Tempest

Smoke curled from the pipe in hazy curlicues that wrapped around the steamy air, morphing into dancing demons before Taegan’s very eyes. Exhaling a long held breath, she expelled a lungful of smoke and reached over the side of the stone tub to drop a sugar cube into a chalice. The green liquor sizzled when introduced to the sweet, the bubbles entrancing to her sleepy eyes. The Monsieur at the den said the properties of the liquor induced euphoria when combined with opium; she could use a little happiness, even if it came in the form of drugs. Swirling the sugar around until it dissolved, she raised the glass in silent salute and downed the contents, relaxing back against the rim of the tub, letting her mind wander.

Her sight got lost in the visions revealed in smoke and steam, fading to a golden glow around the edges. No longer did she see demons; she saw balls of old, past exploits so dark they brought a lingering smile to her face. Head lolling against the stone rim, she remembered her last night with Rand, the beauty of his eyes as they made love for what would be their final time. The vision shifted, going gray as the memory of Rand was replaced with that of a horned god. The being ground against her wildly, his dark hair creating a curtain that blocked the light of the moon. He threw his head back with a victorious roar, spilling his seed inside of her. The fluid seared, burned her from the inside out, took hold in a way no man’s ever had. She knew immediately that a child grew inside her belly, leaching the very life from her.

She saw herself in a mirror, face pallid and green, hair stringy with the sweat of sickness…of death. Her abdomen was extended to the point of pain, bulging from the tattered remains of a white nightgown. A nymph with sapphire ringlets discretely entered the room, silently closing the door before advancing to help Taegan back into bed.

“What are you thinking?” the girl demanded harshly, urging her down. She clasped Taegan’s hands in her own, resting her forehead against the sick halfling’s shoulder. Tears glistened in the nymph’s eyes when she once more looked up, begging, “Let me take the baby from you now, before it destroys you.”

Shaking her head, she groaned and curled around the pain that wracked her body. “You can’t…take it…without…killing it,” she haltingly ground out, gasping for air. The labor was starting.

“I know,” she whispered brokenly, averting her gaze. It was too late now, too late to stop what was happening.

Taegan threw her head back and let loose with a bloodcurdling scream; this child would be the end of her.

Shooting up from her slouched position, the succubus splashed upright in the middle of the tub, slicking her hair back from her face in real fear. Her hands went to her belly, some wild fantasy that the dream might be a reality still clouding her mind. When she found her body as it had always been, whole and perfect, she shook her head and fairly collapsed back into the water. So much for euphoria; the liquor wasn’t worth the money she spent on it.

As she sat there collecting her wits, it finally dawned on her that the bath had gone ice cold and she was starting to shiver. Climbing from the tub, she released the drain and hurried to pull her clothes on. Dawn would come soon, and with it a list of tasks to be accomplished. There were new recruits to be trained, and no doubt more would arrive before the day’s end. Lleu Decebal’s push north was tightening Ermanric’s borders steadily, forcing more displaced people to rush to the first refuge—Aodhain. As if that didn’t keep her busy enough, her liege had ordered an intensive inventory of the armory. He wouldn’t sanction her request for more weapons until it was established that they were needed. She sighed at the thought of all that senseless tallying, wondering who she could trust with the task. There was no way she could see to it personally with the influx of men. Nobody came to Aodhain for free, and the easiest way to secure steady meals was to swear fealty to Ermanric. That meant extensive arms training and a position as a grunt in the guard. All of which she took care of.

Still dripping, she made her way down to the kitchen to find the scullery maids hard at work preparing breakfast. When they saw her, they all offered samples of the food, laughing when she burned her tongue on a spoonful of pudding. “Saucy wenches,” she scolded playfully, swatting one of them on the ass with the confiscated wooden utensil. Predawn light leaked through the kitchen shutters, letting her know that the day was steadily creeping in on her. She had no time to dawdle.

