Морган Райс
Soldier, Brother, Sorcerer
CHAPTER SIX
Ceres didn’t care that the castle was meant to be the Empire’s last, impenetrable bastion. She didn’t care that it had walls like sheer cliffs or doors that could withstand siege weapons. This ended here.
“Forward!” she yelled to her followers, and they surged in her wake. Maybe another general would have led from the rear, planning this carefully and letting others take the risks. Ceres couldn’t do that. She wanted to take apart what was left of the Empire’s power herself, and she suspected that half the reason so many people were following her was because of that.
There were more now even than there had been in the Stade. The people of the city had come out into the streets, the rebellion spreading again like burning embers given fresh fuel. There were people there in the clothes of dockhands and butchers, hostlers and merchants. There were even a few guards now, their imperial colors hurriedly torn away when they saw the tide of humanity approaching.
“They’ll be ready for us,” one of the combatlords beside Ceres said as they marched on the castle.
Ceres shook her head. “They’ll see us coming. That’s not the same thing as being ready.”
No one could be ready for this. Ceres didn’t care how many men the Empire had now, or how strong their walls were. She had a whole city on her side. She and the combatlords raced through the streets, along the wide promenade that led up toward the gates of the castle. They were the head of the spear, with the people of Delos and what was left of Lord West’s men following along behind them on a tide of hope and popular anger.
Ceres heard shouting ahead as they neared the castle, and the sound of horns as soldiers tried to organize some kind of meaningful defense.
“It’s too late,” Ceres said. “They can’t stop us now.”
Yet there were things they could do even then, she knew. Arrows started to fall from the walls, not in the numbers that had formed such a deadly rain for Lord West’s troops, but still more than dangerous enough for those with no armor. Ceres saw one take a man beside her through the chest. A woman went down screaming further back.
“Those with shields or protection, to me,” Ceres called. “Everyone else, be ready to charge.”
Yet the castle’s gates were already closing. Ceres had a vision of her followers as a wave breaking on it as if it were the hull of some great ship, but she didn’t slow. Waves could swamp ships, too. Even when the great gates slammed together with a sound like thunder, she didn’t stop. She just knew there would be more effort involved in defeating the Empire’s evil.
“Climb!” she yelled to the combatlords, sheathing her twin swords so that she could leap at the wall. The rough stone had enough handholds for anyone brave enough to try it, and the combatlords were more than brave enough for that. They followed her, their muscled frames pulling them up the stonework as if it were some training exercise ordered by their blade masters.
Ceres heard those behind her calling for ladders, and knew that the ordinary people of the rebellion would follow her soon enough. For now though, she just concentrated on the gritty feel of the stone under her hands, the effort needed to drag herself from one handhold to the next.
A spear flashed by her, obviously thrown by someone above. Ceres pressed herself flat to the wall, letting it go by, then kept climbing. She was a target as long as she was on the wall, and the only solution was to keep going. Ceres found herself feeling grateful that they wouldn’t have enough time to prepare boiling oil or burning sand as a protection against climbing.
She reached the top of the wall, and instantly there was a guard there to defend. Ceres was glad she was the first one up there, because only her speed saved her, letting her reach out to grab her opponent and pull him from his perch atop the battlements. He fell with a scream, tumbling down into the seething mass of her followers.
Ceres leapt onto the wall then, drawing both her blades to cut left and right. A second man came at her, and she parried while she thrust, feeling the blade sink home. A spear came in from the side, glancing from her partial armor. Ceres cut back with brutal force. In seconds, she’d carved a clear space at the top of the wall, and combatlords poured over the edge then to fill it.
Some of the guards there tried to fight back. A man struck at Ceres with an axe. She ducked, hearing the thud as it struck stone behind her, then lanced one of her swords through his gut. She stepped around him, kicking him down toward the courtyard. She caught a slash against her blades and pushed another man back.
There weren’t enough guards to hold the wall. Some ran. The ones who came forward died. One ran at Ceres with a spear, and she felt it nick her leg as she dodged with no space. She cut low to hamstring her attacker, and then brought her blades across at throat height.
Her brief beachhead atop the wall quickly expanded into something approaching a wave front. Ceres found steps leading down to the gates, and took them four at a time, pausing only to parry a thrust from a waiting guard and strike back with a kick that sent him sprawling. While the combatlord behind her leapt at the guard, Ceres’s attention was on the gates.
