Tranquility's Grief Read online

  Another blast of air caught her flank and Bethany spun before falling on her face. She scrambled to her feet, but her boot got tangled in the corpses around her and she fell backwards again. Panic welled inside her. Her confidence waivered. How was she to take out the Magi?

  She kicked the man Jon Black Crow fought in the back of the knee and jumped to her feet, a swift, strong motion. Her thighs and arms burned, but pushed herself to her feet once more.

  Blood turned her vision red. She slapped at her face and saw Edmund Greyfeather and Jon Black Crow standing over her, their faces dripping with mud and blood, feral expressions on their faces. They stood with her and fought like Gods themselves.

  Men fighting for their homes.

  “Bethany!” Edmund shouted over the battle, “Do something!”

  “I can’t,” she responded and cut a man across the torso with her Blessed Blades, kicking him out of her way.

  “What do we do?” Edmund shouted back, his voice breathless.

  “We do it the old fashion way,” Bethany bellowed back. “Blessed Blades! To me!”

  At least another dozen fully vowed Knights joined the small circle and their Blessed Blades hacked through protective domes, barriers, and forces of wind.

  Men died.

  Shields slammed against her body, arrows whizzed past her, and oil pots exploded. Magic shook the ground and tainted the air with rot. Dogs barks, men screamed, metal scraped, and bowels emptied.

  And more men died.

  She didn’t know where her Power went or why she couldn’t find it, but she knew how to use a sword. Her Blessed Blades, like every other vowed Knight, was touched by Apexia’s own hand. They could cut through any enchantment, any spell, any ward.

  And they could cut through flesh and bone alike.

  A building exploded behind them and the ground shook. Archers screamed and jumped from the building. Men and women screamed and catapulted themselves through windows and doors.

  And yet more men died.

  The edges of Bethany’s sanity blurred and the feral need to live took over. She screamed untellable words as she cut, crushed, crippled every single attacker who came at them. She was invincible. How dare they approach her with swords! She would stomp them into the ground like ants in the larder.

  Movement brushed against her thigh and Bethany whirled. Jon Black Crow was on one knee, bloody and groaning, but still fighting. A spear projected from his chest. Mortal wound. His sword fell from his hand. Bethany stepped over his limp body and sliced clean through the arm of the soldier in front of her.

  “Die!” Bethany screamed as the giant of a man’s forearm fell to the blood and snow covered ground, still clutching a logger’s ax.

  Jon’s glassy eyes stared up at her. She’d made him a promise. She’d protect his people, and she would.

  Sweat dripped down Bethany’s back. She shivered as the cold cut through her layers of warm clothes. She ducked from a sword, pushed against them, but there were three swords attacking her and she only held two. She’d become separated from the other Knights, and the Magi and soldiers closed in on her.

  She’d made a promise.

  Bethany swallowed down any fear and found the rage instead. If she was to die today, then by Apexia’s might she’d take them all with her.

  And more men died.

  A gust of force slammed against Bethany’s back and she stumbled forward, falling to one knee. Blessed Blades fell into the blood-soaked snow. Blinding pain surged up her spine. Bethany clutched the spear sticking out of Jon Black Crow’s torso and pulled herself out of the way of a mace before it smashed her skull into blood porridge.

  The owner fell to the ground screaming a beat later.

  “Bethany!” Edmund screamed. “Get up!”

  Another sting of pain, this time in her thigh. The world fogged. She scrambled to clutch a fallen shield, dragging it to shield her head and neck. Stabbing pain washed over her and her calf burned as though it were on fire.

  Arrows. They were shooting her while she was down.

  Get up, she chided herself. She could not. Her entire body was on fire with pain. It took all of her strength not to pass out.

  “Bethany!” Edmund screamed again. She could no longer see his boots.

  An ax slammed against her shield. Vibrations seized her body and she gripped the blood-slick handholds. A beat later, another swing and the world blackened before numbing nothingness spread over her body.

