Black Descent

The sword was falling, and there was nothing Jistan could do about it. He was too tired, too slow, and his Will was stretched thin. The man attacking was taller and broader, gaining the advantage in weight and probably strength.

Jistan almost closed his eyes, not wanting to see the blade bearing down on him.

Something streaked through the air to his left, striking the man straight in his exposed armpit. Jistan blinked at the long black arrow that stuck out from the attacker’s body. He screamed, faltering in his strike and nearly dropping his sword. Jistan didn’t hesitate; he slammed a knife into the man’s chest then snatched the sword before it could hit the ground.

More arrows came from the left, hitting anywhere that armor didn’t protect. Jistan swept in with his new weapon-it was too heavy for him, but he could manage-and finished them off. A couple of the attackers started to scream or fell to the ground for seemingly no reason. Jistan cut them down as well, not giving himself time to think or hesitate.

In moments, they were all dead. The last two tried to flee. Jistan caught one; the other fell to a black arrow.

Jistan turned to face his mysterious rescuer.

A small, sleek figure strode from the shadows, bow in hand.

“Lanae?” Jistan exclaimed, mouth dropping open. Wasn’t she supposed to be in a holding cell? And how had she found him?

Then three more figures emerged. He wasn’t overly surprised to see Joree and Narissa. But the Heir of Manicot? Shouldn’t she be holed up in the palace, surrounded by legions of Fiedons and Mind Scythes to protect her?

“Jistan!” Joree called out. He was limping but trying to cover it. “What happened here? Where is Sackrin?”

Jistan wiped sweat from his forehead, placing the tip of his stolen sword against the ground and leaning on it. He had been told never to do that-it dulled the blade-but at the moment his exhaustion overcame his training. “I don’t know,” he admitted, breathing heavily. “I woke up to this flaming mess and my father was gone.”

Areniah cursed loudly, her face a storm of anger and anxiety. Narissa ignored everyone, rushing and going down on one knee next to Jistan. He was baffled for a moment before remembering his sister’s limp body.

He quickly knelt beside Narissa, holding his hands in fists to stop himself from pushing Narissa’s hands away. He felt a strange urge to pull Karrin to himself and protect her, use his own body as a shield from whatever might try to reach her.

Narissa made a few ‘hmms’ and ‘ahs’. “What?” Jistan asked urgently. “Is she going to…” he swallowed. “Is she…”

“She’ll be fine,” Narissa said. “That blow to her head is nasty and she probably has a small concussion. But she should wake up soon, albeit with a killer headache.”

Jistan released a relieved breath, although he wasn’t totally convinced. Karrin had a nasty welt on her head, and it was an angry red color.

“Not to sound insensitive,” Areniah suddenly interjected, “but we really need to go. My mother is in danger and we can’t afford distractions.”

“You’re right,” Joree said, clapping her on the back. “That wasn’t insensitive at all.”

She glared at him.

“Wait,” Jistan said. “What about your mother?”

*

“You will tell me, or I will bring your protectors in here one at a time and kill them in front of you,” Dennison hissed. The Highness gave no response. Her bottom lip was swollen and bloody and both eyes were beginning to blacken. A few scorch marks on her arms marked where the branding iron had touched her skin. He hadn’t expected the torture to provoke any answers from her. He just wanted to make her suffer for her crimes.

He leaned in close enough that he could feel her ragged breath on his face.

“Are you going to talk, or do I need to start killing people?” he hissed.

She stared him in the eyes silently.

“Good,” he said. “I’m glad you chose the fun way.”

*

The hallway was empty. It even seemed to have been scrubbed clean of any signs of a scuffle. No blood, no knocked over lanterns or shifted wall décor.

“Um,” Joree said, “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Aniah snapped. “I’m not a Flaming idiot.”

“No one said you were,” Narissa said smoothly. “Do you have any idea where these attackers would have taken the Highness?”

Aniah started chewing her lip. “That depends on how well they know the palace and the city,” she muttered.

“Based on this attack,” Jistan said, “I think we can assume they know it pretty well.”

Aniah nodded slowly. “Right. Then they would have taken her to the underground prison beneath the palace. Only those in the closest confidence of the Highness even know that it exists, and it is easy to defend but very difficult to attack.”

“Lovely,” Joree muttered.

Aniah glared at him. “This is not a time for flippancy, citizen.”

“My deepest apologies, your great heiress-ness,” he replied, a hint of snappishness tainting his usually light tones. “Please allow me to serve you by removing my horrid attitude from the situation. I’m sure without the distraction you will be able to easily succeed in your important mission.”

Aniah felt a strange mixture of surprise and indignation. Surprise that Joree was being so disagreeable, and indignation that he dared to use that tone with her.

Jistan cleared his throat loudly. “We were in a hurry?” he prompted. Aniah assumed he was more concerned about his sister, who they had been forced to leave hidden in a large storage closet, than her mother, but it didn’t matter. He was right.

“Follow me,” she said, turning away from Joree pointedly. As an afterthought, she added, “And keep the creature away from me. It makes my skin crawl.”

It was easy to reach the secret entrance to the underground prison. The palace seemed entirely deserted. Although the group spent the entire trip jumping at any sound or movement their minds conjured up, they encountered no resistance.

