The Nightblade Epic Volume Two: A Book of Underrealm, page 51
Loren wanted to pull her knee away, but she restrained herself. “Once, I wanted that. But I have told you that I am Chet’s, and he is mine. More clearly than ever now, I know why. Chet and I have been by each other’s side for most of our lives. We know each other. We understand each other. He feels the same way about killing as I do. You are a fine woman, Niya, but you and I will never have what Chet has.”
“How many times must I tell you that I do not want what you and Chet have?” growled Niya. She leaned forwards, trying to kiss Loren.
“Stop!” said Loren. She shot to her feet, awkward without the use of her left arm, and her right fist clenched. “I have spoken plainly, and already you have skirted dangerously close to the wrong side of the law. Leave me be.”
Slowly Niya rose to her feet. She looked down at Loren with a wry smile and shook her head.
“Oh, little Loren,” she said quietly. “What a foolish, foolish little girl you have been.”
Loren recoiled—and then her heart stopped. From Niya’s eyes, a pale white light shone forth.
Her form shifted and rippled. First she shrank, so that she was of a height with Loren. Her dark hair grew by a few fingers and then turned so blonde that it was almost white. Her brown skin darkened further. Her lips grew fuller. And as the light faded from her eyes at last, they were a light hazel, a hazel that captivated Loren just as surely as it had the first time she saw it.
Her lips curled in a devilish grin.
“Hello, Loren,” said Auntie. “I can only imagine how much you have missed me.”
LOREN TURNED AND FLED FOR her life.
Her feet pounded down the path back towards camp, jostling her shoulder and making her wince as she plunged into the trees. She feared to look behind her, to slow even that much.
“Oh, Loren,” called Auntie. “Why have you always been so coy?”
The voice sounded close, forcing Loren to turn against her will. But the weremage had vanished. Loren whirled, seeking her in the jungle, but saw nothing.
“Why—how long?” she called out. If she could get Auntie to talk, she might be able to tell the woman’s location. “When did you take Niya’s place?”
“You stupid, stupid girl.” The voice came floating from her left, and Loren turned. Still she saw nothing. “It has always been me. From the very first time when you made your moon-eyes at me upon the Seat.”
“That is a lie,” said Loren at once. “You were kind. You were even … you acted as though you—”
“As though I wanted you?” Auntie laughed, long and cruel. “As I said. A stupid girl. So stupid, you very nearly betrayed the love of your life for a pair of strong arms.”
She was trying to circle around, to come between Loren and the path back to camp. “Chet!” screamed Loren, breaking into a sprint and ignoring the pain in her chest. “Chet!”
The jungle was silent. For a moment she wondered if Auntie was still there, stalking her, or if the weremage had decided not to chase her, and instead to go back for the camp. She must reach it first. If Auntie hurt any of the others—
Auntie pounced from the trees, right in front of Loren, who tried to skid to a halt. But the weremage’s hand darted out and seized her shoulder. Loren cried out with pain and fell to her knees. Auntie sneered down at her.
“The mighty Nightblade,” she said. “How long I have waited to bring you low. But I could not have imagined how sweet it would be—almost as sweet as the taste of you upon my lips.”
“Why?” gasped Loren, as Auntie continued to squeeze her wound through the bandage. “Why all of this?”
“Oh, it was so very hard not to kill you until now,” said Auntie. Without removing her grip, she knelt, her face only a handbreadth from Loren’s. “Even the delightful charms of your eyes, darkness take them, did not still my wrath, my desire to taste your blood upon my knife. But I knew I must be patient. I knew I must wait. For I knew in the end you would bring me to Damaris.”
Her free hand pulled down her collar. Then Loren saw that she still had a ruined throat, the mass of scar tissue that spoke of a grievous wound. It had not changed with the rest of Auntie’s body.
“She gave me this. She gave me this because of you. I lay in that sewer for days as I tried to stitch my own neck together, and still it is ruined. Because of you.” Her voice was little more than rasping breath now, sweet and pungent in Loren’s nostrils. “That is why I needed you, needed you both, you see. But while I waited, while I followed you as you bumbled your way across Feldemar in search of her, I decided that you would be mine before the end.”