  Her legs stopped working. Were they even there? Her eyes grew heavy and realization pushed its way through the battle gore. She was dying. Her spine was broken. She was bleeding to death. She was going to die.

  A surge of fear filled her. She’d always known it would come. Bethany lived a life of violence. The end would come at the edge of a blade, just as she had ended countless scores with the edges of her own.

  The earth moved and her heart pounded as she dimly felt another impact to the shield above her. There would be no Power now. It was gone. She could not save them.

  Arrago.

  Lendra.

  Her friends.

  She would not get to say good bye to them. She could not protect them now. She could not even protect herself.

  Her gripped loosen on the shield. Someone was kicking it. Her ears began to ring and the pain faded.

  Bethany closed her eyes and the battle roar dimmed to the background as her heart screamed its fear.

  She had died doing her duty. She had died on the field.

  Jovan’s mother would never forgive him for not protecting her.

  Poor Allric.

  Another jolt to her body and Bethany pictured Arrago’s smiling face that very first night they’d been together. Tears trickled down her cheeks. This was going to be hard on him.

  Do not touch my sister!

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The lost returns. The Viper falls. The Crownless becomes King. The Diamond thrives. By Our will, it shall be so.

  -Prophecy of the Diamond, First Tablet

  Arrago wobbled and his mind screamed to get away from Bethany. He looked around, stunned. Bethany wasn’t anywhere near him.

  Daniel was very near him.

  King Daniel somehow remained mostly clean even though he had taken the field. Around him stood a ring of guards, snarling and vicious, soaked in blood, mud, and gore. They had fought Daniel’s battle for him. A real king of Taftlin always fought on the battlefield. This was not a real king. He let others fight for him.

  “Daniel!” Arrago bellowed.

  Daniel snapped his head to stare at Arrago. A concoction of fear and rage filled the young royal’s face. Arrago hoped his only showed determination.

  “The farmer.”

  Arrago felt the ring of fighting around him spread away, closing a tight circle around both men, without either side taking cheap shots at the other. This was a rule of war, as both Edmund and Kiner had explained.

  I suppose I’m on par with a king now. Apexia, give me strength.

  “I was never a farmer.” He tightened the grip on his sword and shifted his forearm so that he loosened his hand enough to have better movement with the shield. “You weren’t at the temple long, but you were there long enough to know that.”

  “All I remember,” Daniel said, sneering, “was cutting you open and making you cry.”

  Arrago squared his shoulders. He saw the flash of a tall, dark man, and knew Kiner was standing nearby. He didn’t need to look behind him; Kiner would protect his rear.

  “I don’t remember crying, but I remember Bethany snapping your nose.”

  Daniel spat. “When I’m done with you, I’ll teach that red headed whore a lesson she never learned from you. She’ll need a real man between her legs.”

  Arrago snorted. Bethany didn’t need him to protect her from a rape threat. She could do that on her own. “Are you here to call me names or to fight me?”

  “Last chance, farmer. Lay down your sword and I’ll have my men give you a
swift death.”

  Arrago flexed his fingers and said, “Never.”

  Daniel smiled. “Good.” He saluted Arrago and swung his sword.

  Arrago was prepared for it, and parried the blow against his shield. Around him, the fight erupted again, his side against Daniel’s. They were busy enough that he didn’t need to worry about what was going on, not that he could pay attention that much anyway. Daniel was a stronger fighter than he was. It would take all of his attention to defeat him.

  Daniel swung his shield at Arrago’s face, but he turned enough to parry the blow against his shoulder and elbow. Hot pain shot up his arm, but he did not drop his sword. He swung it against Daniel’s legs and a snarl came from the royal. They pushed themselves apart, and Arrago saw blood on the edge of his sword.

  Daniel swung at Arrago, again and again, pushing Arrago back. His heart thudded and he pushed aside the fear, anger, and every emotion billowing inside of him. He focused on the fight. He was no initiate now. He was a champion of Apexia, here to fight on behalf of her will. He would not let some upstart, murdering coward with a fancy sword kill him.

