The Shadow Games: The Chronicles of Arianthem VI Read online

  “But what can we do? Skye clearly has no memory.”

  They watched as the beautiful young woman wandered aimlessly amongst the flowers, playing with butterflies and gently relocating insects that the gardeners would otherwise kill.

  “There’s the sorceress,” Syn whispered, and all drew back instinctively although they were well-hidden. Ingrid walked out on the balcony, watched Skye for a moment, then her eyes swept the fields, the buildings, and then the horizon. All held their breath until her gaze returned to Skye, and she went back inside.

  “It’s almost as if she senses something,” Dallan said.

  “But none of us are magical,” Torsten said, “what would she be sensing?”

  “I don’t know,” she said grimly, “I don’t know how oracles work. But maybe she has that kind of sight.”

  “What do you think we should do?” Torsten asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dallan said, her frustration peaking.

  Raine made it past the first vampyres, if not with ease, at least with style. Her deadly bow snapped out to its full length, she fired a volley of arrows that all found their mark, then went in feet first and swords swinging, removing appendages right and left. The vampyres did not go down easily, but they did wind up in a pile of black ash all the same. Aesa coughed slightly as Raine brushed the black residue from her leather armor.

  “Are you all right?” Raine asked.

  “Of course,” Aesa said, “I did nothing but hide back here.”

  “And a fine job you did of it.” Raine looked up. “Well, we only have about forty more levels of this to go.”

  Talan stood alone in Kylan’s keep. All of the dragons had been dispatched and now she waited for word. The castle was quiet, utterly silent, and the snow outside blanketed and muffled the world. The footsteps behind her, therefore, were very loud in that silence. She turned to face those who should not be there.

  “How nice to see you, my Queen.”

  Volva sauntered into the room, her golden cape flowing behind her, her breasts jiggling with every accentuated stride. She bit off the last two words, imbuing them with spite. She was accompanied by Jörmung, who looked less fashionable but just as spiteful, and far more smug. Both wore looks of barely concealed triumph that bordered on glee.

  “And to what do I owe this pleasure?” Talan asked, calm but wary.

  “We thought you might need some company after you sent your entire force down to Thorny Peak.”

  “I see,” Talan said as Volva approached her. She was not afraid of either of them, but perhaps that was her undoing. Volva leaned to kiss her, a kiss that Talan did not return.

  “What?” Volva said. “No small token of affection for old time’s sake?”

  “That was eons ago, Volva,” Talan said, “and will go down as my second worst decision of all time.”

  Volva took Talan’s hands in her own, and before Talan realized what she was doing, Volva had slipped a pair of restraints over her wrists. It was easily and slyly done because they were slender and made of nothing more than a fine, glowing filament. She might as well have slipped a bracelet on her.

  “What is this?” Talan said, attempting to pull her wrists apart as if the filament would break with ease. But the manacles did not budge.

  “A gift,” Volva said, the triumph now in full display, “from your very worst decision of all time. A gift from a goddess who bears you considerable ill will.”

  Talan raised the fetters so she could look at them. They seemed something alive, glowing and writhing with a soft light. She tried again to break them, but as insubstantial as they seemed, her massive strength had no effect and she could not move her wrists at all. Worse, she began to feel a subtle weakening in her body.

  “From what I understand, those have been fashioned from petrified resin from the Tree of Life,” Volva said conversationally, “a kind of fluid amber if you will. In fact, I notice that they quite stylishly match your eyes. Not only are they unbreakable, but they will begin to leech your life-force from you, something I see that you are starting to feel now.”

  Jörmung tried to circle around Talan, but she turned and gave him such a withering look he skulked back to Volva’s side as she continued her exposition.

  “From what I was told, they will slowly weaken you until you are incapacitated, incapable of even moving, and eventually you will die. But that will take a very long time, and during that time you will still be conscious, able to see, and feel, and hear, and smell. And Jörmung is going to put you in a very special hell, because he is going to do things to you that are utterly depraved.”

