The Half-Lives Series

Dark Designs

3200 BCE

The Dark traveled through the elements. Brooding in the earth, whispering through the wind, dancing in fire, and weaving through the water.

The cool liquid pleased it. It reminded the Dark of blood.

#

“Baannne.”

Marie stirred.

A chill wind brushed over her, drinking her warmth away. Frowning, she sat up. Across from her, a blade of light cut into her shadowed home. The flaps trembled, and then the wind clawed her again.

Marie pushed herself up and crossed the thick furs strewn across the small chamber to the wall. She found the flap opening and drew it shut.

The small tent was new, a gift from her father for grinding the bones of his enemies and summoning rain.

It was something her mother had done before her, and now that she was gone it was up to Marie to provide magic. Their life in the plains was chaotic, but between her father’s strength and her gift, they would prosper. Some day, she hoped he gave her a blade. Her father gave his sons weapons and she wanted-- The animal skins broke open beneath her hand. The wind caressed her hand, wet and cold.

“Baannne.”

She followed the whisper of wind, stepping out into the small clearing outside of her tent.

The chill air circled her, tracing over her skin. Shivering, Marie looked around. She hadn’t called this rain. What--

In the distance, a line of shapes moved toward them.

She narrowed her eyes, willing herself to see it clearer.

The shapes blurred, then it was like she was there, watching the figures make their way toward her encampment, arms held high and stretching farther than a simple limb would. Light glinted off their long, curved blades.

Horror lanced into her. Raiders.

“Father.” She ran towards the tent beside hers. “Father!”

The sound of hooves, so similar to the crisp breaking of bones, chased her. They were getting closer.

“Father!”

There was a commotion inside her father’s tent, and then he stumbled out. Around them, others began rousing from their tents.

Her father frowned. “What--”

He looked past her and paled.

Marie grabbed his arm. Calling water aided their people, but to raiders it meant nothing. She was just another thing to play with. When they were done with her-- They would never be done with her. If they were anything like the last men who’d attacked, they would kill or enslave any boys they caught but the women, oh women offered so much more. Slave. Whore. Breeder.

“Give me a sword,” she said.

Her father shook his head. Around them, men grabbed weapons. Her older half-brother appeared and directed them to various locations.

“Curse them from a distance,” her father said. His second wife stepped out of his tent and offered him a sword. Light glinted off the small white shapes forming her necklace.

“Fa--”

A woman screamed nearby.

The raiders were here.

They swarmed the encampment, cutting down the tents and trapping the people inside. Her father grabbed his sword and rushed them.

Marie scowled after him. She could curse their wells dry, their fields barren, their stomachs to bleed. All would take time. She did not have that.

“My lady?”

Marie turned. Her father’s third wife removed her necklace and offered it to her.

She frowned. What could she do with--

Bones.

The necklace was a series of bones. It had taken her father weeks to make it. The woman’s hand trembled, making the bones click against one another. She was close to Marie’s age, and her belly swelled gently with new life. Her father could be cool, but he doted on his women.

Marie took the bones. It would be a difficult thing, to weave a spell around the necklace and touch the raiders’ bodies. If she succeeded, perhaps she could wound a few.

“Thank you,” she said. “Stay close--”

“Baannne.”

A wind whispered over her, tossing her long brown hair to the side.

Marie stilled. The air brushed over her, cool and ethereal. There was something . . . dark in the wind. It had woken her. She didn’t know what it wanted but-- A man screamed nearby.

Marie turned and saw a raider cut through one of her father’s men. Blood rained across the earth.

The man looked up, saw her, and smiled.

The expression caught her, stealing her breath. Slave. Whore. Breeder.

No.

Marie shook off fear. The wind, the chill, swept through her. She was not his thing. He was hers.

The man’s smile faltered, and then he headed for her, cutting across the narrow alley between two tents. Blood ran down his sword.

She watched him, winding her fingers around the slender cording of the bone necklace. His flesh was as fragile as hers. His bones as vulnerable. He and his kind wanted her to forget that.

“Baannnewoolf.”

Her father’s wife gasped and darted back into her tent.