Loren struck all at once, hoping to surprise her. Her right fist slammed into Auntie’s neck, and the weremage coughed violently just before Loren crushed the woman’s nose with her forehead. She fought to gain her feet, but Auntie recovered, sweeping her legs out from under her with a vicious kick. Loren crashed down upon her back, screaming as agony lanced her shoulder.
Auntie straddled her, drawing something from her pocket. She threw it in Loren’s face—a fine powder, burnt orange. Loren gasped without thinking and felt it enter her lungs. Her body seized up, arms twitching, and then they ceased to move at all. She lay utterly limp, her limbs refusing to answer the call of her mind. Auntie grinned down at her.
“A poison,” said Auntie. “It may kill you in time, if I use enough of it. For I will use a very great deal, Loren, a very great deal. But mostly, I will use it to hold you in place. Because I do not wish for you to go anywhere, Nightblade—not while I carve you up, a piece at a time.”
She drew a knife from her boot and held it up. Loren tried to recoil, but she could not move.
It was the knife from her dream. Old, rusted, dirty. Far below the quality one would expect of a merchant—but just right for a madwoman who lurked in the sewers of Cabrus.
Loren could not even scream. Only her eyes obeyed her, and even that was sluggish.
“I want you awake for all of it. I want you to feel every bit of it—every cut. And I want you to remember all the while, Loren.” She leaned down, her lips brushing against Loren’s ear. “I want you to remember that you almost chose me. That you almost gave yourself to me, in every way, instead of the boy you claimed to love.”
“Loren!”
Auntie whirled. The voice was Chet’s, but it came from a distance, somewhere off through the trees. He called out again. He was closer now. He was coming this way.
No, no, sky above, no, thought Loren. Run Chet, please, darkness take me, run. Why did I call out for you?
Atop her, Auntie gave a growl—but then she froze. She turned and looked down at Loren, an evil glint in her eye.
“You told me that Chet knows you. That he understands you. You are wrong. Let me show you.”
Light flowed from her eyes once more, and her body began to shift. Her blonde hair turned black and grew out, and brown skin turned to cream.
The transformation ended, and panic seized Loren’s breath—for she stared into her own eyes. Auntie had taken on Loren’s likeness; indeed, she looked identical, for they wore the same dark brown trousers, the same white shirt, though Auntie’s was somewhat too large, for it had been sewn for Niya’s larger frame.
“Come along, girl,” said Auntie, and Loren shuddered inwardly to hear her own voice from that mouth. “I mean to give you quite a show.”
The weremage rose and threw her arms beneath Loren’s, dragging her off to the side of the path. She rolled Loren beneath some bushes there, and ripped some branches from the trees, throwing them over her body. But then she knelt and moved the branches slightly so that Loren could look out.
“You can see me, can you not, girl?” whispered Auntie. “I would not want you to miss a thing.”
Then she rose and turned, just as Loren heard Chet approach from down the path.
“Loren!” he exclaimed. “There you are. I heard you call my name, and I feared something was wrong.”
Sky above, no, thought Loren. She railed at her body, screaming for her arms to move, but they would not comply.
“Wrong? What could be wrong?” said Auntie. She waited for Chet to come to her, so that she could be sure Loren would see them. Chet stepped up to her, and Auntie slid her arms up to lace her fingers behind his neck. She drew him close and gave him a long, passionate kiss. Loren wanted to close her eyes, but even that was beyond her power. “Nothing can be wrong when you are with me.”
“I am flattered, though that has not proven to be the case in recent days,” said Chet, giving her a wry smile.
Chet, look to the left, thought Loren. Please, please. Look to the left. See me.
His head jerked up, and a mad hope filled her that somehow he had heard her. But he looked the other direction. “Where is Niya?”
