The Blade of Highwind: The Complete Trilogy, page 19
Instead, she was overwhelmed with joy.
“Where did you go, fiend?” Isolde called out, turning away from the weathered stone parapet and searching the top of the tower behind her. “Show yourself!”
The echo of her voice was the only answer. She was surrounded by darkness; the dim moonlight filtering through the clouds was barely bright enough to make out the trap door at the center of the tower just a few yards in front of her, let alone the corpses of the two Vorsalosian soldiers the demon had forced her to kill on the way up here. It was disorienting to lose so much of one’s vision in the span of a few heartbeats; moments ago, her eyes had been able to pierce the long shadows as easily as day. Yet Isolde would have gladly torn out both her eyes in exchange for freedom from her tormentor.
Because deep down in her soul, she knew that the demon would return.
“Dragon protect me,” she breathed, trying hard to stay calm and slow her pounding heart. Isolde had spent her entire life training to be a warrior; the Red Sisterhood had prepared her to fight any foe on any field of battle. An amazon did not succumb to fear, and she certainly did not submit to her enemies. Only her Maskari earned that privilege.
And yet, for many days now (or had it been weeks?), Isolde had been held captive within her own body by the demon’s unbreakable will. The monster had no physical form for her to fight, no blood she could spill. It had invaded her, tortured her, conquered her. If not for the touch of the elven girl back at Tanisgarde, Isolde wouldn’t have known a single moment of freedom since the demon had attacked her.
Isolde sucked in sharp breath and turned back to the edge, shivering from the cold for the first time in as long as she could remember. Even in winter, Nol Krovos was a tropical paradise.
Gathered on the ground below, standing motionless in seemingly endless rows, was the army of undead she had unwillingly led here. It was a fearsome force, nearly eight thousand strong, made up of the shambling corpses of fallen soldiers from wars long past now possessed by demonic spirits of the Pale. In three days, perhaps four, they would march on Vorsalos and unleash the rage and humiliation of Inquisitrix Marcella’s doomed crusade to rid the world of sorcery.
Thousands would die. Tens of thousands would suffer. And Isolde’s body would be there at the vanguard of their assault while her mind screamed in powerless anguish behind her eyes…
Unless she did something about it now, while she had the chance.
Her fingers squeezed hard against the parapets. When the elven girl had briefly liberated her, Isolde had begged the other woman to kill her while she’d had the chance. The elf had hesitated…but now Isolde had a second chance. She could throw herself from the tower and deny the demon its prize. Her broken corpse would likely be too battered to possess, but regardless, a demon could inflict far less damage with a dead body than a living one. And most importantly of all, Isolde would be free.
“No,” she said, banging her leather gauntlet against the stone. “I can still defeat it. I can still fight!”
Isolde didn’t know if it was courage or cowardice that rose up inside her, but she backed away from the edge. There had to be some way to liberate herself, some way to prepare herself for the demon’s inevitable return.
“I knew you wouldn’t have the strength to go through with it.”
Isolde spun on a heel. There, slumped against the parapet on the opposite side of the tower, was one of the Vorsalosian soldiers she had killed. His body still lay in a pool of gore, but the arms suddenly and violently twitched. The corpse climbed to its feet.
And looked right at her.
“To think, I had been yearning for the challenge of conquering one of the mighty amazon warriors of Nol Krovos,” the corpse rasped, bubbles of blood rolling over its lip and down its chin. “The Avetharri chose your people to defend the Godsoul prison—I assumed that you would be a worthy opponent. But you aren’t really a warrior, are you? You are just a little girl with delusions of grandeur.”
The corpse lurched forward until it was standing barely a yard in front of the amazon. “A girl who thought she could leave her island and find the dragon on her own.”
“Stay back, fiend!” Isolde snarled, instinctively reaching for the sword on her back. It was only after she unclasped the massive blade that she remembered it was useless to her without the demon’s added strength. She needed both hands just to hold it upright, and there was no way she could wield it effectively. It was a weapon made for a savage Roskarim warrior, not a graceful daughter of Nol Krovos.
The demon laughed, a wet, mocking sound from the corpse’s damaged lungs. Its leather breastplate was still matted with blood from where the demon had compelled her to drive the man’s own dagger through his chest.
“How pathetic. You aren’t even worthy of being my vessel…”
With an angry roar, Isolde lashed out with the sword. The heavy blade cleaved the corpse’s head from its body, splattering even more blood across the stones at her feet. The body dropped like an empty sack, and the head rolled until it bumped into the battlements beside the other dead soldier the demon had forced her to kill.
She held the heavy weapon in front of her like a talisman, her hands shaking from fear and fatigue. She felt sickly and weak, realizing only belatedly that the demon had never allowed her to eat or drink. Its power had been the only thing sustaining her…
“Now, now, there’s no reason to make a mess…”
The head of the second corpse turned to face her, a dark smile breaking the look of horror that had been frozen on its face. The body unsteadily rose to its feet just like the first, then shambled forward.
“The mistress will be disappointed,” the demon said. “She had hoped to add these defenders to her army.”