Marie held out the necklace. “Dark thing,” she whispered. “I offer you--” Her half-brother, Lanth, stepped between her and the raider. “Run.” Marie frowned. He dared interfere?

No matter. She dropped the necklace and brought the heel of her animal-skin boot onto the small bones.

Pain stabbed her foot. She took a deep, rain-scented breath, then stomped her foot again.

Dark thing take them. Dark thing--

SNAP.

The man screamed.

His horse dropped, forcing her brother back. Behind it, the raider’s legs spasmed. Blood pooled around them.

Lanth cast shocked eyes on her, and then moved over to the screaming raider. A quick jerk of his blade--

Silence.

Marie brought her foot down on the bones, shattering the last few pieces. Dark thing-- “Darknesss.”

The sharp sound of breaking bones erupted around the camp.

Screams followed, high wailing sounds that bled into the breeze. Marie smiled, drinking in the sounds.

Lanth returned to her side. “How . . .”

His eyes dipped to the ground. She thought it was out of respect, but then she remembered the bones at her feet.

“Father will be pleased,” he said.

Father.

Marie turned and searched the encampment. He was a strong man. She told herself she wasn’t worried about him, but the thought felt hollow. If something happened to him, she would have to dispose of Lanth, and she didn’t want to do that. The tents were torn and many crouched like broken animals. Her father’s men moved around the area, silencing the screams.

There was movement, and then her father appeared out of a cluster of men. The wind whispered past her, sending the bone dust flutter into the air. Her father studied the area. His eyes caught hers, and a smile played across his face. He motioned to her, and the men around him tipped their heads toward her. Marie--

“Bannnewolf.”

--smiled.

His men would be hers.

“Yesss.”

She would gather power.

“Yess.”

The world would one day belong to the Darkness.

“Are you all right?” Lanth asked.

His tone caught her attention. So gentle. So concerned.

Banewolf glanced at him. That thoughtfulness was unbecoming in a warrior, but she was charmed. No one had ever asked about her welfare before.

“Yes,” she said. “I want the raider’s bones.”

Lanth went back to the twitching horse and its raider and began cutting the meat away from the body.

Banewolf watched him, admiring the play of blade over flesh. Lanth had beautiful hands, a lithe body, a handsome face. Of the two of them, Banewolf was surprised their father had allowed him near a sword and denied her.

She turned and moved towards her father. She didn’t really need the bones, but the act would keep Lanth occupied for a while. He was her elder, but after today he would no longer be considered her father’s heir.

The breeze rolled over her as if chuckling.

#

3198 BCE

It was the scream that woke Lanth.

He pushed the heavy furs off himself and rose. Cold night air lapped at his body.

Shivering, he found a robe and slipped it over him. He did not remember undressing. Then again, he did not remember a lot these days. He’d had a fever last winter, and his half-sister had given him something to heal him.

Physically, he had recovered. Spiritually, he felt open. There were many nights when he was certain the wind was talking. The only good that had come from any of this was that his father had ceased trying to goad him into a marriage. His first arranged bride died young, as did his second. Lanth felt cursed.

Outside, someone screamed.

Unease stabbed him. Lanth looked for a weapon.

Finding none, he cursed softly and then headed outside. It would be better to see what was happening than cower in the dark.

Winter bathed the outside in an ocean of mist. It snaked along the valleys between tents, tracing cool, wet fingers over everything it encountered. He searched the area. The tents were silent, the great fire in the center dim. Lanth frowned. He’d been so certain he’d heard something. Had it been another dream?

He’d had nightmares after the last attack. The snap of bones, the pained cries, the whisper of wind. They’d won and none had dared attack since, but the dream occasionally returned.

Beyond the tents, a man screamed.

Lanth hurried toward it, drawing his robe tightly around himself. He wished he’d had his sword, but his weapons had disappeared, alongside hours of the day. His half sister gave him a sweet tasting brew for his blackouts, but . . . the brew had been given to him before they’d happened. Lanth was certain of that, though she and their father assured him otherwise.

Another scream erupted outside of the encampment. Lanth headed toward it. And then stopped.

A hundred feet from the tents was a wide circle of stones. Their arc was wide, twice the length of his father’s tent, and as tall as him. Moonlight bled over them, making the edges look sharp.

