Emperor and had sat on the throne of Arkaym. That should be enough for the cantrip . . . hopefully.
Kaleva gasped, and bent over as if he’d been punched in the stomach. The coyote waited for him to catch fire, burst into ashes or melt away. None of those things happened.
Finally, the Emperor uncurled himself and yanked on the door handle. A grinding, Ancient noise filled the deserted room, and then a rush of stale air exploded from behind the hatch. Both coyote and human turned aside and coughed desperately. The Fensena’s sharp senses told him to run; it was not just stale air down there. The Otherside was close, and an Ancient seam ran here. It was closed tight for now, but it still made the geistlord nervous.
Since he did not move, it was the Emperor who leaned down into the hole. He might be nearly as empty of sense as a cracked bowl, but he had plenty of that terminal problem for humans: curiosity. The Fensena let him do what he was doing since there could well be traps in there too.
The Emperor proved the coyote right when he began to scream. Long tentacles, green and a vivid red, had appeared at the edge of the hatch, and the Fensena reconsidered; perhaps that breach was not as tightly closed as he had thought. The tentacles had already wrapped around Kaleva’s arm, thick and pulsing with power, and tearing at his flesh until blood pulsed from the wounds.
The Fensena felt a low whine escape his throat and he fought the natural inclination to flee. As the Emperor screamed and tore manically at his arm and the tentacles, the coyote bounded from side to side. He realized that the Emperor’s blood must stay in the hatch, above all things, so he lunged forward and clamped down on the Emperor’s arm, just about where the other had its grip. The Fensena braced, and made sure the human could not move.
The room stank of the Otherside. What if the barrier breached right here and now? Primitive fear—which the Fensena thought he was long past—rushed through him.
The tentacles held on, and the smell of blood filled the room. The Emperor let out a strange strangled scream, and then there was a tearing sound.
Kaleva was left rocking back and forth, clutching his arm to his body, but the tentacles were gone and so was the blood. It had been accepted. The Fensena let out a yip of relief and darted forward.
When he peered into the hole, he could see his goal inside the hatch, but he was not so foolish as to try and take it himself. He turned to the Emperor. “Reach in. Get it.”
Kaleva’s eyes were wide and terrified. “No, n-n-no . . .” he stuttered.
Foolish damn human. The Fensena had reached the end of his tether. He was so close to achieving the task the Rossin had set him. Finally, pushed to it, the coyote used his own power.
He charged the Emperor and knocked him down. For a moment he went into a frenzy; ripping and tearing at the howling man. The smell of blood drove him on, and it was quite possible that he might kill him then and there.
Eventually, the Fensena found his cool Center again. When he came to himself, he was standing over the terrified Emperor, who now had many bites to go with what the tentacles had already inflicted. The Fensena’s gaze was fixed on his throat, and he contemplated how easy it would be to tear it out. He could also take the Emperor’s body for his own—the coyote was close to burning this one out.
No, he could not do that. The Emperor was needed, and the Rossin only wanted what had been promised. He growled, deep and low. “Reach in there, and take it out. Now!”
The Emperor slid sideways, away from the coyote, and toward the hatch. Finally, the Fensena had convinced the human that he was more dangerous than whatever was in the pit. His hands wrapped around a bundle, and he pulled it out.
The smell of it was musty and powerful. The coyote immediately forgot about the human; all of his senses were focused on it. “Open it,” he growled.
The Emperor, still shaking, did as he was bid. The Rossin’s pelt was distinctive; the fur thick and luxurious and patterned with dark patches. It was wrapped in a bundle, and tied closed with a thin, red rope.
The Fensena’s eyes gleamed, and without a word he took the binding in his teeth. The Emperor he left sitting on the floor clutching his wounds. He was of no further concern. Now the coyote had to return to his master and quickly. It was time for their plan to move forward.
TWO
Seeing Through the Veil
It was the nature of all traitors to strike in darkness, and this night—like many others that had come before it—they took that chance.
Sorcha Faris had begun the night sleeping next to her lover, Raed Syndar Rossin, perhaps the second most wanted person in the Empire of Arkaym after herself. They had drifted into sleep after making love and warming the sheets as best they could in the cold northern citadel that had become their refuge. It was a good way to slip off to sleep—even if she was not entirely used to it yet.
The smile on the Deacon’s face was not the kind many from the Mother Abbey would have recognized; Sorcha Faris was not known for her smiles. However, since the Order of the Fist and the Eye was broken, and the Mother Abbey lay in ruins, none of them would have the chance to judge her. That was truly the only good thing about its destruction.
When the first scream sounded, Sorcha jerked awake, and her initial instinct was to reach across to shake her lover out of his sleep. It was a surprise to realize that the howls for help were in her head; however, they also seemed to echo in the stone of the citadel.
Another shock was that her grasping hands found nothing; Raed was not there. His side of their meager bed was chill, and even the smell of his skin was absent. He must have slipped off sometime in the night.
Not that she could really begrudge him any late-night forays. Only hours before, Sorcha had sat in counsel with ten of the strongest remaining Deacons until the citadel’s hearth fires burned low. Afterward, she had very much enjoyed waking up Raed—consequently she had no real remembrance of falling asleep herself.
Raed’s whereabouts were however not the most important thing now, as another muffled yell could be heard, this time coming from above their room. Leaping up from bed naked, she threw on her cloak and belted it around her, along with her saber. Instinctually, her hands reached out for the Gauntlets she’d grown up with, and then stopped suddenly. The Gauntlets had been destroyed. She had to remind herself that every single time, because a near-lifetime of working with them as her foci had not been undone by mere months. She still felt that loss. The intricate workings of the runes on her own flesh did not offer as much comfort as the weight of smooth leather on her hands once had.
So, as clothed as she could manage, Sorcha bolted from the room, and ran toward where the commotion was now, not only in her head, but echoing down the hallway. What could it be this time? One of the Deacon’s dogs had been dismembered last night, while ghostly messages had been burned into stone the previous week. She knew escalation when she saw it; someone wanted them to know they were not alone and to put fear into their very bones.
This Priory citadel was old, falling down in places, but also rather large, a fact Sorcha cursed as she bounded up the stairs two at a time. However, it was not like they’d had their choices of bolt-holes. This northern outpost had long been abandoned by the first Native Order, the Circle of Stars, but was the best they could do. The remnants of the Order of the Eye and the Fist that she’d gathered here had scoured the place for cantrips and physical traps before settling in. She’d thought it safe.
The silvery runes carved into Sorcha’s flesh twisted and flexed, as if they were in fact alive, as she pounded up yet another set of spiraling stairs. They were not as quiescent as they had been when worked into the Gauntlets, a fact that she found disturbing, even while she found the knowledge that they would never be taken from her comforting.
The guttering lamps set into the walls of the stone Priory cast unreliable light, but she did not need to trust that; she had something far better. Another thing they would never take from Sorcha again was her partner Merrick Chambers. Even though she could not see him, she knew when he woke. His presence was a warmth on her back, like an unseen candle that spurred her confidence.
