The architectural matrixes installed around the hall were as effective at keeping people in as they were at keeping them out.

I joined the fray.

Rahala was my first. Slow was my preferred method, but I had a veritable feast waiting for me. I wrapped my fingers around her throat and drained her empty. Her dried corpse fell to the marble floor, flakes of her dead skin bursting into a cloud.

My second victim, the darkest and strongest soul among those of house Tarneel, tasted the sweetest. As her fruitless efforts slammed against the fence of my soul, my twin blades separated legs and arms from hips and shoulders. Her deceptively youthful freckles bunched up, contorting her face into a picture of pain. She dropped amongst her own dismembered limbs, blood gushing from the stumps that remained. One delicious bite took all but her core, the pool around her lifeless body turning into a tar vacant of sensus.

The third was less sweet but more filling, her soul too weak to hide the effects of her age and too aged to hide the depth of her fear. She was the one who had spoken when we entered. Her skills were laughable. Any Zephyr worth their weight in salt would've snorted at her clumsy attempts to hinder me.

I can barely recall the fourth, the haze of gluttony settling in. All I remember from the fifth was the way she tasted. Of the sixth, I couldn’t even remember that.

When the madness finally left me, I came back to a heavy silence and the tang of blood in the air. Sanas stood frozen, her eyes drinking in the scene. Lira and Illorai crouched behind the throne, the girl wrapped in her mother's protective embrace. Roche, blood-soaked and crazed, howled in laughter. Helena wore her maniacal grin, not a drop on her except those dripping from the point and edge of pinmoon.

“That was…pleasing,” I said, my hunger markedly satisfied for the first time in almost two decades.

Roche clapped in applause, the sound sharper and louder for the blood that covered his hands. “Wonderfully so. I haven't had that much fun since the battle at The Eastern Gate. Did you see me cut that plump one into what must’ve been more than a hundred slices? If it weren't so messy and near impossible to do so, I would've counted. Do you reckon it was more? I’m guessing it was more. It must've been more. On Merkusian himself, one of the slices was so thin it floated. Do you hear me? Floated!”

“We should’ve invited more of them to the slaughter,” Helena complained.

“Master should’ve left a few more for us,” Roche added.

“In time,” I said, “there’ll be more than you care to handle.”

Roche crouched down and inspected his work, smiling. “Looking forwards to it.”

“How are we going to hide this?” Helena asked.

“No need.” I sheathed my swords and turned to the city’s ruler. She watched us from behind her throne. “Lira, would you be so kind as to clean this mess?”

She nodded, speechless. Blood and gore weren't the residues of murder she was used to. Empty husks and wailing souls were more familiar to her.

“Illora,” I called. “Come.”

The girl pushed out of her mother’s embrace, face still set in stone. “May I ask why?”

“You and I need to be properly introduced,” I said, heading towards the exit.

I stopped beside Sanas. She hadn’t moved.

“You bonded her,” she said, eyes fixed on the bloodbath. We’d made quite the grisly scene. “You said you’d not. You called Lorail evil for doing the same. ‘A violation of the soul,’ you called it.”

I shook my head. “You must listen more carefully, Sanas. Did your mother not tell you to be careful with words both spoken and heard? Particularly with me? I have no qualms about the act of bonding souls, same as I have no qualms about hanging murderers.” She scoffed. I ignored her. “You think Lira too innocent for such treatment? You would take her life but refuse to shackle her soul?”

“A soul is sacred, worthy of being regarded as inviolable. I thought you agreed.”

“No, you thought me unable. There was a time you would've known what I’d done. Twenty years of stewing in your own thoughts have idealized the me of your memories.”

she waved at the dismembered bodies. “So, this was what? A demonstration? A reminder?”

“And more,” I said. “I’m no paragon of virtue, my dear Sanas. I do not save or protect the innocent; I punish the wicked.”

After a wordless time of contemplative staring, Sanas let her head drop, sighing. “Yes, mother had told me. She’d cautioned me against believing you to be…more than you are. She’d told me and I’d known. I suppose you’re right and I’d forgotten.” Her head rose, hard eyes coming back to regard me coolly, sparks of respect, fear, disappointment, and defiance shining through. I’d missed that look. “I’ll not forget again.”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind if you did. I find reminding you is rather more fun than I’d expected.” I didn’t say anything about her mother. We both liked her too much to question her actions for now, however dubious they seemed.

And so, with my promise to Rahala kept, Roche fed a taste of the vengeance he so desperately craved, and, more importantly, Lira and Sanas having been shown the me they’d chosen to forget, I left, brimming with the satisfaction of a well-executed plan.