John Fultz - Seven Princes

A dozen Khyrein swordsmen rushed at Vireon, their faces those of bronze devils. He cut them down two at a time, and those beyond hesitated as their Panther-Queen writhed and danced with the Prince of Shar Dni astride her. Now Andoses lost his grip on the sword-hilt and fell among the scattered wealth. Vireon raced toward the roaring panther, while Andoses rolled to his feet and pulled a dagger from his belt.

The panther swiped a massive claw at Andoses. It tore through his flesh and sent him careening against a fat pillar with terrible force.

Vireon came at it from behind, but it swirled and cast blue lightning from its eyes, blasting him through a tall window. He fell steaming among the terrified Sharrians in the courtyard. More masked Khyreins fell upon him as he rose from the trampled ground. He grabbed them by the heads and arms, tossing them aside like dolls. He found the Giant-blade lying amid a group of terrified women and took it up again, turning toward the palace.

The white panther burst from the hall now, trailing white flame. Alua held its thrashing tail in her fists, sending torrents of fire along its hide. Khyreins and Sharrians fled in horror as the Beast-Queen sped across the courtyard, roaring, dragging Alua behind her.

The sunlight dimmed as a host of shadows flowed up from the streets, tombs, and low places of the city. They converged like a black storm upon the white panther. They lifted her into the sky, swirling about her like a cloud of darkness filled with crimson embers. Alua floated now in the sky among them, bleeding and burning. Then her scream met Vireon’s ears.

“ Nooooo mooooore! ”

She exploded with pale fire, burning the horde of shadows to oblivion in an instant. The flash blinded Vireon. All those in the courtyard covered their eyes with hands, forearms, or shields. Some fell to the ground, calling upon the Four Gods. Shrieking spirit voices filled the luminous sky. Vireon could see nothing.

“Alua!” he shouted into the brilliance.

Thunderbolts flared along the ground, tearing the earth, igniting trees and hedges. Slaves and soldiers alike fled, running blindly across the grounds. Sharrians and Khyreins were united in sheer terror of rampant celestial forces. The sky fell into silence while chaos poured across the slain city.

Vireon’s sight returned gradually. White spots of flame still danced in his vision. Alua lay upon the charred ground, naked, torn, and bloodied. A few tiny flames danced along her limbs. He ran to her.

“Alua…” He raised her into his arms, where she lay limp and senseless. The panther’s fangs had gashed her slim waist and marred her tender breasts. He cradled her cheek against his own, the water of his eyes spilling across her hot skin. She grew cooler, and a throng of awed Sharrians gathered about them. The distant calls of Khyrein captains rang beyond the palace walls. They were the commands of retreat.

Alua coughed and opened her eyes. She smiled at him weakly and spoke his name.

“Is she…”

“She is gone,” he told her. “You have taken your vengeance. We both have.”

Yet why does it feel so hollow? he wondered. I wanted only to kill Fangodrel, to avenge Tadarus. Yet now both my brothers are dead and I feel… I feel only love for this dying girl.

“Do not worry for me,” she whispered, pushing him gently away. She conjured a small flame into her hand and touched it to her torn flesh. She sucked air in through her teeth as the lacerations and punctures closed one by one. When she was done, not even scars remained on her snowy skin. He helped her to stand, and the Sharrians brought the cloak of a dead Khyrein to cover her nakedness. She was so very weak, but ali ve. His heart sang.

They looked across the smoking city, through the broken city wall, and saw the black fleet begin to sail away. The Sharrian survivors cheered him, asked his name, and cheered again. Then they fell quickly back to mourning their multitude of dead. The invaders were departing, their Queen and Prince were slain, but Shar Dni was broken and ruined. Its people would be refugees now.

Vireon found Andoses in the throne room, lying bloody among the treasures of his royal house. He called for water, and a woman rushed off to get it.

“Cousin!” There was no answer. He felt the shifting of splintered bones beneath his hands. “Can you heal him?” he asked Alua.

She poured the white flame along his body, but it was too late. “His bones…” she whispered. “The blow was too great… or I am too weak.” She wept quietly.

Andoses’ eyes fluttered open. Vireon carried him to the throne and sat him upon it.

“You are King now, Cousin,” Vireon told him. “This was your father’s throne.”

Andoses smiled, then coughed blood.

“Too late,” he whispered. “When the kingdom dies… the King must die too.”

“You were both King and Warrior,” said Vireon. “You saved Alua. I will look after your people. Go now and join your father.”

Andoses grew very still upon the throne. His eyes stared beyond the shattered windows into some unknown land, and he died.

So this is the cost of vengeance. The price that a Prince must pay to be a King.

Vireon wept in the cool shelter of Alua’s arms… for his cousin, his brother, his father, for Shar Dni.

“It is too much,” he whispered.

It is too much…

The streets of Yaskatha boomed with song and cheer. Months of misery and fear were replaced by a flood of goodwill and wild celebrations. D’zan’s name rang through the avenues, plazas, and orchards. Well-wishers and skeptics flocked into the city from outlying farms and villages. Wine and ale flowed in rivers, men carried girls on their shoulders, and children stuffed themselves with the sweetmeats of vendors made generous by joy. D’zan had not yet emerged to walk among his people, and tales of his battle wound explained his immediate privacy. The Yaskathans wrote verse about him and sang his praises. The legend of his vanquishing Elhathym grew wilder with each telling.

In the midst of this jubilation, Sharadza sat with Iardu in a grove of the palace gardens and wept. She gazed into a pool below a sculpted fountain. Atop the water gleamed a vision of Vireon and Alua kneeling before the throne of dead Andoses. Iardu put his arm about her shoulders. She had learned the spell of scrying from him, though she already regretted looking toward Shar Dni. So much death… An entire city, more or less, murdered in a single night.

Poor Andoses. He looked so pitiful slumped in his father’s throne, a pile of broken bones and punctured flesh. The headless corpse of Fangodrel lay nearby, blackened and shriveled. Sharadza had watched it all, helpless to give Vireon aid. Unlike the Glass of Eternity, the enchanted water could not be used as a gateway, only a window. She could look across the world, view any scene she wished, yet was powerless to affect it from so far away. She felt useless.

All the suffering and devastation of the Sharrians… It was the very thing she had tried to prevent. War and death had come despite her intervention. Iardu had been right all along. War is a tide that flows where and when it will. A storm of tragedy too great and powerful for any man or woman to control. The Khyreins had struck first and decimated the Sharrians; Elhathym had struck first and annihilated Zaashari. Perhaps if she had not rushed off to save the world, the attacks would have been postponed. Perhaps Shar Dni might still exist today. Andoses might still be alive… and the people of Zaashari… and D’zan. What a piteous thing this handsome Prince had become. Dead, yet undying, what future could he have among the living?

What difference have I made at all?