The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

Chapter XXX

Death Throes

In which Zephyra takes command

The silence in the throne room stretched, but Zephyra felt no trace of pity. Were she of a mind to be gracious to her subjects she would tell them to rise from the floor where they knelt before her.

But she was of no such mind, and thus she gave them no leave to stand to their feet again. Artostes, closest to her throne, stared up at her, his mouth still agape as he took in her expression.

“Is your father dead, Handmaiden?”

Zephyra flicked a speck of lint off of her skirt. “I saw his spirit carried off by the wraiths myself, dear Magister.”

Artostes flinched. His eyes flitted from side to side as he checked the others’ reactions. Did he worry about what they might hear? No, that didn’t quite make sense; were they not all part of the inner circle? Didn’t they all know what he knew? Weren’t they aware of the truths that Lord Protector Amavand had so carefully hidden from her?

Then he fixed his eyes on her, looking her over. Taking her measure? At once it hit her: he wasn’t worried about them.

She was the unknown element. The one he needed to consider before making his next move. How flattering. How astute.

“Y-you saw the wraiths?” Artostes stammered. He licked his lips.

Zephyra didn’t dignify the question with a response. Instead she asked, “Was it you who sent the arsh’atûm into the city? Was it you who unleashed the bloodsuckers and the manticores?”

For the length of three eyeblinks Artostes froze. Long enough to give himself away. Then he straightened and cleared his throat.

“Indeed.” He only dared go so far in his defiance; she heard the rising tone at the end that suggested he was on the verge of a question. But he stopped himself, perhaps checked by prudence.

She studied him. All those years ago Artostes had come to Amavand, bringing honeyed promises tantalizing enough to convince him to turn against his people and their ways. Such promises they were: Amavand would keep his throne, his power, and escape the wrath of the Seeker.

With such promises to drive him, Amavand even tampered with the shadow gate.

Yet more, Amavand undertook a journey of thousands of miles solely to steal someone’s daughter—Zephyra—and kill her family.

And to what end? Over and over Zephyra returned to the question in her mind. For the most part she knew exactly what Amavand had gained. But what was in it for Artostes?

What she saw of him in Erebossa gave her an unsettling answer.

Coldly, Zephyra asked, “What did you expect to happen? You have given away the game. For what purpose, Artostes?”

By the Greatest—by all that was sensible and right in this world, Artostes must have had a grand strategy. The … man … did not come to Amavand on a whim. He had a purpose. Turning Amavand to serve the Greatest One fulfilled a purpose. Capturing Zephyra fulfilled a purpose. What was the purpose?

What did Amavand say, when he sulked like a child? Oh yes, You were chosen by a goddess, not I. He had also warned, when speaking of the nectar of the Goddess, do not drink it, Zephyra. If you take it, you are no good to Her, and all I’ve done will be for nothing.

Why? Clearly, preventing her from seeing the denizens of Erebossa was the secondary reason he withheld the nectar of the Greatest One from her. And the primary reason?

Drinking it caused Amavand’s blood to birth the rabisu. Sufficiently horrible, as consequences went, but why did the Goddess insist Zephyra remain untouched by it? Apparently everyone else was expendable, but not Zephyra?

Artostes smiled slightly, as if she’d asked a silly question. “Zephyrrra,” he drawled, extending the last syllable of her name. “Three key enemies are locked away in the temple of a False One. They killed the protector. Why shouldn’t I attack?”

The others were peering up at her. They bowed their heads when she flicked a glance their way. For the moment, they were not relevant, so she continued ignoring them.

“And the people of Elamis? What did they do to deserve having their children delivered into the hands of the strix and the lamia?”

“Are you forgetting that the dryad escaped? The Goddess needed her blood. With her gone, there must be other sacrifices. There must be other sacrifices now. With the passing of the solstice the power of the sacrifice must be amplified.”

Zephyra arched an eyebrow. “A dryad is worth so much? And this is acceptable to you?”

“What do you care?” Artostes’ voice hardened. He started to rise, then immediately dropped back down on one knee. Because he didn’t want her to rebuke him in front of the others? “You are the Handmaiden, aren’t you? You live to serve Her will. If She tells you to slay or to save, you slay or save by Her will. And She wills that I destroy those not on our side. You forget that the people of Elamis are still in the power of the False Ones. But with their deaths, we’ll free the others in Anshan.”