“After she showed me the clearing above, she went off on her own. She said she would make for the camp in a while. I am surprised you did not see her—but glad as well, for it means I have you alone.” Slowly her hands slid down his chest, and then around his waist. He responded by wrapping his arms around her and leaning in for another kiss. “And while we are here, and alone …” Her hands slid around to his front, toying with the buckle of his belt.
Chet drew back, laughing with embarrassment. “I—Loren, what are you doing? We are in the open jungle.”
“And why should that matter? No one is near to see us.” Auntie smiled up at him and cocked an eyebrow. Her lips had a wry twist, and her eyes shone with promise.
That is not my smile, Chet, screamed Loren. You know it. You know my eyes. Look at them!
But he only glanced back over his shoulder, a silly grin stealing across his face. “What if Niya should return and look for you?”
“She will not,” said Auntie. “I told you, she makes for camp.” When he still seemed hesitant, she kissed him again and finished removing his belt while their lips were still locked.
They fell to the floor of the path, tearing at each other’s clothes. Soon Auntie rolled Chet onto his back and sat atop him. Their low, hushed moans mingled with the sounds of the jungle, while Loren could do nothing but watch.
And then she blinked.
At first she did not notice, but then it happened again. She tried once more, consciously—and her eyelids responded.
Loren tried to move her hand. Her fingers twitched.
Could the poison be wearing off already? Auntie had made it sound as though she would be frozen for hours. Surely the weremage would not have left her here if the paralysis would wear off so soon.
Then she heard Xain’s words again. The remedies of the apothecary have little effect upon a wizard who eats magestones, and the same is true for poisons.
The magestone she had eaten in Yewamba. It was still within her, burning the poison out of her blood.
She tried again, and this time her hand moved, jerking from her stomach and landing on the dirt beside her. She heaved again, and it edged towards the path a little more.
Chet and Auntie were growing more passionate with every moment, and the weremage sounded nearly frenzied at their tryst. She looked down at Chet, smiling fiendishly at him. “Do you love me, Chet?”
“Of course,” he said, breathless.
“Do you know me?”
“I—what?” Distracted for a moment, he frowned up at her.
Slowly, painfully, Loren dragged her feet up towards her body, her knee bending up into the air. Her body jerked towards the path as she let the knee fall, but though the branches that covered her rustled, it was not loud enough to hear.
Without warning, Auntie slapped Chet’s face. “Do you know me? Better than any other?”
“Loren, what in the darkness below—”
“Tell me!” cried Auntie. Neither of them had bothered to remove their tunics, and she seized the front of his now. “Tell me you know me, better than any other in all the nine kingdoms.”
Chet shook his head and tried to push up on his elbows. “Enough, Loren. I do not know what you—”
Auntie slammed him back down on the ground. In an instant her old, rusted knife was in her hand. She pressed it against his throat.
No! thought Loren.
She saw Damaris holding the knife in her dream, saw it part Chet’s skin, saw his blood splashing upon the ground.
“Chet,” she croaked. She lifted one hand, shaking as it rose into the air, helpless. “Chet.” But he could not hear her.
“Tell me,” rasped Auntie.
Chet went white with fear. “Loren, what are you—”
Loren heaved herself out of the bushes, crashing down on the grass of the path. The sound drew Chet’s attention at last, and he looked over at her. His face became a mask of confusion, and then terror as he looked up at Auntie.
“Chet,” gasped Loren. “Run.”
Auntie smiled at her, a vicious grin, and her eyes began to glow. She transformed back into herself again, keeping the knife pressed to Chet’s throat. Chet recoiled with a cry, but he could not move from under her with the blade pressing against his skin.
“Well met, lover,” said Auntie. “Are you not enjoying yourself? Am I not twice the bedfellow Loren is? She is little more than a girl, after all.”
Chet panicked and tried to snatch her hand away, but Auntie seized his wrist and slammed it back into the ground. She did not move the blade from his neck, nor did she stop her writhing on top of him.
