David Wells - Linkershim

Isabel mostly slept for the next two days, waking only long enough to eat or drink before going back to bed, and then never fully waking. She tried to focus her mind on the light within, working to penetrate the veil of darkness cast across it by Azugorath, but she failed with every attempt. The harder she pushed, the more the Wraith Queen resisted her efforts.

She woke groggy, but with renewed strength, carefully easing out of bed and gently stretching her stiff muscles.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed, My Lady,” Dierdra said, hurrying through the service entrance.

“I’m hungry … something with substance,” Isabel said, easing back onto the bed.

“Yes, My Lady.”

Dierdra returned a few minutes later with a tray of food: stew, bread, cheese, and vegetables.

Isabel started easy with a few spoonfuls of the stew’s gravy to wake her belly, but before long, she’d nearly cleaned the platter and felt much better for it. After eating, she went to the balcony, sitting heavily on one of the lounge chairs and closing her eyes for a nap.

By the following morning, she felt almost whole again, except for a halo of pain that seemed to float around her head at all times. It wasn’t intense but it was constant, a reminder of just how far she could push Phane. Still, breaking that mirror, taking that capability out of his arsenal, that was worth a beating.

Dierdra returned an hour after clearing lunch, white as a sheet. “Prince Phane will be dining with us tonight. He said to expect guests.”

“Thank you, Dierdra.”

Since she’d awakened, Isabel had been worrying about Wren and Lacy, reasoning that Phane had recaptured them, but hoping otherwise. That hope was dwindling quickly. Given her condition, it wasn’t time to act; all she could do was wait.

Phane arrived well before dinner with flowers and a bright, joyous smile.

“You’ve come so far so fast,” he said, carefully placing the vase of flowers in the exact center of the table. “I didn’t even expect you to be on your feet by now, let alone up to entertaining guests.”

“Your concern is touching,” Isabel said.

“Isn’t it though? Let’s not forget, you brought all this unpleasantness on yourself.” He shook his finger at her. “You had no right. That mirror was irreplaceable.”

She didn’t respond.

“I thought as much. Come with me.” He led her down to a large supply room; a few guards were stationed inside. Phane gestured to the only chair in the room. If she’d had more strength, she would have stayed on her feet.

“Bring them in,” Phane said.

A guard opened the door. Five people, all strangers to Isabel, filed in and stood a few feet in front of the wall. The door closed, all five of them jumping at the sound.

“Pick one,” Phane said.

“What? What for?”

“Not important, just pick one.”

“Tell me why or I’m not playing your game.”

“I see,” Phane said, turning casually to the five frightened people. With a gesture, he smashed all five of them into the wall so hard that their heads and torsos were crushed-literally popped-leaving crimson splatter marks on the walls where they hit.

“You bastard!” Isabel shouted, surging to her feet and lunging at him. He caught her with his magic and lifted her off the ground, gently depositing her back in her chair.

“Stay,” he said, giving her a stern look before gesturing to the soldier at the door. Another five people filed into the room, fear palpable in their expressions as soon as they saw the five fresh corpses.

“Pick one.”

“I hate you.”

“I can do this all day,” Phane said. “Shall we call in the next group?”

“No, I’ll pick,” she said, scanning the five souls whose lives were in her hands and landing on the oldest man in the bunch. He had kind eyes and a weathered look about him and he nodded sadly when she settled on him, stepping forward.

“Take me, My Lady. My life is mostly behind me.”

“Well said, old man,” Phane said, snapping his fingers at a guard. “Remove him and let him go unharmed.”

“Pick another one,” Phane said.

A wife, a husband, a brother, a daughter.

Isabel couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat so she just pointed at the middle-aged man.

“Free the rest of them unharmed,” Phane said, lifting the man Isabel had selected off the ground with his magic, then slowly drawing him through the air, turning him to face him and holding him a foot off the ground.

“He’s afraid,” Phane said.

“I’m sorry,” Isabel said, hanging her head.

“Oh, now, now, Isabel … you don’t even know his fate … but you’re going to find out, right now.”

Phane cast a spell, still holding the condemned man off the ground with his magic. A set of four small rings of reddish energy materialized in midair. Phane moved the man to the four magical rings, aligning two with his ankles and two with his wrists. Then each ring snapped into place, suspending the man a foot off the ground, completely helpless.

With a few words, Phane burned a magic circle into the stone floor, bright red symbols fading quickly through orange, then to black.

“Please don’t do this,” the man begged. “I’ve never done anything to you.”

Phane laughed in his face, forced and deliberate, devoid of humor.

“Let him go,” Isabel said.

“Or what? That’s the real question, isn’t it? It’s the only real question. What can you do? What will you do?” He held her eyes but pointed to the helpless man. “I’m going to have my way with this man and there’s nothing he can do to stop me. He’s powerless; I’m powerful. That’s the only reality that matters-certainly the only reality that matters to him right now.”

“Please don’t do this …” the man begged, crying.

“What do you want, Phane?” Isabel asked.

“I want to show you the consequences of your actions,” he said, gesturing toward her, lifting her off her feet, putting her back in her chair and binding her there with a spell.

“Don’t do this, Phane.”

“It’s already done,” he said, facing the condemned man squarely. “It was done the moment you broke my mirror.” With a gesture, the man slid through the air until he was floating in the center of the magic circle.

“Ready?” Phane asked with a smile, but then his visage transformed into a mask of unbridled rage and he began chanting in a guttural and angry language. Wisps of darkness started to swirl around the floor beneath the man. His fear spiked into panic. Phane cast about on the floor until he found a pebble the size of a ripe pea … grasping it with his magic, he brought it up floating in front of him and then propelled it through the man’s heart, stabbing through him cleanly like a pike.

The man gasped and sputtered, his life’s blood spilling forth, pooling inside the magic circle. But then the blood started moving, flowing toward the circle, into the symbols. The air grew heavy in the room, then suddenly cold. Isabel felt a dark and unnatural presence arrive. It felt unclean, as if the air itself had been spoiled.

“I have paid your price,” Phane said. “Will you show me?”

The corpse hanging by Phane’s magical shackles began to convulse, wracking violently as if it were struggling to get free of the bindings. Then the struggling stopped as abruptly as it had begun, the body hanging limp and lifeless for several moments before the head snapped back and craned out as far as it could reach toward Phane, its face seeming to spasm and contort unnaturally.

“Yes,” said a voice that was decidedly not human.

A chill of dread raced up Isabel’s spine.

“How has my plan unfolded?”

The area inside the magic circle became translucent, like moonlight with shadowy substance, then abruptly started showing images: Druja boarding a ship, followed by Rankosi disguised as a deckhand; the box exploding once the ship was a league out to sea; Lacy and Wren’s capture and secure transport back to the fortress city. The last image faded away and the darkness lifted, leaving a half-desiccated corpse floating in the middle of the room.