Surrendering her weapon, she bid the maids good day and made her way through the bowels of the castle until she came to the hallway that adjoined the barracks to the keep. Grabbing a torch from a wall sconce as she walked, she threw the door at its end wide open and lit the oil trough that lined the room. “Rise and shine, you sawed off hacks!” she chimed gaily, the grin that stretched her full lips eerie and feral in the firelight.

The men groaned and groused, rolling themselves out of bed nonetheless. Chow would be served in half a chime, and if they weren’t there on time, they didn’t eat. Practice began just after breakfast, when the sun finally broke free of the mountains. Their days began early because once the mist cleared, Aodhain would become a muggy sweatbox. Several men were confined to the infirmary because of dehydration, and one had even died last week. The wells were getting low in the late summer heat, and a river that emptied from the mountains had been dammed after a massive landslide brought down half the mountaintop. The stench in the barracks was unbelievable, but in a water crisis the grunts’ bathing regimen was the first thing to go.

With a slight wrinkle to her nose, Taegan couldn’t help but admit that she would have been among this motley group, sharing in the worst of the worse if she was still a mercenary. Those days seemed like a distant dream in comparison to the position she held with Ermanric. There really was no title to her place in the superstructure of the household. She was a jack of all trades and a master of one; some might call her a liaison…if they were being polite. Simply put, she fucked whoever the liege asked her to. Being half succubus, she was irresistible to most creatures, merely alluring to others. The fact remained that her talents had secured at least four takeovers, and more alliances than she could count on two hands. The word ‘valuable’ barely scratched the surface where she was concerned, and that was the reason the lord held her in such high esteem.

She and her lover, Rand, had joined the household as mercenaries seven years prior, but a conniving man like Ermanric would have been blind not to realize the potential the pair held. Having Taegan alone represented a power that he could only dream of, but with Rand—a full incubus—in that picture, he had an unbeatable pair. Together, the duo had singlehandedly brought him the entire western forest and a good portion of the holdings to the north. Their war was one of seduction, and it didn’t take much to get what they wanted out of even the most prudish opponent.

As with all conquests, though, the glory wouldn’t last. Lleu Decebal had emerged from the southern peninsula nearly two years ago, and his push for power brought him in direct conflict with Ermanric. The aging lord panicked and split his team apart, sending them to opposite ends of his empire to make new alliances. Rand never came back from his mission. The lady he’d been sent to seduce was Le Fichu, one of the fallen members of the Anjelii, cast down from Himin when they rebelled against the rule of Freyr. Despite her fallen status, she still held angelic blood, and that made her immune to Rand’s charms. Rather than negotiate with Ermanric’s trickery, she killed the emissary and sent his head back as an emphatic refusal of alliance.

After his death, Taegan had lost her stomach for the game, had gone to Ermanric about being absolved from her oath. There was no hope for her, though, because he wouldn’t let go of his most valuable service member. Opium helped her cope, but lately she felt the tug of insistence tightening around her throat. The drug was becoming a constant fixture in her life and she lacked the motivation to cease using it. What was the point anymore? Without Rand, she had nothing to live for, and Ermanric could rot in hell for all she cared. The Chaos Lord would be upon their very doorstep in a matter of months. Her life would end sooner rather than later. What did addiction mean in the face of certain death?

She reached for the necklace that dangled between her breasts, drawing it forth to press a kiss to the warm chainmail at its end. This was the last piece of Rand she had, a small scrap of his armor she’d managed to salvage before the metal was melted down to make a new recruit’s sword. There wasn’t much room for sentimentality in her life anymore, sadly enough. Tucking the chain back into its protected hiding place, she rounded a corner and exited the keep to inspect the training ground. A few boys were scuffling in the center of the fenced ring, their rakes tossed aside in the name of fun. Leaning against a wooden post, she kicked her foot up on the bottom rail of the fence and watched them with humor lingering in her bloodshot green eyes. They shouted and tossed each other into the dirt, laughing as they scrapped. After several minutes, though, one managed to pin the other with a knee to the throat, and pressed down until his opponent tapped out.

Clapping lazily, she called, “Bravo! I’ve seen bigger men lose to a chokehold like that.”

