Henri
Azrael’s forces descended on our tribal lands as they had many months ago, in armored helicopters. The aircraft kicked up clouds of sand on the fields between the warborn encampment and where this spectacle of torture had been staged. Their crimson tribal banners were beaten back against the gritty gale, and I needed to only gaze across our lands littered with red to see all of my missteps laid out so plainly.
And now, Azrael was marching toward us, flanked by three dozen beetle-bodied soldiers, beings who were our own sisters and brothers, trained in brutality and conditioned to despise us. From my limited vantage point, I surveyed their faces behind bullet-proof masks and could not identify a Clamor among them, a small grace. At Lucian’s insistence we’d altered the vocal cords of the Clamor we’d kept in captivity in order to strip her of her abilities. We couldn’t risk being rendered powerless again.
Beside me, Stefan moaned softly, eyes squeezed shut, trying to endure the pain. He’d been given a bloody stripe across his midsection, a sensitive area I knew because I currently suffered the same. But I had a bit more muscle to absorb the blow as well as a hardened resolve and a bitter vengeance. Across the courtyard Lucian had been forced to kneel and watch his lover mutilated. The look in his eyes promised carnage.
Azrael, having been spirit-bound to the body of the cyclops, now removed his face mask and surveyed his surroundings with one red-rimmed oculus, reminding me acutely of the powers you’d sacrificed to be free. How I’d relish the opportunity to drive a blade through the cyclops’s eye. And another one through his heart.
Hyas and Azrael traded words while you glared at the Angel of Death with a murderous wrath. I presumed a deal had been brokered, and Hyas and Azrael were only now in the process of ironing out the details. A treaty would be signed. Aretha and I would most likely be taken prisoner. And you… you would be claimed by the appetite of that power-hungry warborn. It could be worse. I’d rather you in Hyas’s possession than Azrael’s.
And then your voice rang out clear and true across the assembly.
“There will be no treaty with the Tribal Council so long as the Angel of Death is alive. We have suffered under his tyranny long enough. The tribes demand complete liberation.”
That stirred some passions in those of us who were restrained while the warborn, trained in soldiering, wisely kept their expressions neutral.
Azrael turned toward me then and strode over to where my bleeding, bruised body remained on display. Azrael drew the short blade at his side and skimmed it down the center of my chest. A fiery burn followed the path of his dagger, and I deduced that his blade had been recently sharpened, perhaps in anticipation for this very occasion.
“You’ve been keeping secrets from your beloved,” Azrael said to me. His voice was like the hiss of a snake, reminding me of Lena’s vipers, a sort of reptile I’ve always detested.
“Your bloodborn warrior is no longer immortal,” Azrael said, announcing my vulnerability to all those present.
“Liar.” You made a move toward him, but Hyas grabbed your shoulder and held you fast. I was glad for it. Perhaps he could force you to keep your head.
“He traded Bastet his immortality for your precious revolution,” Azrael said, then tilted his head in mock sympathy. “Oh, he didn’t tell you, little princeling?”
Your face crumpled as you searched me out. I was still gagged, and I was glad for it. I didn’t want to have to answer your silent, heartbroken inquiry.
“I can prove it to you if you’d like.” Azrael pointed his blade at my gut. I felt the sharpened tip press into the delicate flesh at the hollow of my ribs before you halted him, defeated.
“What are your terms?”
This negotiation shouldn’t have fallen on your shoulders, but the remaining Tribal Council members were similarly bound and gagged—Eubuleus in rope and leather and Ashur in chains. Ashur’s fury was apparent as blood flowed freely from a head wound, likely the result of scuffling with his captors. This production was boastful and bold, allowing so many of us to be witnesses to this treachery. Hyas was either extremely confident in his own authority or attempting to mask that he wasn’t.
“The warborn will take full possession of the lands we’ve liberated,” Hyas announced to everyone present. “And Azrael maintains his existing Imperium forces.”
“What about the other tribes?” you asked.
“The Tribal Council is disbanded, and the thirteen tribes retreat to their ancestral lands where they can live out their days unmolested.” Azrael said with a cruel smirk, “With you being the exception.”
Grumblings and murmurs of dissent rose up all around, for the tribes knew we’d been on the cusp of victory, and they would not go back quietly to their subservience.
“Or we raze your lands and conquer them for the warborn,” Hyas threatened.
The crowd fell silent, and Azrael continued listing out his conditions. Among them was mine, Lucian, and Aretha’s incarceration and your betrothal to the warborn. And as Azrael droned on about the details of our subjugation, from across the way, I caught Lucian’s eye. I wiggled the fingers of my right hand, both our dominant ones, and he inclined his head slightly. An agreement was struck; we were not going down without a fight.
“This treaty will only ensure a civil war,” you said, still trying to appeal to Hyas’s better nature, though I doubted he had one. “The warborn have the powerright nowto rise up against Azrael and his forces and defeat him once and for all. We can still be free.”
Those inciting words, which stirred the crowd immensely, were met by a harsh blow as Hyas struck you across the face. Seeing you so callously dishonored was just the motivation I needed to spur me into action. Momentarily stunned by Hyas’s utter disregard for royal protocol, my warborn guards didn’t notice when I ripped my hands from their rope bindings and slipped Azrael’s knife from his scabbard. To attack him would draw their firepower, and I needed Lucian to disarm them or this maneuver would be swiftly lost. On my way to free our brother, I sliced through the ropes that held Anika to the cross. The Imperium soldiers’ hesitation in taking me out meant they’d been instructed to keep me alive.
Anika was quick to disarm a nearby soldier, steal his sword, and use him as a human shield for the burst of firepower aimed in her direction, though their aim was so off that I didn’t believe the intent was to kill. She advanced on her mistress as I sprinted toward Lucian. In one well-aimed slash of my dagger, I’d freed his hands. The gag he’d already chewed through, and as he rose to his full height, his clever hands were already in motion.
His mudra compelled several soldiers to drop their weapons while others began attacking each other. The panicborn assisted Lucian’s efforts in creating chaos all around. With Azrael’s dagger and a sword I’d pilfered along the way, I sliced and gored my way through warborn soldiers until I confronted Hyas himself. The traitor, I’d tear him limb from limb.
“He’s mine,” Aretha said at my back, already with a weapon in hand. “For the honor of the warborn.”
With that vengeance claimed, I came for you. I was just lifting the hilt of my sword to strike the flimsy gold chain holding your cuffs together, when you shouted, “Henri, behind you.”
