Eric De Bie - Shadowbane

“Now then,” Myrin said. “I will take the prisoners to my private chambers. If anyone objects, kindly make yourself known, so I can burn you to ash on the spot. No one?” Myrin smiled. “Outstanding.”

She rose, and they all bowed to her.

“Bring them.” Myrin turned to Sithe. “I’ll take the sword, please.”

The genasi cast Kalen and Rhett a look, but she handed Vindicator over to Myrin.

Rhett’s eyes were wide indeed as the guards seized their arms. “That’s some lady you know, Saer Shadowbane,” he said. “Who is she?”

Kalen smiled despite himself. “She’s Myrin.”

The trek to the chambers of the Witch-Queen was a brief one: she had the largest quarters in the tavern, which must formerly have belonged to Toytere. The room was bare of decoration, its walls were peeling like dead skin, and its furnishings were limited to a single narrow bed and an end table with a single shelf.

Myrin gestured and a chair obediently rose for her to sit in. She set Vindicator down and settled in, straight-backed and regal, like a queen ought to be.

The guards pushed Kalen and Rhett to their knees on the rug then looked to Myrin. She waved them away. They were out of the room before her hand moved more than a finger’s breadth. That hand was dangerous, Kalen thought.

The door closed and the three of them were alone in Myrin’s chambers. Their heavy breathing seemed deafening in the charged silence.

“Myrin,” Kalen said, even as she started to say his name, rising as though to approach. They both froze, neither ready to speak over the other-neither knowing what to say. He stared at her, hundreds of words wrestling in his throat and getting stuck. Her eyes sparkled and her mouth formed words she couldn’t quite speak.

“So-” Rhett said.

At that single, unexpected syllable-Kalen had almost forgotten the boy was there-the moment broke. Kalen drew into himself, suddenly self-conscious. Myrin shook her head as though to clear a fog.

“Darkdance?” Kalen asked, unable to bring himself to say anything else.

“My name,” Myrin said. “I found out more of it a tenday or so past. Myrin Darkdance. What do you think?”

“It suits you,” Kalen said.

Myrin smiled and turned to Rhett. “You were asking a question?”

“Who are you, lady?” Rhett then looked at Kalen. “Who is she?”

“Not the gang leader of the Dead Rats, last I checked.” Kalen faced Myrin. “How exactly did this happen?” Myrin’s face colored slightly. She seemed a little embarrassed. “Well …”

17 KYTHORN (NIGHT)

Myrin awoke in a bare prison cell that smelled of rot, excrement, and worse things she chose not to identify. Her only pillow was stained gray stone, which made most of her body ache when she tried to move. Myrin didn’t remember much after the attack-her mind felt fuzzy and disconnected.

“Hmm.” She climbed to one knee. A sound outside the wood door drew her attention and she crossed to it. “Well met?” she said. “Hail?”

A metal viewing panel slid open in the door. A pair of jaundiced eyes peered in at her, belonging to a grizzled, weedy man of dubious hygiene. “Aye?”

“Where am I?” Myrin asked. “Or possibly some other basic information?”

The man’s nose twitched. “Shut up, you blue-haired wench,” he said.

“Hmm.” Myrin pursed her lips. “In that case, may I please have a cup of water.”

“I’ll say it slower, then,” the man said. “Shut up. You. Blue-haired. Wench.”

“As I thought.” Myrin put her hands on her hips. “You should know that I am a great and powerful wizard. You should do this little thing for me, before I make you-all of you-very sorry for not doing it.”

The man stared at her for a heartbeat, shocked, then roared with laughter. “Heh! That’s rich, lass! Rich!” He shouted down the hall. “Oi! Lads! Come hear this!”

Two more rogues appeared, each of them as ugly as the first. The second had an over-large eye-or perhaps the other had shrunk-while the third had three separate scars across his mouth that looked a bit like red stitches.

“Oi!” the guard said. “This one say she’s to make us all sorry. ”

The thieves looked at him, then one another, and then laughed wildly. They slapped each other on the shoulders, bending over in a vain attempt to contain themselves.

“Ha ha!” said the yellow-eyed one. “Whatcha gonna cast your magic with, eh, wench? This?” He drew from the chest pocket of his leathers a long gray stick.

Myrin recognized her wand. “Yes, actually,” she said, extending her hand as though to take it from him, should he offer it.

They paused, then laughed again. “Aye? Aye? And how’s that, you fancy?”

Myrin shrugged. A blue-glowing rune appeared on the back of her right hand.

A flicker of magic and the wand pulled free of the guard’s hand, floated through the viewing window, and set itself in Myrin’s fingers. “Uh,” said the guard.

Thunder cracked. The ratty door exploded off its hinges and crashed against the opposite wall, shattering into a dozen pieces. The three knaves drew steel, shouting for aid.

“Now,” Myrin said, stepping through the cloud of dust, her wand held low. More blue-glowing runes spread across her skin. “Where’s your captain?”

22 KYTHORN (NIGHT)

“It was very diplomatic.” Myrin grasped one elbow behind her back and dug the toe of one boot into the floor. “Not at all violent. Promise!”

Rhett accepted that, but Kalen knew that posture only too well-it was the one she assumed when she was nervous. Myrin had changed over their year apart, but she was still as easy to read as ever. He smiled.

Myrin saw him studying her and looked at her feet, her nervousness redoubled. She mustered her courage. “Kalen, I-” she said. Then she saw him wince-saw the blood soaking his leather hauberk. “You’re hurt.” She came forward to inspect him.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

That, he realized too late, was the wrong thing to say.

As though he’d struck her, Myrin stopped. Her expression went from an ambivalent mixture of joy and anxiety to a more certain look of irritation. In the face of her anger, he felt frustration stir in his belly.

“I can help, Kalen,” she said. “My magic can make a difference-”

“Your magic has done enough,” Kalen said. “Look where it’s landed you-Witch-Queen of the Dead Rats? Even a fool can see you’re a prisoner, not a leader. You’re a lamb encircled by wolves.”

“Your analogy is flawed,” Myrin retorted. “I’m in control here, through the proper threat of magical ruin-not that I’d want to hurt anyone, obviously, as that would be conterproductive. King Toytere saw through to ceding me his power when he recognized how much damage I could do both to him and his organization. He practically begged me to take over the gang.”

“I’m sure you think that,” Kalen said, “but the fact is-”

“And you’re more versed in the facts than I?” Myrin said hotly. “King Toy-”

“I bet he loves that nickname,” Kalen snapped.

“Apologies for interceding in a lovers’ argument,” Rhett said, “but what in the Nine Blazing Hells is going on here?”

Both Myrin and Kalen stared at him.

“You, you’re queen of the Dead Rats, at least at the moment,” Rhett said to Myrin. “In that case, thank you for not killing us.”

“You’re welcome,” Myrin said.

“And saer.” Rhett turned to Kalen. “With all due respect, why not accept her aid? Lady Darkdance must have cowed Sithe. You’ll recall that demon creature nearly cut you in half.”

“Not helpful,” Kalen murmured.