They parted in an instant, hurrying to rise and reclaim their rakes. The ring had to be freshly turned before the men finished breaking their fast, and to be caught shirking duties often meant a lashing from the chamberlain. Neither wanted another whipping from the sadistic old man.

She waved them off, maintaining her position at the fence when she quietly commanded, “Again.” Pointing at the smaller of the two boys, the one that had lost the previous match, she instructed, “This time come at him from the sides. You are faster, smaller, and so must rely on quick strikes to wear your opponent down. If you come at him head on, he’ll toss you on your arse every time.”

Nodding, he dislodged a fall of sand from his greasy hair, ignoring it when he turned to circle his friend. When their contest of glares ended, it was in a rush of movement. As the bigger boy stepped forward, reaching for a leg, the smaller hopped sideways and punched him in the kidney. Dancing to the other side, he managed to strike his friend’s ribs, and then he moved backward, out of harm’s way.

“Good,” she encouraged, smiling at his quickness to learn the technique. “And you,” she called to the larger child, “don’t let him skip around you. You cannot always rely on your bulk to win the battle, child. Do you understand? Use your brains; predict his next strike. Be waiting for him.” She watched the information seep into his mind as water to a sponge; he was eating it up.

They came together again, and this time there were several exchanges before the taller of the two managed to twist the little one into a headlock that trapped his arms above his head. Before long, he tapped and was released, bringing his hands to his throat in silent anger. One victory had gone to his head, and losing again stung mightily.

With a shrug of her shoulder, she murmured, “You two are better than some of the halfwits I have to train.” And with that cryptic, half-cocked compliment, she indicated that they should get back to their chores. Sadly enough, they WERE better than most of the corn-fed country boys that had come to Aodhain for work and refuge. That type was generally strong as an ox, but dumb as a sack of rocks. She’d stopped screening the recruits a while ago, though. Ermanric wanted any able-bodied man under the age of fifty trained for combat. The truth was none of them would survive the first skirmish, let alone a full-scale war. The lord might as well leave the gates open for Decebal’s wolves with all the impact the new guards would make.

A shout at the back gates rent the morning air, interrupting Taegan’s morbid thoughts. Straightening to her full height, she crossed her arms over her chest and strolled sedately toward the wall to see what all the commotion was about.

***

“Maman!” she called into the trees, looking around in confusion. Hadn’t her mother been right behind her? She glided forward, staring back down the trail she had followed to find the vantage point of a castle in the mists. The sun was still low in the east, barely peeking through the trees to dapple the young nymph with light. “Maman?” she called again, reaching out to move a branch aside.

She drew back with a gasp, pulling her hand to her chest as if it had been burned. The fire nymphs had been this way recently. The tree held the memory of one of their conjurers touching its surface, singing its bark. Nilo transformed to her corporeal form, cautiously extending her hand to touch the tree again; her clairvoyance was much clearer when she had skin to make the connection between objects. The malleable water form that her people preferred only distorted her abilities.

Caressing the shredded and blackened bark of the massive cedar, she saw the wiry man that had crouched and waited for her to pass. He flitted forward through the trees and was lost to her sight. Blinking repeatedly, she drew away and looked down the trail again, this time with apprehension. The Firebrand had headed straight down the path, toward her mother.

“Ma…maman?” The word was barely a whisper, but it was all she could manage. Her chest constricted around the air, refusing to inhale. Walking forward a few more paces, she managed to break free of her paralysis. She broke into a run, headed back to the lagoon as fast as her legs would carry her.

Time seemed to slow down around her. She could feel the slap of her hair as the long blue ringlets took wing only to fall and hit her back; she could taste copper and salt on the air; she could hear each pained gasp for breath. And then it hit her—everything was quiet. There were no bird calls, no insects, no animals making noise whatsoever. There was only her breath, her footfalls in the loam, her cries.