A great wheel stood beside the gates, obviously there to open their bulk. There were almost a dozen guards beside it in a ring, trying to protect it and keep out the horde of people beyond. More stood with bows, ready to shoot down anyone who tried to open the gates.
Ceres charged at the wheel without pausing.
She thrust through the armor of one guard, drew out her sword, and ducked under a second’s blow. She swept her sword across his thigh, leapt up to her feet, and cut down a third. She heard an arrow clatter from the cobbles, and threw one blade, hearing a scream as it connected. She snatched up a dying guard’s sword, rejoined the battle, and in an instant, the others were with her.
It was chaos there in the next few moments, because the guards seemed to understand that this was their last chance to keep out the rebellion. One came at Ceres with two blades, and she matched him cut for cut, feeling the impact as she parried each one, probably faster than most of the others around them could follow. Then she thrust in between the strokes, catching the guard through the throat, moving on before he could even collapse so that she could parry an axe blow aimed at a combatlord.
She couldn’t save all of them. Around her, Ceres saw violence that never seemed to stop. She saw one of the combatlords who had survived the Stade looking down at a sword that pierced his chest. He pulled in his attacker as he fell, hitting him with one final swipe of his own blade. Ceres saw another man fighting against three guards. He killed one, but as he did so, his blade caught, and another was able to stab him in the side.
Ceres charged forward, cutting down both of those who were left. Around her, the battle for the door wheel raged to its inevitable conclusion. It was inevitable, because faced with the combatlords, the guards there were like ripe corn, waiting to be cut down. That didn’t make the violence any less real though, or the threat. Ceres dodged back just in time from a sword thrust and threw the wielder back into the others there. As soon as the space was clear, Ceres put her hands to the wheel and pushed with all the strength her powers gave her. She heard the creak of pulleys, and the slow groan of the doors as they started to part.
People poured in, flowing into the castle. Her father and brother were among the first through the gap, racing to join her. Ceres gestured with her sword.
“Spread out!” she yelled. “Take the castle. Kill only those you have to. This is a time for freedom, not butchery. The Empire falls today!”
Ceres went at the head of the wave of people, heading for the throne room. In times of crisis people would head there to try to learn what was happening, and Ceres guessed that those in charge of the castle would stay there as long as they dared, trying to maintain control.
Around her, she saw violence breaking out, impossible to contain, impossible to do more than slow down. She saw a young nobleman step out in front of them, and the crowd fell on him, beating him with whatever weapons they could grab. A servant got in their way, and Ceres saw her shoved against the wall and stabbed.
“No!” Ceres yelled as she saw some of the ordinary folk there starting to grab for tapestries or running after nobles. “We’re here to stop this, not loot!”
The truth was, though, that it was already too late. Ceres saw rebels chasing after one of the servants there, while others grabbed for the golden ornaments that filled the castle. She’d let a tidal wave into it, and now there was no hope of turning it back just with words.
A squadron of royal bodyguards stood in front of the doors to the great hall. They looked formidable in their gilt-edged armor, etched with false musculature and images designed to intimidate.
“Surrender and you will not be harmed,” Ceres promised them, hoping now that she would be able to keep that promise.
The royal bodyguards didn’t even pause. They charged forward with drawn blades, and in an instant, everything was chaos again. The royal bodyguards were among the finest warriors of the Empire, their skills honed through long hours of training. The first one to lunge at her was fast enough that even Ceres had to bring her blade up sharply to intercept the blow.
She parried again, her second blade slipping around the bodyguard’s weapon and darting into his throat. Beside her, she could hear the sounds of people fighting and dying, but she didn’t dare to look around. She was too busy pushing back another opponent, shoving him into the heaving mass of the melee.
It was nothing but crushing bodies then. Swords seemed to emerge from it as though from some great writhing pool of flesh. She saw a man crushed against the doors, the sheer weight of people behind him squashing him there, just as they carried her forward.
Ceres waited until she got closer, then kicked the door to the great hall. The castle gates had been solid, but these broke open under the power of her blow, rocking back until they slammed into the walls on either side.
Within the great hall, Ceres saw clusters of nobles, waiting as if unsure where to go. She heard several of the noblewomen there scream as if some horde of murderers had descended upon them. From where they stood, Ceres guessed it probably didn’t look too different from that at all.
She saw Queen Athena at the heart of it all, sitting on the high throne that should have been the king’s, flanked by a pair of the largest bodyguards there. They ran forward in unison, and Ceres stepped in to meet them.
She did more than step, she rolled.