  “He’s going to have a hard time getting through my armor,” Talan said sarcastically, “and if he sticks it in my mouth, with my last bit of strength I will bite if off.”

  Jörmung took a step back at this threat, dismayed that all his perverse dreams were going to be denied.

  “Relax,” Volva said, frowning at her cowardly ally. “Her armor will retract once she is weakened, and then she will be helpless. I might even take a go at you myself,” Volva said to Talan, patting her cheek. “I forgot how incredibly attractive you are.”

  Talan eyed the window, thinking she could beat that fat fool to the sill and then leap to her freedom.

  “Oh yes,” Volva said, “I almost forgot. Really, the best part of all is that you cannot revert to your true dragon form while the restraints are on.”

  Talan still considered the window, but the fall was straight down, thousands of feet. She would probably survive it, but with significant injury, and that would merely accelerate the weakness she was already feeling. She would have had a fight on her hands dealing with two Ancient Dragons at once regardless, and the restraints now put that battle out of the question.

  “And now, my Queen,” Volva said with hideous joy, “we wait.”

  “I’m going down there,” Syn announced.

  “What?” Dallan whispered furiously. “That is a terrible idea. We should wait for Idonea.”

  “Idonea could be days away,” Syn said. “You yourself said the sorceress wasn’t that powerful.”

  “Rika said that, not me,” Dallan said, and Rika frowned at her. “And Raine said several times under no circumstances should we challenge her on our own.”

  “But the sorceress fled from Raine without a fight, and from what Rika said, she fled from you without a fight. Why would this time be any different? And her manner of fleeing, traveling through some enchanted portal or what-not, she could take Skye with her if we’re not careful.”

  Dallan grew pale at that thought. A portal could take Skye anywhere and she might be gone for good this time.

  “What do you think?” she asked, turning to Torsten.

  “I’m inclined to agree with Syn,” Torsten said, “if the sorceress has yet to stand and fight, why would she do so now? When we charged up that tower to kill the Garmlain Chancellor, we had no more forces with us than we do now, and she fled. Maybe she’ll do so again. We just have to make sure Skye is separated from her.”

  “Which I can do,” Syn insisted. “I can get down there and speak with her, try and jog her memory, and if not, maybe we can just carry her off.”

  “Skye?” Dallan said. “Are you serious? She will thrash the lot of us.”

  “Or at least put up a hell of a fight,” Rika muttered.

  “Look at her!” Syn demanded. “She’s wearing pink silk pants, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Well,” Rika said, peering down into the garden, “they’re more of a magenta, but you’re right. That’s not Skye. If she doesn’t remember us, then maybe we can carry her off.”

  “Let me see if I can draw her away.”

  Dallan sighed, undecided if they were making a horrible mistake. But the thought of losing Skye again, possibly forever, was too much.

  “Go,” she said to Syn, �
��and don’t get caught.”

  Raine paused for a moment to wipe the sheen of sweat from her brow. The last two vampyres had been tough. Very fast, very strong, and very coordinated in their attack. And they quickly figured out that Raine did not want them behind her near the Empress, so they concentrated their efforts in that direction. Twice, Raine had to block death blows aimed at the Empress, trapping the arcing daggers with her spinning swords. She engaged in an extending, whirling dance of death with the two and was finally able to cut the hamstrings of one, hobbling him enough so that she turned her full attention to the other and struck a blow delivered with such force it nearly cut him in two. A series of ferocious slices dismembered him, and she finished him off with a decapitation. She then returned to the first, who still fought with violent aggression despite his injury, and she did him the same honor. They disappeared into a cloud of ash, giving Raine her brief respite.

  Aesa was taken aback at the ferocity of the fighting, and was stunned that the vampyres had attacked her.

  “I see that Pernilla does want me dead,” she said sarcastically.

  “It’s more likely she thinks I will expose myself trying to protect you,” Raine said, “but that’s not going to happen, either. Let’s keep going.”