Roaring again, Isolde lifted the tip of the massive sword…and this time, her rage awakened the fury of the Aether. A current of power surged through her blood, raw and untamed, heating the metal as if she had dipped it into a forge. The blade burst into flames, illuminating the top of the tower in an angry orange glow.
“I will destroy you,” she growled. “No matter what form you wear, no matter how long it takes!”
The demon laughed again, though this time there was no rasp. The corpse’s lungs were fully intact—this poor man had died when Isolde had cracked the back of his skull against the battlements.
“Deceive yourself if you must, it will not change anything,” the demon taunted. “Deep down, you know you cannot stop me. In a few moments, you will be mine again. I just thought you might appreciate a few moments of quiet reflection.”
Isolde almost took another swipe at the monster, but she knew it was meaningless. This tower was filled with the bodies of the unsuspecting men she had killed—a garrison of twenty in total. With the demon’s power bolstering her, she had cut them down like blades of grass. Yet now, the monster could easily take control of their corpses and force her to butcher them all over again…
“You see, the truth is that I understand you better than you understand yourself,” the demon said. “You still believe that someone will rescue you. Perhaps the Dal’Rethi pretender…or even the Dragon of Highwind himself.”
The demon chuckled again. “But there is no escape from me, girl, not even death.”
The flames on the blade danced as Isolde lunged forward. The superheated metal effortlessly sliced the corpse in half, cauterizing the wounds in an instant. But the unwieldly blade flew out of her grip when it completed its arc, smashing against the battlements and clattering to the stone. The air hissed and popped as the flames vanished, then fell silent.
Isolde stood in place, her body trembling with fear. This was what the monster wanted—to torment her until she felt weak and helpless. Faced with the prospect of waiting here at this tower for days, the demon must have wanted to entertain itself with her suffering.
She refused to give it the satisfaction. Balling her hands into fists at her sides, she took a breath and focused her mind just like the Red Sisters had taught her. All that mattered was the present—the past was but a fleeting echo and the future was but a hazy promise.
She needed a plan. If she could escape this tower and flee to one of the shoreline villages, perhaps she could—
Isolde paused again, realizing that her left arm was moving of its own accord. The hand unclenched as it reached for her own throat. Isolde willed it to stop, but it refused her commands. All of a sudden, the fingers curled around the bare skin of her throat…
“A shame you lack a tan’ratha,” the demon said in Isolde’s voice through her own lips. “Such a powerful work of artifice. Binding you to another, allowing you to feel what they feel. Yet another tradition your people stole from their Dal’Rethi progenitors. It is almost a pity that you remain unbonded. It would have been amusing to pit my will against your Maskari. You could feel his agony as I made you carve him to pieces.”
“No!” Isolde shrieked, grabbing her left hand with her right then yanking it from her throat. She could feel the monster roiling inside her, but it hadn’t yet reasserted full control. “I will defeat you on my own!”
“Defeat who?”
Isolde whipped her head back around to the now-open trap door as a shadowy female figure ascended the steps. Jurisa, the Senosi Huntress, would have been almost invisible if not for the green glow in her eyes and the matching tattoos on her neck and forearms.
“Who in the bloody void are you even talking to?” she demanded when she reached the top.
Isolde’s gaze fixed on her tattoos, wondering if they might have a similar effect to those of the elf girl in Tanisgarde. The vatari dust within them was meant to absorb magic, but apparently it was a repellant to demons as well. If she could just get close enough to touch them for a moment…
“What are you playing at, beast?” the Huntress asked, her hand flashing down to the crossbow at her hip when she noticed the butchered corpses of the soldiers. “You were supposed to leave them intact.”
“Please, you must help me!” Isolde said. “Your tattoos, they can—arghh!”
She could feel the demon boring into her mind like a screw through the back of her skull. She clutched her head and clenched her teeth, knowing that faltering now might doom her forever.
“I will not let you defeat me!” Isolde screamed, falling to a knee. “I am a daughter of Nol Krovos. I am…I am…”
Her jaw unclenched and her arms lowered. Even her head now moved of its own accord, and she felt her lips twist into a dark, oily smile.
“Your army will not miss two soldiers, Huntress,” the demon said through Isolde’s body. “Their sacrifice is a small price to pay to teach this girl a lesson in humility.”
Jurisa’s mouth twisted in disgust. Isolde’s eyes could see her as clearly as if it were daytime now, and the demon’s power had banished her hunger and fatigue. She couldn’t even feel the chill of the air anymore.
“Vile creature!” the Huntress spat, her hand tightening around the grip of her crossbow. “I should have destroyed you when I had the chance.”
“But you didn’t, did you?” the demon said. “How could you? I am your only chance for revenge.”
“I don’t need revenge. The war is over.”
“And yet your mistress will continue to fight. And you, her loyal hound, will follow her to the end.”
The Huntress drew her crossbow and pointed it at the amazon’s face. Isolde could see her finger trembling on the trigger as whatever remained of her conscience battled against the wishes of her Sanctori mistress. Twenty years ago, Veleca and Jurisa had stood among the elite warriors of the Inquisitrix. They had conquered Vorsalos, brought war to the Northern Reaches, and nearly burned Nol Krovos to cinders.