She threw herself forward, diving under the sweeping blades of the attackers, tumbling and coming up in one smooth movement. She turned, striking out with both of her swords at once, catching the bodyguards with enough force to punch through their armor. They fell without a sound.
One sound did echo over the clashing blades at the door: the sound of Queen Athena clapping with deliberate slowness.
“Oh, very good,” she said as Ceres turned back to her. “Very elegant. Worthy of any jester. What will you do for your next trick?”
Ceres didn’t rise to the bait. She knew Athena had nothing but words left. Of course she was going to try to get all she could from them.
“Next, I bring the Empire to an end,” Ceres said.
She saw Queen Athena fix her with a level glare. “With yourself in its place? Here comes the new Empire, same as the old.”
That hit closer than Ceres would have liked. She’d heard the screams of the nobles as the rebels with her had spread like wildfire through the castle. She’d seen some of those they’d cut down.
“I’m nothing like you,” Ceres said.
The queen didn’t answer for a moment. Instead, she laughed, and some of the nobles joined in with her, obviously long accustomed to tittering along when their queen found something funny. Others seemed far too scared, cowering back.
She felt her father’s hand on her shoulder then. “You’re nothing like her at all.”
There was no time to think about that though, because the crowd around Ceres was getting restless.
“What are we going to do with them?” one of the combatlords demanded.
A rebel provided a quick answer. “Kill them!”
“Kill them! Kill them!” It became a chant, and Ceres could see the hatred rising there in the crowd. It felt far too much like the baying that had come in the Stade, waiting for blood. Demanding it.
A man stepped forward, heading for one of the noblewomen with a knife in his hand. Ceres reacted on instinct, and this time she was fast enough. She smashed into the would-be killer, knocking him sprawling so that he stared up at Ceres in shock.
“That’s enough!” Ceres yelled, and the room was silent in that moment.
She looked around at them, shaming them into stepping back, meeting their gazes regardless of who they were.
“No more killing,” she said. “No more.”
“What do we do with them, then?” a rebel demanded, gesturing at the nobles. He was obviously braver than the rest, or just hated the nobles more.
“We arrest them,” Ceres said. “Father, Sartes, can you see to that? Make sure that no one kills them, or harms anyone else here?”
She could guess at all the ways it might go wrong. There was so much anger among the people of the city, and among all those the Empire had wronged. It would be easy for this to turn into the kind of massacre worthy of Lucious, with horrors that Ceres would never want to be involved in.
“And what will you be doing?” Sartes asked her.
Ceres could understand the fear she heard in that. Her brother had probably thought that she would be there to organize all this, but the truth was that there was no one Ceres trusted more than him to do this.
“I need to finish taking the castle,” Ceres said. “My way.”
“Yes,” Queen Athena said, cutting in. “Coat your hands with more blood. How many people have died so far for your so-called ideals?”
Ceres could have ignored that. She could have just walked away, but there was something about the queen that was impossible to just leave be, like a wound that wasn’t quite healed over.
“How many have died so you could take what you wanted from them?” Ceres countered. “You’ve put so much into tearing down the rebellion, when you could have just listened and learned something. You’ve hurt so many people. You’ll pay for that.”
She saw Queen Athena’s tight smile. “No doubt with my head.”
Ceres ignored her, starting to walk away.
“Still,” Queen Athena said, “I won’t be alone. It’s too late for Thanos, dear.”
“Thanos?” Ceres said, and the word was enough to stop her. She turned back to where the queen still sat on the throne. “What have you done? Where is he?”
She saw Queen Athena’s smile widen. “You really don’t know, do you?”
Ceres could feel her anger and impatience building. Not at the way the queen was taunting her, but at what it might mean if Thanos were truly in danger.
The queen laughed again. This time, no one joined in. “You came all the way here, and you don’t even know that your favorite prince is about to die for the murder of his king.”
“Thanos wouldn’t murder anyone!” Ceres insisted.
She wasn’t sure why she even had to say it. Surely no one truly believed that Thanos could ever do anything like that!
“He’s still going to die for it,” Queen Athena replied, with a note of calmness that made Ceres rush over to grab her, putting a blade to her throat.
In that moment, all thoughts of stopping the violence fell forgotten from her mind.
“Where is he?” she demanded. “Where is he?”
She saw the queen pale, and there was a part of Ceres that was happy about that. Queen Athena deserved to be frightened.
“The south courtyard, waiting for his execution. You see, you’re no different from us.”