Fog brushed over him, stealing his warmth.

“Ssshhhh.”

Lanth trembled. Something was out there. Something dark and alive.

“You shouldn’t be out so late,” an amused voice said in the mist. Lanth turned.

The fog twined around him. Footsteps crunched closer, and then his half-sister was there. Marie. Or, as as their father had recently nicknamed her, Bane. Bane had forsaken her previous garments and now dressed like their father in leather and silver. A thin clasp held her cloak in place.

“I heard a scream,” he said.

“Really?” Bane undid the clasp holding her cloak in place. “I haven’t heard anything.”

Another scream broke out behind him.

“There it was again.”

Bane slipped her cloak over him, and to his surprise he realized that his robe was gone.

“It’s very late,” she said, nudging him back towards the camp. Her fingers slid past the warm cloth of her cloak and caressed the small of his back. Her touch sent a shiver through him. “Go back to bed.”

Lanth pulled away and yanked the cloak closed. Heat crept across his face. She shouldn’t touch him like that. It was improper and wrong and--

“Lanth.” She approached him. “You shouldn’t be wandering in the dark. It’s not safe.”

He moved back. At one time, he would have agreed with her. He could’ve caught his foot on a stone, or been ambushed by a raider.

The ground beneath him was smooth, and the only raiders he saw now came to offer their tribe gifts.

“Ssshhh.”

His back struck a cold surface. It leached warmth away. Lanth jerked away from it and turned.

The stones he’d spotted before now stood before him. Small shapes twitched between the stones’ base and . . .

Fingers.

It was fingers.

Lanth walked along the wall. Hundreds of fingers wiggled between stones. Along the bottom layers, bones glinted in the moonlight.

“Gods,” Lanth whispered.

Bane chuckled behind him. “No. Not quite.”

“What is this?”

“It’s the foundation of a tower. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Lanth shook his head. It was horrible. “Why--”

A scream escaped the stones.

Lanth moved back. The fingers--the people they belonged to were dead, they had to be, but it was like their spirits were caught.

Bane stepped between him and the stones. “You hear the bones screaming?”

Yes. “Why can’t anyone else?”

“They’re human.” A smile played across Bane’s lips. “Come. I will make you another brew. You are far too sensitive.”

The fires winked across the field outside the Tower. Banewolf watched them, drinking in the sounds of murmured voices, the smell of cooking meat.

She smiled. Her troops were growing. Soon she’d have enough to take the five towns.

“My lady?”

Banewolf turned. The midwife stood in the doorway. Her arms cradled a blood-spotted bundle.

“How is Lanth?” she asked. Since his condition had become more obvious, she had taken steps to keep him in the Tower. Her pet still heard the screams, though. Whenever the opportunity struck, he tried to flee.

“Sleeping.” The midwife stepped into the room. “I regret to say that the child is deformed.”

“What?” Banewolf closed the distance between them. She brushed the sheet aside and found her son.

He had his birth father’s hands, a plump body, and a scowling face. Clear hazel eyes looked up at her. His left leg was perfect; his right ended in a stump. The toes crept out like thin roots, two on one side of the appendage, and three on the other.

“Darkness,” Banewolf whispered.

She had been pleased when she’d figured out how to sire a child on her lover. It had accidentally woken Lanth’s own magic, but in the end she’d overtaken him. Nine months later, it looked like his fight had cost her more than a few scratches.

The child cried. It was a sharp sound, stinging her ears.

“Sshh,” Banewolf whispered. Impatient little bastard. He reminded her of her. She traced two fingers over his foot, sending warmth and magic into him. Necessity had shown her that she could heal broken bodies and skin. This would be nothing.

The crying quieted.

Banewolf brushed her fingers down the stump. His skin trembled beneath her touch, and then the foot lengthened, forming a slender ankle, an arch. The toes shifted, drawing together.

She smiled.

The foot trembled, and then the toes curled inward, making the foot curl into itself.

Darkness.

Moving slowly, Banewolf wove more magic into the child’s foot. He was hers, just as Lanth was. She would show them--

The flesh twisted beneath her fingers, angling the foot inward.