He held out his hand, a silent invitation to join him. Join him, as Amavand had, yoking her fate to his will, doing as he bid for some nebulous purpose. The tone he took with her, did he mean for her to interpret it as a warning? If he could dispense rewards, he could also dispense punishments, could he not?

But too much had passed before her eyes today. She felt only dead inside, far beyond fear.

She looked him over again. Like always, he wore a brocade silk caftan with gold embellishments. Today his caftan hugged his lean figure … which should restrict his pace. Any other time, he would move as quicksilver,

On the outside.

In Erebossa, she’d seen his true form. Grotesque. Bestial.

And not remotely human.

Without his body, he would have to return to Erebossa. He could not possess her—if she wasn’t to consume the nectar she suspected she wasn’t to be possessed, either.

“Why take me, Artostes? Why kill my family? Why did it matter that my mother was a seer? And most of all, why deceive me? You didn’t trust in the righteousness of the Goddess? Did you doubt that anyone who learned of Her could love Her?”

Artostes reared back. Almost too fast for her to see, he leapt up—

Putting his throat right into her grasp. Little sickle moon shapes formed in his neck, where she impaled his flesh with her fingernails. Because Zephyra still sat in the throne, Artostes was forced once more to kneel before her.

Up close, she could smell the hint of brimstone on him. To think, she always thought the scent came from mineral springs he favored.

“I will say the word,” she snarled. “Answer me, or be gone!”

Artostes did not struggle. He reached for her hand once, then dropped it and stilled himself.

“Your mother was a caltrop in our feet for thousands of years. Worst of all, she didn’t even know she was interfering with us. We would have destroyed her another way. Then, by and by, we learned she had given birth for the first time in centuries. To a daughter. You were born in this generation, which made you useful now. The Goddess knew what you would become, and She knew that you would serve Her purposes most ably. Kill me, if you want, Handmaiden—”

“Upasasu,” Zephyra snapped.

Her blood raced through her veins even as she said the killing word. She let him go. First came the thud as he landed on his knees. Then the thump as his torso fell backwards Sightless, he stared up at the ceiling.

Let the Goddess rage, but Zephyra did not care. No longer would she speak to the Goddess, or do Her bidding, or consult with Her. Let Her rage.

Now the others lifted their heads. One began babbling, begging her not to kill them.

“Please Handmaiden, please don’t hurt us! We serve you, we swear it.”

Zephyra rose and looked down at them. Forget the Goddess, it dawned on her that she was consumed with rage. These, lackeys, these lickspittles bowing and supplicating before her ought to be grateful she found no useful purpose in their deaths.

“Enough! If you have something to say that will please me, say it. If not, be silent!”

This jolted them enough that they quieted for a moment. Like peasants, these men and women in fine clothes and perfumed hair remained on their knees. From one to the other they exchanged glances. Bewildered. Then, they looked to the body of Artostes.

The ones nearest his body froze. Another scrambled backwards. Curious, Zephyra turned now to examine the body of her one-time father’s chief deceiver. His eyes remained open, and his lips remained parted, as if he were still speaking. Yet his legs were tucked under him, with his torso thrown back and his arms splayed this way and that, while his face pointed up at the ceiling.

Between his lips, wisps of black smoke unfurled.

The abyssal.

A howl shook the room. Tapestries lining the walls slapped violently against the colorful tiles. A marble bust of the shahanshah toppled from its pedestal, shattering on the mosaic floor. The others fell to their feet, but Zephyra stood her ground. The others screamed.

The smoke kept coming, forming a column. Zephyra was obliged to look up, up in order to see the column brush against the ceiling, which would take six men standing one upon the other’s shoulder to reach.

Folding her arms, Zephyra waited. Shouting would be pointless; the abyssal would either hear her or he wouldn’t

“Go back to the Goddess, and tell Her I am through with you.”

The column of smoke folded upon itself, becoming a cloud that enveloped the rest of the inner circle.

Zephyra’s mocking laugher rang through the hall, at this threat she did not regard.