But the dragon and his allies had ultimately destroyed the Inquisitrix and ended her Senosi Crusade. Now, these two women were all that remained, and they seemed determined to raze the city they felt had turned its back on them.
Do you understand now, my little amazon? the demon’s voice whispered into Isolde’s mind. They are the last vestiges of a doomed cause, unable and unwilling to admit defeat. We will feast on their pride. It will sustain us…and it will allow us to control them.
“You still have work to do elsewhere, Huntress,” the demon said mockingly. “Do not worry yourself, I shall see to our forces here.”
Jurisa’s scowl tightened, and for a long, haunting moment Isolde thought that she would pull the trigger and liberate her once and for all. But then the Huntress slowly lowered her crossbow and spat upon the stone near the amazon’s feet.
“You will not leave this tower for any reason, beast,” she ordered. “And you will ensure that no one—not a single fisherman—learns the fate of this garrison or detects the presence of our army.”
“Yes, our mistress’s instructions were quite clear,” the demon replied. “I am bound to obey them…as are you.”
The Huntress’s arm quivered as if she was reconsidering her decision yet again. The demon smirked as if to try and provoke her, but she steadied her hand and holstered the weapon instead.
“Four days,” Jurisa said, though she seemed to be talking to herself more than the demon. “Four days and our fallen sisters will be avenged.”
She departed without another word, descending the steps and closing the trap door behind her.
“Four days until our feast, little amazon,” the demon said, turning Isolde’s body and striding back to the battlements. With its unholy power enhancing her vision, she could see the tiny lights from the decks of dozens of ships in the Gulf and the vast sea beyond. Through the pockets of distant fog, she could even discern the outline of Vorsalos, the city she was about to destroy.
“You are mine, Isolde Tal’Uthra,” the demon said. “Daughter of the Dragon.”
1
The Young Girl and the Sea
Shayera
“The Queen’s Library? Are you insane?”
Tairi grinned impishly as she squeezed my hand and tugged me along through the narrow, dimly lit passage in the heart of the Winter Palace. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned about the risks of her latest gambit, whereas I was on the verge of hyperventilating. My heart had been thudding in my ears ever since we’d used her stolen key to get in here.
Normally, I enjoyed the rush of breaking the rules. It always gave me a giddy thrill whenever Aunt Val smuggled me into one of the seedy gambling dens in Blacktide Borough. But this wasn’t a cheeky little defiance of my parents—this was serious. My mom wasn’t the queen of Nelu’Thalas, and Aunt Val wasn’t here to cover for me if I got caught. If one of the Ven’Tira caught us sneaking around…
“Nothing is going to happen, I promise,” Tairi soothed. “The queen will be attending a special meeting with her war council all day.”
“That’s what you said. How do you know her guards won’t be here?”
“Because with King Thedric and his Pact Army amassing more and more troops in the north, the Ven’Tira have better things to do than protect some musty old books.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed her or not, but at that point it wasn’t as if I had much choice. We were already committed, and there was no way I would be able to convince her to turn around and go back to the servant’s quarters. This was her way of proving to me that she and her friends had almost free rein within the palace.
“It’s just up ahead,” Tairi whispered. “Stay close.”
The passage we were in was only about two yards wide, enough for the queen and a few of her guardians to quietly maneuver through the Winter Palace whenever discretion was paramount. I had no idea where else these passages could take us, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if there were paths to the throne room or even the queen’s bedchamber. After all, the hidden entrance had been sealed with highborn blood magic—only Queen Malareth and a select few of her Ven’Tira possessed the means to open it.
If they ever realized that their wood elf servants had figured out a way to bypass the wards…
“Here we go,” Tairi said as we approached a wall at the end of the passage. It was so dark in here that it looked like a dead end, and even when she lifted the glowing blue runestone and held it in front of the unmarked wall, I couldn’t see any indentations to suggest that it was anything more than an impassable barrier. Bitterly, I wondered if a sorcerer might have been able to see some kind of glyphs or other clues. Since Tairi and I were both Nugûl, such mysteries would always elude us.
Just when I was about to beg her to turn away, there was a loud click followed by the soft scraping of stone. Propelled by ancient magic, the wall slowly moved aside to reveal the vast splendor of the Queen’s Library.
“Perfect,” Tairi said, her dark green eyes alight with mischief. “Come on!”
She pulled me inside. Unlike some of my friends, I’d never had a particular affinity for libraries. Both my parents had a deep appreciation for knowledge and research, my father having spent years in study at the Silver Temple and my mother hailing from this very city. But they were also people of action who wanted their daughter out doing things rather than sitting around reading about them, and Aunt Val had been the same way.
“Books are wolf girl’s thing,” Val had told me on more than one occasion. “Trust me, there are far more interesting hobbies.”
Still, I couldn’t deny that the queen’s collection was impressive. I stood in a forest of shelves, many filled with books that might have predated the Ilwetharri’s flight from Varellon here to Torsia thousands of years ago. There were instructors at the Highwind Academy who would have given almost anything to trade places with me right now…