She nimbly skimmed between two trees and broke free of the flora that surrounded her home. The lagoon was quiet, still in the morning light. She took a cautious step forward, wondering why nobody was awake, swimming in the quiet waters. Throwing prudence to the wind, she made to enter the glade and was thrown backward by an illusion cast before her. She landed on her back, the wind knocked from her lungs. Coughing raggedly, she put a hand to her shoulder where the skin had been slightly singed by the Firebrand’s foul curse. The air around her home shimmered but cleared to show the lagoon in ruins. The glade was sealed inside and out, and a tempest of fire raged inside. Nobody could go in to help; nobody could escape. She watched in horror as everything she loved was consumed. Her mother and father crawled from the water as it began to boil, seeking some way out. Their hands clawed at the shield, uncaring that it blackened and charred them. Within a matter of seconds, they ceased moving and disintegrated to a fine ash.

Tears streamed down her face and loud sobbing rent the deathly quiet forest. She hugged her middle and collapsed to her knees, chin nearly touching her chest as she cried. It never occurred to her to run. What use was living when everything she had to live for had been destroyed? She waited patiently for the Firebrand to find her; it wouldn’t take long given all the noise she’d made.

After a few moments, she could smell burning leaves and taste ash on the air. She heard the dirt shift under the weight of the nymph’s body, but she didn’t move. His approach halted a few paces behind her, his presence a silent menace. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to lift her head and slowly turn to regard him from one eye. The bald Firebrand was young, no more than twenty, and clothed in the scraped hide of a deer. Nilo stared at him with glazed eyes, taking in the fierce expression on his face, studying him as he’d studied her. This was the one that knelt by the tree and let her pass. What stayed his hand? Why did he not kill her?

“Please,” she murmured, the word devoid of emotion. She was too drained to care that she was appealing to a being that had no mercy or remorse; he was her mortal enemy. “End my life, Firebrand. Burn me as you did my family.” She flicked her gaze to his face and saw a glimmer of light in his dark orange eyes.  A heartfelt smile graced her face and she closed her eyes, reaching up to brush the hair from her neck so he could cleanly slice with the scimitar that dangled from his side. “Do it,” she instructed breathily, still smiling as she waited for the blade to fall.

His fingertips gently touched the side of her neck and she saw all that he saw, all that he felt. She saw his reluctance to go on the hunt for the water nymphs, his disgust with the tactics his father and brothers used, his unhappiness with what he was. He let her pass because she was innocent, young, untainted by the politics that governed their respective kinds. She turned to look at him, truly seeing him for the first time. He was like her—clairvoyant. What had he seen when he touched her? She’d seen a man that coveted her for some reason, a man that had watched her unceasingly for weeks. The touch on the back of her neck was quick, though, only enough to give her a taste of his mind. He’d held much away from her, but not the important things.

“You won’t kill me, Wolt,” she whispered sadly, a dark line marring her brow. “Would you kill me if I attacked you first?” She didn’t wait for an answer, merely called on her powers and drew moisture from the very air to toss in his face. His skin sizzled and blistered immediately, forcing him to back away a few steps as he stomached the discomfort.

Water was caustic to him, but he could heal after such a small amount. Being completely doused was a fire nymph’s worst nightmare. She’d barely scratched him if he was going to be honest. Still, her defiance and passionate nature sparked something within him. He understood her need to die, but his gift told him more than hers. Where she saw the past, he saw the future, and her future held a monumental task. If she died now, the world as they knew it would fall to ruins.

Grimacing, he closed the distance between them to press his hand to her forehead. “Do you see this?” he demanded harshly, grasping her face tightly when she would have backed away. “Do you see your path?” he questioned breathlessly, nearly overwhelmed by the force of her fear. “You cannot die here!” He released her finally, staring down at her in cold appraisal.

Her eyes rolled around in the sockets for several minutes, and it was all she could do to keep a tight grip on her sanity. He’d nearly driven her over the edge with the amount of information he pressed into her already overtaxed mind. Finally she lost the fight to stay conscious and began to jerk spasmodically, eyes rolling back into her head. Her face turned red, the skin around her eyes nearly turning purple as blood vessels burst and pooled to create dark bruises.