Scowling, she pushed the child into the midwife. Shrieks erupted from the infant’s lungs. It pierced Banewolf’s head, making it ache.

Banewolf frowned. This was Lanth’s fault. He’d fought her and now the child was ruined. Bastard.

The midwife cradled the boy. “It looks better. Perhaps if you--”

“It’d be a waste of a spell.” Banewolf headed back to the balcony.

“My lady?”

“I will not waste my time with a failure.”

Banewolf returned her attention to the fires lighting the night. This had been her first attempt at having a child. She would try again. “Put it outside. Leave it for the Darkness.”

3140 BCE

When Banewolf entered the lowest chamber of the Tower, six grinning skeletons greeted her.

She smiled. She’d created this place as a warning to others. Talk or be sent here. Over time, she had begun viewing it more as a holy place. Sometimes, when the last breaths escaped people, she could hear the Darkness echoing them. To strengthen its tie to this room, Banewolf had set grisly spells into the shackles hanging around the room. People hung from them would slowly die. Their flesh would melt away from their bodies and pool in a pit in the center of the room. The Darkness was awed by humanity’s spirit. With the people there already weakened by pain, Banewolf hoped the Darkness would be able to take whatever it needed from their dying--

A sigh whispered over the room.

The sound was deep. Sepulcher.

Banewolf frowned. It did not sound like the Darkness. Its’ breathe was as light as the wind. This sounded human.

She studied the room, searching for the source. She’d placed only four humans and two mages in this room a week ago. The six happy looking skeletons were all accounted for. If one of her guards had put someone here without telling her-- A thin line of blood and meaty pulp went from the foot of each skeleton to a figure curled at the foot of the pit.

Banewolf stalked toward it. She reached into her cloak and withdrew her wand. Normally she liked seeing people wither away under the force of her magic but she disliked this one’s intrusion. She would kill it quickly.

As she approached, it looked up.

Banewolf stilled.

The figure was a patchwork of flesh. One brown eye, one green. A pretty face that slid down to the chin with every breathe. Two arms, one belonging to a pale skinned body, the other dark. Two well shaped legs. “Ssshhh.”

“Darkness.”

A chaos of excitement and delight erupted in Banewolf. Rapture! The Darkness had gathered enough power to take physical form.

It smiled. “Bane--”

The figure spasmed.

Its face melted off, taking the eyes, one arm, and part of the leg. “Darkness.” Banewolf ran over to it.

The figure curled on the stone floor as its flesh bled away. The meat crept into the pit, leaving an angry red stain on the stones.

Banewolf knelt beside the crimson stones. The Darkness’ form was gone, but the blood and meat in the pit trembled. She reached in and traced her fingers over the crimson surface.

She had been right; allowing people to slowly die here had given the Darkness the chance to begin taking whatever it needed. It wanted human form. It would need more bodies.

“I’ll order the guards to bring you new prisoners,” she said.

The blood rippled around her fingers, gently squeezing them.

“I can’t . . . hold the form for long. Need . . . something else.”

“Tell me and I’ll get it for you.”

It sighed.

A wave of cool air brushed over her, teasing her with the savory sweet scent of blood and meat.

“Your lover . . . is pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“May I . . . see him?”

Banewolf smiled. Lanth was so sensitive to the Darkness’ moods. It would be interesting to see what he made of its presence here. “I’ll have him brought down at once.”

3170 BCE

At this distance, the flames caressing the town looked like ribbons lapping at shadows. Banewolf stood on the tallest balcony in the Tower, listening to the screams.

Secretly, the five towns along the plains had always fascinated her. From afar, they glimmered with life, with power. None shone brighter than Bab edh-Dhra. Even as a child, stories about the town crept out to her. Mages lived alongside humans there and controlled the trade. Outside of town, they ran a secret school. At night, fire and witch light lit up the small city, illuminating it for miles.

She had dreamed of going there, but she was a girl, and though the towns of the plains either accepted or overlooked mages, they could not forget that she was a woman. Their human neighbors ignored the things that brought them safety and prosperity, but not something that might take their daughters or wives away. They were property. Their holy books condemned them as weak.

Weak.