“This is the only way in,” Aniah whispered, unable to convince herself that no one was creeping around the corner, listening in. “If our enemy is wise, they will have the other side well-guarded. It is a bottleneck and won’t allow more than two people through at a time.”

“That doesn’t put the odds much in our favor,” Joree muttered.

“But we can just use Will,” Jistan pointed out. “A bottleneck doesn’t do much if you can just wipe out your enemies from a distance.”

“And Will doesn’t do much if you get a spear shoved through your chest as soon as the door is opened,” Aniah shot back, irritated at being argued with.

“Fair enough,” Jistan muttered.

“When the mechanism is unlocked, the door slides open from left to right very quickly, allowing the people waiting inside to attack quickly and brutally,” Aniah continued. “We had a secret code, a certain pattern we would bang on the door before opening it to inform the guards to stand down. The people guarding this door will no doubt have orders to attack as soon as the door so much as budges.”

“Comforting,” Joree said brightly. “I hope you’re about to enlighten us with your brilliant plan, oh great future ruler?”

Aniah ground her teeth together. As soon as they were out of danger, she was going to have him thrown in prison for a few days. Or, well, she supposed he would be thrown back in prison anyways as soon as Arellia was back in charge. Good enough.

“That’s what I went and got you for,” she said between gritted teeth. “You people are the break down walls and kill the enemy types.”

Jistan took a step forward. His face was pale, but determined. “I’m a Mind Scythe. I am duty bound to my Highness and Manicot. I will open the door. The rest of you stand back. While they attack me, you attack them with Will and…whatever else you people can do,” he glanced at Joree and the Delani as he said this last part.

Aniah started to nod. The plan made sense.

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Joree said. “We’re going to need your help beyond getting the door open.”

“Do you have a better plan?” Jistan snapped, his face going slightly red.

Joree grimaced. “Well…”

*

The Highness watched with an empty gaze as three of her Fiedons were killed before her eyes. Dennison was beginning to believe this tactic might not work.

“I’m impressed,” he admitted. “You really are as heartless as all the stories claim.”

The Highness met his gaze. “I will do what is best for Manicot, no matter the cost. My heart has little to do with it.”

Dennison smiled coldly, leaning in and whispering in her ear. “Then I will keep killing your citizens, one by one, until every Manicoti is dead.”

She stiffened ever so slightly.

“Yes,” Dennison breathed. “I think you can see how it would be much more beneficial, in the long run, to simply tell me what I want. No need to watch while I slaughter your people.”

Her jaw tightened, but still she said nothing.

“I see you aren’t convinced,” he said, sighing. “Well, I suppose I will just have to show you.”

The next person he brought in was a child.

*

Joree blew out a nervous breath. The others stood fanned out around him, looking even more nervous than he felt. They all stood well back from the hidden doorway.

“Okay, okay,” Joree muttered under his breath. He shook out his hands a couple of times.

“Oh, for Arkadia’s sake,” Aniah exclaimed. “Are you quite ready?”

“No, not quite,” Joree said, taking a few more deep breaths. Then, “Okay. I’m ready.”

Will power from three separate sources suddenly flowed towards him. He sucked them all in, his body thrumming with energy. It jerked inside him spasmodically, yearning for freedom. He held it in, teeth clenched, and pulled more and more in. He continued until it felt as though the power was about to rip its way from his pores. He couldn’t hold it anymore.

With a pained grunt, he shoved forward, targeting the spot where-supposedly-there was a door.

The power ripped free from him with such force that he gasped. He was momentarily blinded by going from completely full to entirely empty in a split second. A thunderous crashing sound filled his ears. When his sight returned, there was a dusty, crumbling hole in the wall before them. Sounds of shouting and scuffling could be heard beyond, but no one emerged.

The air grew suddenly cold. Still a little dazed, Joree stared into the hole. Was it somehow sucking the heat in?

And then a stream of flame shot into the hole, followed by screams. Joree turned slowly to see Lanae, hand outstretched, sweat covering her calm face.

“Oh,” he muttered.

“Move!” Aniah yelled, shoving Jistan forward first. He ran with sword out, ducking into the hole. Aniah followed, Joree right behind her, trying to ignore the pain in his leg.

“Stay out here, Mom!” Joree called, hoping she would listen.

Inside, the ground was covered in the remnants of the stone door. And bodies. At least half a dozen, broken and scorched. Beyond the short entrance corridor, Joree could make out movement by the light of a few torches. He heard men shouting orders or crying in pain.

Jistan didn’t hesitate, leaping over the wreckage and immediately plunging into the midst of their enemies with sword and Will power. Aniah shot out mind strikes as well. Joree wasn’t sure what to do. He couldn’t just start stealing their Will, not while they were using it, and his leg made him nearly useless in a fight.

Turned out, he wasn’t needed. Jistan and Aniah made quick work of the few remaining guards. Soon, the chamber was filled with the dead and dying. Jistan breathed heavily, his face gleaming with sweat in the torchlight. Aniah’s face was a mask of grim determination.

“Where now?” Joree asked softly, his voice still sounding thunderous in the relative after-battle quiet.

Aniah reached up a hand that trembled faintly, pointing down a dark corridor. As Joree looked closer, he realized it was a staircase descending into the blackness.

“Alright,” Joree breathed. “Let’s go.”