  “She really is good at that, isn’t she?” Torsten whispered to Dallan.

  “That she is.”

  All three watched Syn as she made her way down to the barn, filtered through the shadows, walked right past one guard, somehow timing her movement so that she was behind him as he was turning to follow his patrol route. She then ducked behind the cover of some hay bales, moved under a wagon, right through the middle of a group of farmhands, then edged her way along the stone wall of the garden.

  “She’s like some, strange, city Tavinter,” Torsten murmured.

  “That is exactly what Skye thought,” Rika said. Syn had lost her parents young in a horrific Hyr’rok’kin attack, and the trauma had erased much of her early life from memory. Syn’s skills had caught Skye’s attention, and the locket that she possessed, one belonging to Syn’s mother that was now nestled between the Lady Jorden’s breasts, increased Skye’s suspicions that Syn’s parents had been Tavinter.

  The garden had but one entrance, one Syn somehow slipped through without detection, and high stone walls. But Dallan, Rika, and Torsten were at an elevation where they could still see down into the garden, at least away from the walls. Which is exactly where Syn must have been because she disappeared for several minutes from their sight. All held their breath for what felt an eternity.

  “There she is,” Torsten said, and Syn popped away from a shadow. She had worked her way around the stone wall, as close to Skye as possible without leaving cover. But now she had to expose herself to get close to Skye because she was in the center of the garden. Dallan glanced up uneasily at the balconies of the mansion. If they could see Syn from their height, the sorceress could certainly see it from hers.

  Signe leaned to smell the white roses with the pink tips. They were more fragrant than the red roses, and somewhat reminded her of Eydis’ breasts, so creamy white with their pink tips. This made her think of their latest tête-à-tête, although it hadn’t really been face-to-face. They were now having sex two, sometimes three times a day, and although exhausting, Signe had to admit that she liked it. She glanced up at the balcony. She wouldn’t be surprised if Eydis set upon her down here, for it had become one of her favorite places to corner her and then take her in one of the chairs, on a bench, on the ground, really, anywhere that struck her fancy.

  Signe plucked one of the roses, inhaling the scent deeply. When she lifted her head, she stopped.

  A woman was in the garden, a rakishly good-looking one with shoulder-length dark hair and sharp androgynous features.

  “Hello,” Signe said uncertainly.

  “Skye!” the woman said softly but fiercely.

  A sharp pain went through Signe’s head, perhaps the residual effects of her head injury, she thought.

  “My name is Signe.”

  “No,” the woman insisted, “your name is Skye. Don’t you remember me?”

  “You are the woman from the caravan, the one who brought the seeds,” Signe said, her brow furrowing. She glanced up apprehensively to the balcony, reminded of Eydis’ jealousy. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” the woman insisted, “my name is Syn. Don’t you remember me?”

  “Sin? That’s an odd name.”

  “Look,” Syn said, getting close enough to grab her sleeve, “just come with me for a moment. I need to show you something.”

  Signe resisted the pulling on her sleeve, but only briefly. She was curious. Who was this woman and how had she gotten here? What did she want to show her? She sent one more uneasy glance to the balcony, then allowed the woman to pull her along. Although her head hurt something awful, she was not afraid of this “Sin,” despite the woman’s agitation. They made their way through the small labyrinth of the garden swiftly.

  And were blocked at the entrance.

  “Going somewhere my love?” Ingrid asked drily.

  Signe’s heart leaped up in her throat, for she could sense the anger that seethed beneath Eydis’ surface begin to boil upward. And it did so in a frighteningly controlled manner as the sorceress turned her gaze upon Syn.

  “You.”

  Syn cleared her throat. “Yes, yes, me again.”

  Signe thought it very odd that Eydis knew this person.

  “The last time I saw you, you were stealing from me. Something of great of value, I recall. Something I didn’t realize was missing until it was too late.”