Ceres threw her from the throne to the floor. “Someone take her before I do something I’ll regret.”
Ceres ran from the hall, pushing her way past the last dregs of the fight around her. Behind her, she heard Queen Athena laughing.
“You’re too late! You’ll never get there in time to save him.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stephania sat watching the horizon, doing her best to ignore the bouncing of the ship and trying to judge the moment when she would have to murder the boat’s captain.
That she would have to do it was without doubt. Felene had been like a gift from the gods when Stephania and her handmaiden had met the captain in Delos. Felene had been a way out of the city, and a way to get to Felldust. All sent by Thanos’s own hand.
But because she was Thanos’s, she had to die. The very fact that she was loyal enough to convey them this far meant that she was too loyal to trust with everything Stephania intended to do next. The only question now was the timing.
That was a balancing act. Stephania looked up, seeing the sea birds flying overhead.
“They’re a sign we’re getting closer to shore, aren’t they?” she asked.
“Very good, princess,” Felene said, moving around from where she was trying to teach Elethe to fish off the bow rail, standing slightly closer than she needed to. The familiarity of her tone made Stephania’s hackles rise, but she did her best to disguise it.
“So we’ll be there soon?”
“A little while, and we’ll sight land,” Felene said. “Another after that, and we’ll reach the fishing village where Elethe says we’ll find her uncle’s people. Why? Eager to stop throwing up?”
“Eager to do a lot of things,” Stephania replied. Although putting her feet back on dry land was one of them. Morning sickness did not mix well with seasickness.
It was just one of the reasons she needed to kill Felene sooner rather than later. Sooner or later, she would realize that Stephania was pregnant, and that didn’t fit with the story she’d told about Lucious forcing her to drink his potion.
When would she guess? It couldn’t have been more obvious to Stephania that she was pregnant now, her dress feeling stretched tight across her expanding belly, her body seeming to change in so many ways as the life grew inside her. She put a hand on her abdomen automatically, wanting to protect the life inside her, wanting it to grow and become strong. Yet Felene continued to spend her time with Elethe, so easily distracted by a pretty face.
That was another thing to consider when judging when to act. Yes, Stephania needed to leave it long enough for them to close in on land, but the longer she left it, the greater the danger was that her handmaiden’s loyalties might be tested. As useful as Felene might be, Elethe would be far more useful when it came to finding the sorcerer. More than that, the handmaiden was hers.
For now though, Stephania waited, because she didn’t want to have to pilot this tub when there was no land in sight. She waited and she watched while Felene helped her handmaiden land a struggling fish, beheading it with a wickedly sharp-looking knife. That she looked over while she did it only told Stephania that she was running out of time.
Thoughts of what she was there to do drove Stephania on, hardening her resolve. Felldust held the sorcerer who had killed Ancient Ones. Felldust would provide her with a way to bring down Ceres. After that… after that, she could deal with Thanos, forging her child into the weapon she needed.
“It didn’t need to come to this,” Stephania said, standing so that she could look out over the rail.
“What’s that, princess?” Felene asked.
“I said, is that land over there?” Stephania asked.
It was, the black dust of the coast rising up on the edge of the horizon. At first, it was just a faint line above the waves, rising up like some rocky sun until it started to fill Stephania’s view.
“Aye,” Felene said, moving to the rail and looking out. “We’ll soon have you safe and sound on land, princess.”
Stephania’s hand dipped into her cloak. With the infinite care only known to those who worked with poisons, she palmed a dart. “Felene, there’s something I’ve wanted to say to you since we set off.”
“What’s that, princess?” Felene said with a mocking smile.
“It’s simple,” Stephania said with a smile of her own. “Do not call me princess!”
Her hand flashed around, the dart glinting in the sun as she went for the exposed skin of Felene’s face.
Pain flared in her wrist and it took Stephania a moment to realize that Felene had brought her elbow up, letting Stephania’s arm collide with it. Stephania’s hand spasmed open, and she saw the dart tumble over the side.
By then, pain was already flaring in her cheek as Felene slapped her, hard enough that Stephania reeled. This wasn’t the delicate, ladylike slap of some noble girl. It was a sailor’s blow, and it had weight behind it that sat Stephania down hard on the planks of the deck.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Felene demanded. “Do you think I don’t know you’ve been working up to this since we left?”
“I – ” Stephania began, but the ringing in her ears wouldn’t let her keep going.