“Oh, but you are no longer so excited,” said Auntie, pouting down at where they were joined. With a flash of magelight, she turned into Niya. “Do you prefer another? I noticed you eyeing me from time to time as we rode together. Or was that only jealousy? No, you desired someone else, did you not?”
Another flash of magelight, and now she was Weath.
“Yes, little Weath, your ‘friend.’ The one whose fragile little neck broke so easily, just before I pitched her from the walls of Yewamba.”
“Stop,” groaned Chet, turning his head as though he could sink into the ground away from her. “Please, stop it.”
Loren tried to rise, tried to crawl towards them, but her legs were still sluggish. Only her arms would obey her commands.
Then she remembered her dagger. It was still in her boot. Shaking, she reached for it.
“Do not tell me you did not want her. You have had a greedy mind, little boy.” Auntie’s cruel smile dissolved into a grimace of hate. “And I will make you pay for your every untoward thought.”
The dagger slid easily from its sheath. Loren hefted it, feeling the weight.
The handle is the heavier end, she thought, turning it to hold it by the blade. Sky above, do not let me miss.
She threw the dagger.
It sank into Auntie’s arm. The weremage screamed in pain and reared back—and her blade came away from Chet’s throat.
He rose up and snatched her wrist, and then struck her in the face before wrestling her to the ground. With his weight he pinned her, driving a knee into her chest and holding both her hands above her head. She screamed again, but it turned into a harsh laugh. He shook as he held her down, his hands grasping at her throat. Auntie turned to glare hatefully at Loren.
Auntie glared hatred at Loren. “You promised, you sniveling little liar. You promised you would not throw the knife at me.”
“Be silent!” screamed Chet. “Be silent, you vile … you—” He shoved her hands away as she tried to fight him off, pressing her face into the dirt.
“Oh, is this all you wanted?” sneered Auntie. “To be in control? You should have said so. Have me then, if you wish.”
“You—you took me, you took me without—” Chet’s eyes were wild, his lips drawn back in a snarl. He seized the hilt of Loren’s dagger and twisted it in Auntie’s arm, drawing a fresh scream from her. “I will kill you.”
“I believe you,” said Auntie. “What are you waiting for?”
“Chet,” groaned Loren. “Chet, wait.”
His gaze turned to her. “Wait? You tell me to wait? You saw what she did, Loren. It is what the High King’s harshest law commands.”
Loren tried to rise to hands and knees, but her legs would still not obey her. “You are not a killer, Chet,” she said. The words came thick and slow upon her tongue, for the poison had not entirely left her. “Remember what happened on the shores of Dorsea, how Xain—”
“How dare you?” cried Chet, his voice rising to a great shout. “That was a prisoner. He surrendered! How dare you call this the same?”
Incredibly, Auntie giggled. “The law is clear. And I have violated it so very badly.”
“Be silent,” growled Chet.
“Let the Mystics do it,” said Loren. “They serve the King’s law.”
Chet looked at her for a moment. She thought she saw the fury fading from his eyes. But at last he shook his head, and she saw that the anger was not gone—it had only turned to ice, a terrible, bloodless rage.
“We are the King’s law,” he said. “This is not revenge, Loren. It is justice.”
He was right. Of course he was right. Every child in Underrealm knew this edict. Loren would not have blinked at Auntie’s sentence, not if anyone else were to carry it out. But to see Chet with the blade in his hand, death in his eyes …
“Very well,” she said softly.
Loren turned her gaze from him to look at Auntie instead. The weremage looked back, her eyes twitching, her teeth showing in a smile, as though she had never been happier.
She was still smiling when Chet lowered the dagger and slit her throat, sending her blood gushing across the ground. A burbling laugh poured up through her lips, along with blood. Then, even as Loren watched, where he had slit it the flesh of her neck began to knit back together. But not the mass of scar tissue—that remained as it had been, even when Auntie was Niya. The fresh cut, though—it healed as she watched. It healed.
It healed until Chet plunged the dagger through her eye into her brain.
Auntie’s body spasmed once, and then lay still.