“If She doesn’t need them…then of what value are they to me? Do as you will, and I shall do as I will.”

The cloud surged back, swirling away from Amavand’s confidants before vanishing from her sight.

Now.

Now for the key.

“Back!” Edana commanded. Without hesitation she fired the thunder mace at the dragon woman, her lightning joining the drake’s flames, converging on and enveloping the creature.

The drakaina was fast, flying into the fire and through it, lopping off the head of the nearest drake with one swipe of her sword. The fire did not faze her, but Edana’s lightning burned one of the drakaina’s bat-like wings.

The drakaina landed unceremoniously on the ground the same time as the headless drake, which fell on top of the general and Zareen Prime. The agile serpent-woman reared up on her coils and lifted her swords, preparing to strike again.

Bang!

A gash appeared in its cheek, revealing raw muscle and the stumps of scissor-like teeth. Edana had the barest glance to her right to see Alia lowering her now-smoking gun.

The dragon woman screamed. Teeth fell from the ruin of her mouth, scattering all over the floor. She whirled, allowing them to see her scorpion stinger for the first time. Like a whip her stinger lashed, impaling the general’s ankle. Absolutely pinned in place, Shirzad’s mouth twisted in silent agony as the drakaina’s poison sped through his veins.

Edana’s heart thundered. Before setting out they had all taken the elixir prepared by the Eitanim priests. It should save them from the spiritual poison of the death wind, but she had no idea if it could protect against other kinds.

The general’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his struggles ceased.

Rescue was impossible; the she-dragon slithered too close to the prime and the general. The dead weight of the drake’s body would require machinery to lift. Worse for Zareen Prime, she had landed on her side, unfortunately trapping her left hand beneath her body.

Zareen Prime let out a primal yell as she raised her free hand, unleashing a stream of blue fire over the headless drake. The remaining two Salamandra joined her, putting a wall of sapphire flames between their fallen comrade and the drakaina, cutting it off. Alia shouted a blessing, and the flames turned white.

Impressive, but Edana did not believe even holy Salamandra fire would deter a draconic being. Catching Bessa’s eye, she raised her thunder mace. Immediately Bessa did the same. Together they fired, concentrating on the writhing creature’s torso.

The headless drake, as a fire dragon, was unconsumed by Zareen Prime’s fire. Leaving her still trapped. Alia dropped to her knees, sliding next to the Fire Lady, and began slashing through the dragon’s neck with her moonbow knives. Though she worked swiftly, she would obviously not free Zareen Prime before the drakaina struck again.

“Huntress, get back before the fire—!” a watchmen gestured at Alia. He broke off.

Edana followed his gaze. Though fire burned inches away from her, Alia appeared unperturbed by the flames. Subtle patterns glowing faintly on her green coat suggested an activated power. Obviously it was a power which made her invulnerable to fire.

Rrrawwwk!

Screeching, the two living drakes reared back and opened their jaws. They let out their own exhaust at the drakaina, pushing the wall of fire back on the dragon woman.

The drakaina leapt. Her coils adhered readily to the walls as she undulated, her dragon scales flashing blue and white in the light of the fire as she slithered up.

“Back!” Edana cried. Belatedly she realized she was shouting into Sheridan’s ear. He made no complaint, bringing their gryphon higher, to the ceiling.

“Neither of us need to be at close range to attack,” he pointed out.

Tregarde flung out his hand, and a bubble of silver light shimmered over Zareen Prime, Alia, and General Shirzad.

But he’d misread the drakaina’s intent. She leapt as soon as she was high enough, landing behind them, and with one swipe of her sword she’d claimed another head.

This time the headless drake fell straight down, allowing its riders to scramble back. The remaining drake struck, seizing the drakaina’s arm in its powerful jaws. It yanked, tearing it free from its socket in a burst of blood even as the drakaina swiped again with her remaining sword. She wasn’t fast enough; the nearest watchman lashed out with his own sword, slicing her torso wide open.

The other riders had jumped down from the remaining drake, making sure they landed out of reach of the drakaina. Now on foot, the men scrambled back. The gryphons soared higher; the drakaina had effectively pinned both man and mount in place. The drake took flight, the flap of its wings fanning the wall of fire behind it. It ascended, putting itself out of the reach of the weapon it had learned to respect. The drakaina’s scorpion stinger shot straight up, narrowly missing the aerial serpent.