Banewolf laughed. Beautiful, glittering Bab edh-Dhra. It burned as easily as the humans’ books.

Footfalls knocked along the carpet behind her. The somber sound pleased her, reminding her of a frightened heartbeat.

“My lady?”

Banewolf turned. Her general, Akim, dropped to one knee behind her.

“Did anyone escape?” she asked.

“A handful of humans got out while the mages were fighting. We’ve caught most of them and put them in the Tower’s lowest chambers.”

Good. By morning, the area would hear their screams as the growing shade of the Darkness peeled the meat from their bones. There was something in people it wanted. Banewolf hoped it would one day find it.

“And the mages?” she asked.

Silence.

Akim was keeping secrets.

Banewolf walked past him and headed into her room. The thick, intricately woven carpets hushed her steps.

As she crossed the room, her pet rose from the carpet beside her bed. Light glinted off the thin chain around his neck, winking prettily.

Banewolf shook her head. This one came the closest to resembling her dead half-brother; he was lovely and bruised easily. While losing him would not pain her, she knew her mood at this moment was dark. When she touched him, it would be because of her desire, not because she wanted to lash out at something vulnerable.

The pretty thing returned to his place. Banewolf stalked past him and picked up a silver chalice from a small table.

When she turned, Banewolf found Akim waiting for her in the threshold between the balcony and her room.

Banewolf closed the distance between them. As she drew close, she sent a trace of magic out, capturing the beat of his pulse.

“Did you find all of the mages?” she asked, tracing a short-nailed finger over the rim of the chalice.

“No,” Akim said. “The--”

Magic throbbed beneath her finger, sending red-gold flickers about the cup’s rim. Liquid appeared at the bottom of the chalice. It rose slowly, developing a pink hue.

Akim’s breath fled, leaving his face a red and white patchwork of flesh. The liquid in the chalice grew.

“Twins,” he gasped.

The liquid stopped.

“What about the twins?” Banewolf asked. If something had happened to them--

“Twins . . .” Akim trembled. “Wanted . . . to hunt.”

“Oh.” Banewolf chuckled. The liquid receded.

Her second attempt at having children had been a success. The Darkness had touched Lanthe’s hand, giving the unborn twins its blessing. The spell had destroyed Lanth, but her sons were powerful and devoted to the Darkness. Lanth’s loss had been worth it.

“They said . . .” Akim took a deep breath. “The mages . . .”

Banewolf tapped the chalice rim. Her fingernails made two sharp clink, clink sounds. “What?”

“The mages . . . from the five towns . . . have united.”

Rathe sifted his fingers through the blood. The stomach opening had dried, but inside the living palette was wet and warm.

He gathered a clump of blood, and then raised it up to the canvas. When his fingers touched the stiff fabric, the sanguine liquor fled from his skin. The movement felt like a caress, sending pleasant shivers through him.

The red lines snaked across the paper. In their wake, a ghost of the plains appeared. The dry, whispering grass. The eternal nights, with stars that winked coquettishly across a crimson sky. Mountains rose and tumbled to his left.

A wet gasp bubbled up beside him. “Please . . .” the man whispered.

“Sshhh,” Rathe said, slipping his hand inside his palette. “Show me where the mages are.”

They’d caught this one after Mother destroyed Numeira, where he’d spent the last of his strength helping the humans escape. It had been a pretty, if foolish, sacrifice. As soon as Rathe discovered his secrets, Mother would hunt the others down.

A weak pulse of magic stumbled out of the man. It brushed over Rathe, stinging him . . . and then faded.

Rathe gently moved his fingers deeper into the palette. Their magics touched, and Rathe felt a curious sort of strength here, hidden within the folds of the mage’s flesh. Affection for the ones who’d escaped, desperate fear, pain, longing. Rathe sighed, drinking in the sensations.

The thick warmth reminded him of when he was a child, sitting in the lowest chamber of the Tower. The Darkness whispered to him, telling him tales. This man’s stories would not be as grisly as the Darkness’, but Rathe still longed to learn them.

Somone knocked on the door behind him. The sound was sharp, reminding Rathe of breaking bones.

He raised his fingers out of his palette and laid his fingers against the canvas.