  Daniel’s sword grazed his arm and blood rushed from it. Arrago ignored the pain, pushing it aside. He returned the injury with a weak kick to Daniel’s knee while he blocked a blow. Daniel didn’t expect it and staggered, and Arrago used his shield to push against him, slashing at him with his sword. Daniel did the same, and they turtle-backed each other, shield-to-shield, trying to get around the other to land a blow.

  The shield hit Arrago in the face, and spots filled his vision. He stumbled backwards, blinking the blackness away. Then Arrago remembered something Bethany used to do in training. He dropped his sword, pulled out a dagger, and slammed it into Daniel’s arm, just above his elbow bend where he had no armor. Daniel bellowed in rage, but kept his shield up.

  Arrago pushed the king away and kicked him in the kneecap. It landed and Arrago was certain he could feel the crunch of bone through the soles of his boots. Daniel staggered. Arrago jumped on him, and both men fell to the ground.

  Stinging, warm pain stung Arrago’s torso, but the rage inside him didn’t even give him pause. He raised his dagger and plunged it into Daniel’s throat, sinking it straight through the hilt. Blood sprayed and pumped with the rhythm of life, spraying into Arrago’s face and open mouth. He gagged on the blood and spat it out into Daniel’s face.

  The dying King’s eyes grew wide, realization dawning. Death had arrived.

  “I am no farmer,” Arrago growled. “I am a King.”

  He watched the spark of life fade from Daniel’s eyes. Then the pain of being stabbed in the guts caught up to Arrago. He vomited on the draining corpse, and his vision winked out.

  ****

  Bethany’s shield shattered, breaking in two. Bells clattered inside her helmet as the wood and metal ax chimed against the metal around her head. She could still think, so her brains were still intact. She was too weary to care. It was nearly over.

  Touch her and I will melt your mind!

  Sunlight and snow glare attached Bethany’s vision as the sides of the shield slid off her broken body.

  Get away from her. All of you!

  Bethany did not understand the words that filtered in through her mind. They sounded so clear next to the dim battle happening around her. Battles should never quiet. Perhaps she was already on the wind, her spirit adjusting and not letting go of the mortal coil. Someone needed to tell Jovan that he was now in command. And someone needed to write Aneese about the battle. And the Elven Council, who were going to shit cows.

  Bethany’s eyelids grew heavy.

  So tired.

  So cold.

  So dizzy.

  So numb.

  Why was everything so numb? Where were her legs?

  Around her, men fell to their knees. Hands over their ears, they screamed until they collapsed. Blood poured from their nostrils, their eyes, their ears, their mouths. Death never shocked her anymore, but that was a new novelty of war.

  And then, Bethany saw her. A steel figure at a full sprint dragged two grown men behind her by their steel cowls as if they were baskets of laundry. Blood splattered curls bounced with every pounding of her steps.

  Oh no. Lendra, no. Run away.

  Her sister ran, but she ran straight for Bethany, screaming and shrieking. Madness filled her expression and spread to anyone foolish enough to stand too close to Bethany.

  My sister.

  Bethany could not stand to help her sister, or even lift her head. So she watched with hooded eyes as the sparkle of her life charged through a battlefield, ripping apart her own sanity, just to protect her sister. Guilt weighed down on Bethany. She did not want Lendra to give her life up. She had so much to live for. Love, lust, laughter. So much more and Bethany had toiled a lifetime to give her sister the peace that had been denied her.

  Lendra dropped to the ground, her armor creeping. Bethany’s eyes closed and her vision faded, but she forced them open again. She tried to open her mouth, but it would not obey her. She could only breathe, could only blink her eyes.

  “Heal her!” Lendra barked.

  Bethany was far too gone for a healer, or even two, to help. It would take a dozen, maybe even more, to give their lives up just to have her stand. All Lendra would do was extend her life and suffering. Bethany waited for the tell-tale sign of warmth to spread through her body and to give her enough strength to tell the healers to stop. It did not come.