“Shite,” the Firebrand breathed, raking a hand back across his head. He couldn’t touch her with his skin now for fear of further damaging her mind. Working quickly, he fashioned a crude pair of mittens that met with the long sleeves of his hide shirt, and then hoisted her into his arms. They didn’t have long before the others came back. His senses were practically screaming at him to flash through the forest, but that would kill the girl. Her frail form wouldn’t be able to withstand fire magic, so he would run.

Crashing through the underbrush, he retraced her path to the overlook and leaped from the edge. His knees made contact with the rough granite of the mountain side and he invoked his powers, sheathing his legs in greaves of fire. The mountain sported a glassy swath in his wake, showing any pursuers just where he went. He couldn’t dwell on that now, though. Fate had placed Nilo in his hands, and he would see her safely to Aodhain.

He jumped lithely to his feet at the first cliff and carefully planned his next movements. The rock face dropped off thousands of feet, making it nearly impossible to descend the distance with the girl in his arms. Shouts from above alerted him to his family’s pursuit, and he risked a glance up to see his brothers following his tracks. Without a second thought, he hurled Nilo over the side and flashed. The air roared around him when he reappeared under the girl, grabbing her to slow her descent for a moment. He flashed again and again, repeatedly slowing her fall until they were both safely at the bottom of the cliff.

Grinning in sinister amusement, he watched the eldest of his brothers try his trick, only to plummet to the ground a few feet away. Speed flashing was something Wolt could do, but something none of his brothers had managed to learn. Slinging Nilo’s limp body over his shoulder, Wolt came forward to stare into Myrddhin’s dying eyes. The man coughed up a great spurt of blood before going still against the stone, hatred locked on his face even in death. Well, there was no love lost between any of the Firebrand men; that was no secret.

Wolt shook his head and looked up once more to see his other two brothers descending the cliff in a more sedate fashion. That would slow them down enough. Features set in grim determination, he ran through the farms on the outskirts of Aodhain, through the township that surrounded the castle, and to the very gates of the establishment. He pounded on the door and demanded entry. “Let us in, you witless sack arses!” he commanded irreverently, looking over his shoulder for signs of his family. They were fast gaining, able to flash where he could not.

The slit in the gate opened with a snap, the man on the other side shooting back, “And who be you to put on airs like the Chaos Lord ‘imself?”
“For the love of the gods, let us in! We are allies of Lord Ermanric and we seek shelter!”

Without warning, a woman’s barked command sounded out and the slit snapped closed once more, the gate slowly creaked outward. Wolt put his shoulder in the gap, prying with all he was worth to widen the crack. This was the moment of truth. His brothers would be upon him in a matter of moments. Finally, he managed to slip through and hurriedly backed away from the entrance, guarding Nilo from any stray attacks that might find their way through the gate. To his surprise and horror, his brother, Dæg, managed to flash through the gap before the opening slammed shut and was barred. The men at the gate scattered for weapons immediately, but the Firebrand had only eyes for his youngest brother and the worthless sack of meat slung over his shoulder.

Eyes blazing, the older nymph pointed at the girl with a warning: “Destroy her or join her in death.”

Wolt shook his head, slowly lowering Nilo to the ground. “I will not touch her, shite for brains, and neither will you.”

“You would die for a conniving whore, a daughter of our hated enemy?!” the man asked incredulously, real disgust lacing his voice.

Without answering, Wolt summoned his powers and pushed them outward with a shout. The ensuing blast of heat and air bowled the other nymph off his feet, and the guards were quick to fall upon him with their swords, hacking and cutting as best they could without being burned by the furious man’s very flesh. Before they could do much damage, he was up and over the wall in a burst of energy, yelling behind him, “You will die with her, traitor!”

Dæg was right, but Wolt would willingly give his life for hers; he’d already seen it. Picking her up once more, he hailed the captain of the guard, saying, “We come for an audience with Lord Ermanric.”

The man ignored him, deferring to a woman that lounged at her ease against the wall. She sauntered forward, one hand on her hip, the other nestled around the pommel of a sheathed broadsword. Her face was sleepy in the early morning light, but even sleep couldn’t hide her ethereal beauty. She was white as porcelain, with full red lips, dainty little fangs, and black hair done up in occasional braids. Silver pieces laced throughout the damp fall caught the morning light and sent it glinting about the common. “What, may I ask, does your audience pertain to? My liege is very particular about who he sees before he breaks his fast.”