  Signe stepped away from the woman. A thief.

  “Come here, my love,” Ingrid said with gentle steel.

  Signe started to comply but the thief snatched at her sleeve.

  “Please, Skye, don’t listen to her.”

  Another pain shot through Signe’s head and she stopped in place, unwilling to move toward either of them. With a wave of her hand, Ingrid froze Syn in place and she could neither move nor feel anything below her waist. Immobilization spells always worked best on those who did not wish to battle, only wished to flee. And the fingers about Syn’s heart and the pressure on her lungs warned her that the spell could be expanded and immobilize that which kept her alive.

  “I don’t suppose you came alone,” Ingrid mused, “although I sense your most dangerous reinforcements are not here. So let’s see if we can draw your friends out.”

  The sorceress raised her hand and bit-by-bit, the spell began to creep upward, slowing Syn’s breathing as her lungs ceased to move and suffocating her from the inside out.

  “Please don’t hurt her,” Signe cried.

  “This will only take a moment, dear.”

  And it took far less than that, for Dallan, Rika, and Torsten, having seen the sorceress confront Syn, were already charging to her rescue. And they came through the garden gate in a fury, swords raised to strike the witch down. But Ingrid merely sidestepped them, rendered Torsten unconscious with a clap of her hands, pinned Rika to the wall with massive roots that sprang from the earth, and froze Dallan in place, this time not with an immobilization spell, but by encasing her lower body in solid ice. She did cease her pressure on Syn, who gasped for air but stopped turning blue. Signe watched in horror and disbelief, stunned at the power of her lover.

  Dallan, too, was stunned, for she realized they had greatly underestimated the sorceress, and only too late understood Raine’s admonitions. She shivered uncontrollably as she started to hack at the ice with her sword, but Ingrid’s words stopped her.

  “If you shatter the ice, it will shatter your legs along with it.”

  Signe stared at the man on the ground. He seemed so familiar to her, inspiring warmth and loyalty, friendship and love, but she could not come up wi
th his name and the effort made the pain in her head worse. She looked to the woman pinned by the roots, but she was struggling so fiercely with the vines that sought to strangle her, Signe could not clearly see her face. And finally, Signe turned to the one encased in ice, a stunning young woman with beautiful dark eyes that flashed with anger as she struggled against the bitter cold, eyes that were filled with anguish as she turned to her.

  “Dallan,” Skye whispered.

  Ingrid sighed. “Now you’ve done it.”

  It was as if a thunderclap went off inside Signe’s head as she turned to Eydis who was not Eydis. This was Ingrid, mother of Inga, the girl who had tried to assault her the very first day of the Academy, the Ha’kan Academy, where her father had sent her, where there had been a contest, and a brook where Dallan had become her first lover, and where Rika had laughingly thrown her over her shoulder and took her to Lifa’s bed, and Lifa, who was the warmth of the sun, and Kara the tumult of the wind, and Skye’s father, Kolgrim, had been killed, the Tavinter, what were the Tavinter? She was the Tavinter, and they rallied around her as she battled the Ha’kan, and Torsten, her childhood friend who lie on the ground, was at her side, and the Tavinter lost but won, and Ingrid was not Inga’s mother but rather the sorceress who had taken her away and drank her blood and violated her. And Raine, by the gods, Raine, had saved her, not just this time but the time before, with her lover, the dragon. And the time with the reaper shards that had come for her like they had come for her mother, oh her blessed mother, Isolde, who had been poisoned by those monsters. And Talan, the dragon had come through Nifelheim to save Raine from the goddess, using the enchanted bracelet that the thief, Syn, had helped her complete.

  All of these images flashed through Signe’s mind with painful speed, disjointed, out of order, flitting from one-to-another with lightning speed as they sought to reconnect with one another in any fashion possible. The images were vivid but offered little clarity, for it was too much, too fast, and Signe understood the emotion and not much else. But for all that she did not understand, there was one thing that she knew for sure.