“You’re lucky you’re carrying Thanos’s child, or I’d feed you to the sharks right now!” Felene snapped. “Oh yes, I’ve spotted the signs! And now I’m debating whether to sell you on to a slaver, kill you outright as soon as Thanos’s child is born, or just call the whole thing a bad deal and set off back for Delos!”
Stephania started to stand, and Felene pushed her back down. “Oh no, princess, you can stay where you’re put. It’s safer for all of us that way, until I find enough rope to lash you to the mast.”
Stephania looked past her then, to Elethe. She gave just the barest of nods, hoping that it would be enough.
It was. Her handmaiden drew a short, curved blade and leapt forward. It seemed that Felene was ready for that too, though, because she spun and parried the first stroke, her own knife in her hand again.
“Pity,” Felene said. “We could have had a lot of fun. I survived the Isle of Prisoners. You think I can’t handle you?”
Stephania had to sit and admire the fight that followed for a moment, and not just because her head was still ringing from Felene’s slap. Normally, she had no time for the play of blades, or the carefully honed skills of warriors. These two, however, made their knives dance in the sun as they fought, hands trapping one another’s arms, looking for angles. Stephania saw Felene go for a low kick, then dodge back from a swipe. She moved close to Elethe, grappling with her as they both sought to thrust their blades home.
That was when Stephania stood, drawing a knife of her own and thrusting it into Felene’s back.
Stephania saw her fall to her knees, her face a picture of surprise as she put her hand to the wound. Her knife clattered to the deck as her fingers opened.
“I wasn’t on the Isle of Prisoners at all,” Stephania said. “Which of us does that make the cleverest?”
Felene turned toward her, but Stephania could see even that was an effort for her. Stephania smiled over to Elethe.
“Well done. Your loyalty will be rewarded. Now, we should cut her throat and throw her over the side. We can’t show up in Felldust dragging a body with us, and after all she’s done, I’m sure you’ll want revenge.”
Stephania saw Elethe hesitate before she nodded, but that was only to be expected. Not everyone could be as practical about these things as she was. Stephania could understand that, and Elethe had already more than proved her loyalty. Perhaps she would do it herself. After all, Felene wasn’t armed anymore.
Stephania took a step forward.
“Until you hit me, this wasn’t personal,” she said. “It was simply necessary. Now… do you know there’s a poison they use in some of the southlands, that kills by stopping all the muscles? In the right dose, it doesn’t kill at all, merely leaves someone immobile. Should I give you that before I throw you in?”
She took another step and saw Felene struggling to her feet. That didn’t matter; with Elethe’s help, she would be easy to overpower again.
“No, I owe you more than that for bringing us all this way. A cut throat it is.”
She saw Felene tense, as if ready to throw herself forward in one last burst of violence. Stephania readied herself, flinching back as she prepared for the onslaught of violence.
In that moment, the sailor did the one thing Stephania hadn’t been prepared for. She flung herself sideways, over the boat’s railing. Stephania heard the splash as she hit the water, and saw the foam of the waves rise up high enough to slop over the deck.
Stephania rushed to the railing, and Elethe was there beside her, looking down with an expression of worry that made Stephania glad it hadn’t come to throat cutting after all, because that might have pushed her handmaiden a little too far.
“I know it’s hard,” Stephania said, putting a hand on Elethe’s shoulder. “But sometimes, these things must be done. And you did well. I’m proud of you.”
“What about Felene?” her handmaiden asked. “Do you think we should wait and see if she survives?”
There was a note of hope there that Stephania needed to quash quickly. “You heard her say that there were sharks. The wound was deep, and it’s a long way to land. It’s done.”
She saw her handmaiden nod.
“Well done, Elethe,” Stephania repeated. “You have been the most loyal of all of my handmaidens.”
She needed to remind her handmaiden whose she was, but for now, there were more pressing concerns.
“We still need to find a way to get this boat to shore,” Stephania said. “And then we have to find the sorcerer.”
“I’ve learned a lot about piloting the boat from our time at sea,” Elethe assured her. “Felene was eager to show me.”
That probably hadn’t been all of it, but it was over now. The sailor was dead. They were almost to Felldust, and after that, it was only a matter of time before they found the sorcerer.
Things were going well at last, especially since her handmaiden really did seem to know how to pilot the boat now, guiding it unerringly in the direction of the mainland. All Stephania had to do was sit at the stern of the boat, letting Elethe do the work.
Stephania smiled as she watched the blood float on the water behind them, and imagined the sharks starting to gather.