A trap.

The drakaina saw it and slithered backward, holding her sword out to keep the group at bay. Blood gushed from her ragged stump.

Boom!

Edana recoiled, and saw for the first time the nature of the object Sheridan carried. A much longer version of Alia’s gun, it was longer than the short-swords she was used to seeing. The Anshani gaped up at the weapon, frozen in their tracks.

The drakaina recoiled. Above her breasts blood burst from a ragged hole. Blood spurted from the drakaina’s mouth. Her remaining hand trembled. Echoes reverberated through the hall as her scorpion stinger rapidly tapped the floor.

“Arrows! Finish her!” One of the watchmen commanded.

The other watchmen snapped out of their paralysis. They readied their bows with arrows tipped with heads of moonbow steel, ensuring they would penetrate the dragon woman’s flesh.

The Watchmen fired, aiming for the gaping hole Sheridan had made.

The creature roared again. Bessa, perhaps remembering the Yellow Serpent’s tactics with the manticores, peered around Tregarde’s back and aimed her thunder mace for the creature’s open mouth. She fired, sending bolts of lightning down the creature’s throat. In short order Edana joined her.

The drakaina writhed, smoke and fire pouring from her mouth. At last the sword fell from her hand, the metal ringing on the floor. Tregarde seized the chance, and with a gesture too quick for Edana to see, he executed a spell that caused the sword to lift. It swiveled like a spinning top. Tregarde flung out his hand, sending the sword spinning into the drakaina’s neck. Her head flew off in a bloody spray that shot up to the ceiling, narrowly missing the drake. Unfazed, the drake let out an exhale of fire, cauterizing her neck stump.

Everyone exhaled. But for their ragged breaths, all was silent.

Edana sagged against Sheridan’s back.

“Help,” Zareen Prime asked, a catch in her throat.

Tregarde and Sheridan landed their gryphons and hurried over to Alia. She had almost completely severed the headless drake’s neck from its body. But Zareen Prime and General Shirzad remained trapped beneath it.

Balling his hands into fists, Tregarde aimed them at the drake. In the strange language of the Huntress he spoke, uttering spells. Slowly, slowly, the drake’s body floated up. Hovering a foot off the ground, it wobbled. Veins bulged in Tregarde’s neck. Then, with a loud grunt, he hurled the dragon into the opposite wall.

Alia crawled over to General Shirzad and brought her ear to his lips. Then she probed his throat. Meanwhile, Bessa and Edana dismounted. They rushed over to Zareen Prime and dragged her into an upright position, holding her beneath her shoulders to support her. However, Zareen Prime was taller than they, and she could not gain her feet. She exhaled, and gave a weak cry as she nearly collapsed again. Her legs splayed, useless from the drake crushing her. The women lowered her gently to the floor.

Blood and gore soaked Zareen Prime’s robes. Edana used her own knife to cut the soiled clothes off of her. The foul strips of fabric fell wetly to the floor where she tossed them.

The other watchmen came over to their general and knelt before him.

“He lives,” Alia assured them. “But his pulse is weak.”

Before anyone could react, Zaran Tertius held up his scrying crystal. “The Handmaiden is near. We need to hurry.”

“But the general—” one of the watchmen began.

Zareen Prime had caught her breath. “Can he be moved? Onto the drake? Then I will take him to the temple. Bring me that sword,” she said, inclining her head to the closest of the weapons the drakaina had dropped.

The remaining drake landed. The watchmen gingerly carried their general to the dragon, and secured him to the drake’s back as best they could. Zaran Tertius scooped up Zareen Prime and placed atop the drake, behind the general.

Tregarde pulled a strip of cloth from his satchel. He bypassed the nearest sword, which was still in the grip of the drakaina’s severed hand, and went for the one that rested free. He took no chances with the poison coating the weapon, using the cloth to pick up the sword by its handle and delivered it to Zareen Prime.

Zareen Prime gripped it securely, and with a sigh she promised, “I will get him to the temple. Go. And may the Destroyer be with you.”