  “Miss Lendra, she’s too far gone,” a man said.

  Bethany heard a snarl and thoughts not her own bellowed in rage. Magi who can heal. Come to me.

  In the far distance, the noise disappeared altogether. The grunts and groans ceased, replaced by thunder. No, not thunder. The ground shook. Why was the ground shaking? Vaguely, the thought came that perhaps men were jumping on it. Why would men be jumping on the ground in a battle?

  Bethany tried to speak, but came out as a moan.

  “Don’t speak,” Lendra ordered and her voice was low-pitched. There was no fear in her voice, only barely-controlled rage.

  “Don’t,” Bethany tried to say, but it was just another moan.

  Cold hands touched her cheeks and gingerly lifted the helmet from Bethany’s head. “The battle is over, Bethany. Stay with me a little longer.” Then hate filled her sister’s voice once more. “Heal her.”

  Bethany bucked as scorching flames spread through her body. She could not scream, but she gaped and gasped all the same. Her vision turned red then white then black, but she did not pass out. Instead, molten lead poured down over her head, trickled down her cheeks and dripping off her chin until Bethany was sure her very skin had been burned off.

  “Stop,” Bethany choked out. “It burns.”

  Don’t stop.

  The agony continued, and whatever they were doing to her gave Bethany enough strength to scream in unabashed agony. Then, the burning faded and was replaced with the warm caress of Rygent Power. Hands moved over her legs—she could feel them now—and over her back.

  Knives cut into her flesh and arrows were yanked from her muscle, but the warmth protected her. She wiggled her toes inside her boots. She was alive. She was alive.

  “Lendra,” Bethany gasped out, “you should not have come.”

  Her sister’s face appeared in front of her. Gone was the look of innocence. “You are my sister.”

  Bethany gulped down the lump in her throat. “You could have died.”

  “I didn’t, and you didn’t, either.”

  “But why? The Magi will taint you. Your mind…”

  “Shhh,” Lendra cooed. Her warm lips kissed Bethany’s scarred cheek. “I love Bethany. That’s why.”

  As people gathered around Bethany’s broken body, Lendra shifted so that Bethany’s head rested in her lap. “Now hush. It’s my turn to look after you.”

  Bethany wept until she fell asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  There will be p
eace.

  Prophecy of the Diamond, First Tablet

  They’d done it. They’d survived. As Bethany surveyed the battlefield, however, she saw the cost of her victory. More lay twisted and bloodied than stood.

  “It’s over,” Lendra whispered.

  Bethany looked up at her sister, whose lap held Bethany’s head. “For now.”

  Lendra’s hands began to shake.

  “Are you all right?”

  “No,” her sister replied quietly. “I’m starting to realize what I’d just done.”

  Bethany gave her a grim smile. It was about the only action she had energy for. “We’ll get through this, I promise.”

  Lendra was silent.

  “Little one,” Bethany said, “you aren’t so little anymore.”

  Lendra let out a sound that was a cross between a snort and a sob. She looked over where Jon Black Crow’s corpse lay and began to weep. “He’s dead. They’re all dead.”

  “Steady, Lendra,” Bethany said. “Steady, now.”

  “I knew him and he’s gone now.”

  “Don’t look at them. They are gone,” Bethany said. “Keep your head high and celebrate with the breathing. Mourn later.”

  “That could have been you.”

  “No, it couldn’t have been. My little sister rescued me.”

  Lendra’s face beamed with pride. Then, she said, “I think Kiner is crying.”

  “I know,” Bethany said. “Don’t look at him, either. Let him mourn and celebrate in his own way.”

  Bethany could see Kiner and Eve in a tight embrace. Then Erem’s tall, long figure came into view and one of Eve’s dark hands reached out to greet him. They traded gripes before Erem reached her. He knelt down and said, “Apexia’s mercy, Lady Bethany. I have a battlefield of hurt people to look after and you’re here, laying around, getting a massage by one of the Rygents.”

  She tried to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze. “Is he handsome?”