A Darkness Forged in Fire

FIFTY-FIVE

Something tugged at the Viceroy's mind. He slowed the horse to a canter, trying to make sense of the feeling. A scream all too familiar to him tore through his head, sending him reeling. The horse reared and screamed as well, gnashing its teeth at nothing until they splintered, and still the scream did not end.

The table! Its pain was beyond measure. This was nothing like the fire of before. Worse, he was not there to protect it. Thoughts of vengeance and the star fled his mind as the screams grew in intensity. He fought to control the horse and managed to turn it around, digging his spurs deep into its sides, and galloped back toward the palace.

Fear and agony lent speed to the horse. The miles merged as all sense of time blurred into nothingness. He rode with screams echoing in his mind until he screamed, too, the pain as real as if it were his own. He rode with complete abandon, his hands clenched so tightly around the reins that the leather melded into his new flesh. The horse beneath him never tired, its gait as manic as the look in its eyes. The ground rushed past, the horse moving much faster than any horse the Viceroy had ever ridden, the animal's speed a raging hunger that ate the miles with savage appetite; yet it was not fast enough.

It was the smell that first assaulted his senses as the Viceroy pulled up in the rear courtyard of his palace, a thick, dry smell that overpowered the wet stench of the horse beneath him. He ripped his hands from the reins, barely feeling the sting of raw flesh exposed, and ran into the palace, climbing the steps to his bedroom four at a time.

He entered his bedchamber and saw the shattered door. He crossed to it and stepped through, his limbs shaking with fear and rage. He took two steps into the room and stopped, the horror of what he found too great to allow him to approach any closer.

Her creation, Her Emissary's ryk faur, his power…was now but a single-leg upturned with a white doily draped over the clawed foot. Resting on top was a small potted fern. A rustle of wings at the window made him turn, and he saw the white bird.

"Looks much better, if you ask me," the Duke of Rakestraw said, walking up to stand in the doorway behind him. "Gives the room a more homey feel."

The Viceroy tore his eyes away from the pelican and spun on his heels, his hands already clenching as he prepared to rend the very soul from the Duke's body. Before he could, something large and heavy hit him in the stomach, knocking him to the floor.

He looked down to see a large bag of ashes and charred wood spill on the flagstones around him.

"Thought you might like that, bit of a souvenir," the Duke said, casually strolling into the chamber. Several more soldiers of the Duke's cavalry stood equally at ease near the door, hands resting on saber hilts and pistol butts.

The Viceroy lurched to his feet, the hood of his cloak falling away as he did so.

The Duke turned back to him, his scarred face dominated by a wide grin. "Well, well, well, I see the table wasn't the only thing that got fried."

"You will pay for this!" the Viceroy shouted, stumbling to his feet, calculating the odds of killing them all. He was tired from the ride, it would be a close-run thing. "I will destroy you!"

The Duke stood a little straighter at the sound of his voice, but he did not back up. "You could try, but I think it'd be the last thing you did. By the way, that horse chase you sent me on worked out better than I thought. Not only did I round up enough horses to pay off all my debts with a tidy sum left over, I even had a bit extra to pay you back for your kindness," he said, waving a gloved hand toward the plant. "It was the very least I could do." The grin grew fiercer.

"When I got back and you weren't home, I found lovely Inja here, who was kind enough to show me around your accommodations. What, I said to myself, can I do to thank the Viceroy, and then Inja had a wonderful suggestion."

The Viceroy turned his glare on her, and she backed up a step. She, too, would suffer.

"No need to thank me," the Duke said, giving the fern a pat as he walked back out of the room, "it's what friends do." He paused at the door, one hand resting on the pommel of Wolf's Tooth, the other taking Inja gently by the arm. "Another thing friends do, Viceroy, is look after one another."

From the open window came the sound of the Viceroy's horse screaming in anger, followed by a volley of musket fire and a heavy thud.

"What was that?"

"That," the Duke said over his shoulder as he led Inja away, "is what you do to sick creatures. Worth keeping in mind, Viceroy."

Long after the echo of the Duke's horses had faded, the Viceroy remained standing in the middle of the room, his rage and despair pinning him to the spot like the weight of a hundred mountains.

Finally, his need to make the Duke of Rakestraw and the elfkynan stable girl pay propelled him to move.

He brushed the ashes from his cloak and turned and looked at what remained of the table. It took him a moment to feel the change in the air; it was growing colder. He leaned closer and saw the leaves of the fern slowly turning white, then black, as frost fire consumed them. He reached out a hand and touched the leg, but it felt as dead as the room around him.

"I don't understand…" the Viceroy said.

"You will," said Her Emissary, a dark shadow rising from the ashes, its anger flaming to life in the black dagger in its hand. "You will."

The screaming lasted all night.