“I bring news of Decebal’s approach,” he warned gravely, looking to Nilo before he added, “and the key to your lord’s victory against him.”

Taegan didn’t miss the telltale flick of his eyes, and slowly strode forward to regard the lifeless girl in the nymph’s arms. She nearly choked on bile when she recognized the girl from her dream. The sapphire ringlets, the patchwork tunic of shed dragon scales, even the strawberry birthmark on her calf that marked her as a water nymph: it was all there. What could it possibly mean? Would she really die giving birth to some horned god’s ill begotten child? A very real chill ran down her spine when she remembered the survivors’ stories of Lleu Decebal. To a man, they all described him as a beautiful god, fair of countenance, with black horns that graced his beautiful head. Could it be the Chaos Lord himself that would father the demon spawn? Did that mean she would survive the siege of Aodhain?

So many questions swirled around in her mind that she couldn’t manage to ask even one. All she could do was gape in shock. It wasn’t until the Firebrand cleared his throat that she found the strength to compose herself, motioning him to follow her into the castle. “Lord Ermanric will want facts, boy, so if you’ve come seeking shelter you’ll merely be pressed into the guard or turned away. Save yourself the embarrassment of being made to feel like a fool and tell me now what errand has brought you to this keep.”

“I spoke the truth,” he returned solemnly, shifting Nilo around to sling her over his shoulder. Clamping his arm around her legs to keep her in place, he followed Taegan around the winding halls, explaining, “I am a Farseer, and I have seen the future of Lord Ermanric’s empire. Aodhain will fall in three week’s time if the lord does not hear what I have to say.”

Three weeks? How was that possible? Ermanric’s allied armies were amassed on the southern front, keeping Decebal at bay even as they spoke. How could he possibly trample those forces and journey up through the mountain passes to their doorstep in only three weeks? It just didn’t seem possible. Her attention shifted to the water nymph once more; then again, until that morning she’d have said she didn’t have a touch of clairvoyance. “And what part does this girl play?”

He had to pause a moment before answering, “The biggest part of all.” Cocking his head to the side, he demanded, “Am I going to be permitted to see Ermanric or not?”

Part of her wanted desperately to pick his brain apart and find the answers to the nightmare. The other part, though, was screaming in fear and begging her to turn the man out of the gates before her life was set on a collision course with death. Scowling, she silently pictured a hardboiled leather boot kicking her square in the temple. Did she not want to die? Had she not been thinking just that before the Tinderbox had waltzed through the gates? What difference did it make? What difference did anything make? “Yes,” she intoned coolly. “I will arrange a meeting. For now, she needs to be resting, and I’m sure you could use some food. A few hours isn’t going to matter, and I know Ermanric won’t see you before noon. Make yourself comfortable Firebrand; he may not allow you to leave.”

The confrontational grin that lit his face struck a chord within her that she’d almost forgotten existed. “I’d like to see him try,” he remarked blithely.

She remembered when life’s challenges put that spark in her eye, that passion to conquer in her heart. This fool was too young to know how much heartache lay in store for him, and she was too damn busy to inform him. Shouting for the chamberlain, she rid herself of the nuisance he represented, shelving the matter until Ermanric roused himself from slumber for the day. The hour would be chiming shortly, and then she had a long day of teaching sword work to a gathering of bumbling idiots. What she wouldn’t give to break the bonds of time and see Decebal sitting outside their gates with his war machines right now! Oh, to have an arrow to the head. Anything was more appetizing than the repetitious cycle she’d resigned herself to.

Glancing down at her right palm, she felt the magic tie of the blood oath tingling beneath her skin, just waiting to turn to liquid fire in her veins the minute she tried to step out of her role as Ermanric’s servant. There was no way to leave until the lord dissolved the bond and, of course, he never would. Ah well, resignation kept her sane. With a scowl, she admitted that sanity was so overrated.