Queen of Embers

VI. Fury from the Past

"I sent the others to take control of the gatehouse," Ekaitz reported, checking the end of the small hall they were preparing in. They had passed unremarked on, mostly because the only ones they'd bumped into were servants. Sorne was sure that some had recognized her, but none of them had said a word. "Are you certain we can handle the spellguards?"

Sorne finished buckling on her armor. It wasn't necessary, as she still had Unshiir hardening her skin and protecting her from damage, but if the battle went long enough, the chant of stone could exhaust her.  Granted, that would take a few hours. Sorne adjusted the chant with a few words, weaving in Khashin. The magic flowing through her body infused her muscles, where it would grant her supernatural speed and strength. "The spellguards are the least of our problem. Besides, if we do our job right, the mage will have to pull from them to fuel his magic."

"It is true," Vipsania said. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet and loosening her shoulders. Ekaitz probably thought of it as anxiety, but Sorne recognized it: a warrior warming up for a real battle. "Hunting mages is a matter of tiring them, even for Immortals."

"Vipsania and I will take the lead," Sorne said. "Ekaitz, your job is to protect our witch. Amets, can you counter his spells?"

"Such a thing is possible," Amets said.

"That's not a yes." Sorne wasn't certain if there was something wrong with her brain, but that answer didn't terrify her with its uncertainty.

The witch's dry lips curved into a smile. "There is a better way. Amets can break his connection to his sources."

That answer did terrify Sorne. "You can what?"

"It is part of the old way. When Amets is gone, you will not see its like again." Amets started walking. "The mage weaves whispering spells, no doubt warning the Duke."

"The Duke is in Soule. If he marshals a counterattack, it will be weeks in preparation and weeks in coming. He will appeal to Aldana," Ekaitz said as they moved after Amets. "That means civil war." A great bronze bell rang out deep notes. "The alarm. They know that the gatehouse is theirs no longer. They've probably also seen House Ibarra's forces coming out of the Wood. The rest of the garrison should be elsewhere, not with the mage."

"It sparks a civil war if he finds out who's behind it. That mage is going to be dead before the main force shows up, if we can carry our own weight in this attack," Sorne said as she moved past Amets to take point. Vipsania followed close on her heels, bearing a large round shield about the same size as Sorne's. It was hardly so well built, of course. Genevais tended to regard shields as disposable, far different in their expectations than the giants who had crafted Sorne's equipment. "We're not exactly wearing colors. Granted, there will be a war eventually anyway."

"A knife in the dark," Amets said approvingly.

They stepped out into the great hall, to find the spellguards preparing at one end. The mage was sheltered behind them, alongside a large, slightly rotund man with watery eyes that made visceral hate flood through Sorne's whole body. The sneer he was wearing didn't help his case in her mind. Sorne started to move forward towards them without warning anyone else. Vipsania immediately followed.

"Drop your weapons," one of the spellguards barked. "If you surrender, you will live."

"Domina?" Vipsania said quietly.

Sorne struggled. She wanted to give them the same opportunity, but she was so angry that it was hard to care about anything other than beating Luken to death with her bare hands. "The talking one is probably the commander," she muttered. Then she raised her voice. "We extend to you the same offer. Surrender and live or fight and die."