“Yes?” Rathe asked, feeling the blood crawl away from his skin. A grove of trees gathered along the mountains, huddling close against the night. There was a whisper of movement as the door was pushed open.

“Mother sent us a message,” his twin, Theran, said.

Rathe turned.

Theran stood beside the door, a hand pressed over his nose. His brother rarely came to his studio. His talents lay in drawing plans, not painting.

“She wants to know if we’ve found the mages yet,” Theran said.

“Almost.” Rathe studied the mage. Mother would not hurry him unless it was important.

Rathe reached into the man’s opening. He pushed past bone, past muscle, until his fingers touched the man’s heart.

“Please,” the man whispered. “No.”

Rathe gently gripped the organ. The pulsing shape would give away one secret, but the mage would then die. It would be a pity; Rathe enjoyed their closeness. The feelings he’d sensed before strengthened. Fear. His loved ones were endangered. Loss. He would never see them.

“Sshhh,” Rathe said. “You’ll see them soon.”

All that remained of Bab edh-Dhra were bones.

Darshan carefully picked his way through the smoldering remains. Pain spiked up from the twist in his foot, slowing his steps. He’d hurried to get back to the town. His haste hardly mattered; no one was left.

Despite the pain and the quiet, Darshan continued moving through the town. His tall staff punctuated his steps, keeping a calmer beat than his heart.

No one could have survived the attack, he knew that, but still he searched. His aunt and two cousins had lived in this chaos of stone and broken shards. Across the blackened space that had once been a road, his mentor and his lover taught children to read. Human or mage, they cared naught. Gifts needed to be nourished. Lives should be shared. Death . . .

Darshan wanted them back. The laughter. The arguments. The petty words and the gentle nudges.

Curse the Darkness. Darshan had been a fool to leave them.

It had been a gamble. He’d left his strongest allies here and left to gather the mages from other towns. No one had believed that a witch could raise such a vicious army, let alone control a tower that moved. They believed now. Too many were dead to doubt it any longer.

Darshan scowled. How long had it taken them to build Bab edh-Dhra? A hundred years? Two? Thousands of lives and dreams and all of it wiped out in a night. The remaining four towns were in awe of the warrior-witch. Such power, they whispered.

That wasn’t power. Power was creation, of daring to dream of something outside of oneself, and offering alms to others. This passionate destruction was awesome, but it wasn’t power. It was weakness.

Ahead, a bit of bone glinted white.

Darshan approached it. He’d found nothing more than bones so far, but he still looked for more. If life was to be shared, then so was death, and joy, and loss. He would carry a piece of everyone he found. When he fought, they would fight. When he succeeded, they would succeed. And if he failed . . .

He would not fail them.

Darshan knelt. The shift of his weight made pain flare up from his bad foot, making him wince. The binding he’d wrapped around it earlier that day felt like a tightening noose.

He massaged his foot for a moment, and then began brushing rubble away from the bones. His limp was his companion, and like any companion it occasionally wore at his patience. It was a part of him, though, like his magic and this town. Between a light flux of magic and careful brushing, Darshan uncovered two large skulls, a collection of bones, and then a small skull beneath. A young family, trying to protect their child.

Darshan quickly broke three pieces of finger bones free, and then slipped them into a pouch.

The wind crept over him, breathing life into the dying embers nearby. Darshan rose slowly, keeping the pain at edge. When he was standing and could put weight on his twisted foot, he continued moving through the destruction. The air tracing over him reminded him of the thing Banewolf served. It destroyed everything it could not control, and then snaked in afterwards, finding whatever life still burned and offering its own chill comfort.

The wind rolled over him. It felt like a chuckle.

“Darsshhan.”

Darshan stumbled, and then caught himself on his staff. A curse on the Darkness. His curses tended to amuse the entity, so Darshan kept them to himself.

The wind tumbled over him.

“You mournne fools. Sssome didn’t want you.”

Darshan continued on. He had not cared for all of them either. It did not mean he wanted them dead.

“Sssome whispered that a cripple wasss no better than a woman.”

Judging by himself and Banewolf, the world needed more of both.

Hmm.

Darshan puzzled over that. He did not know the circumstances that created Banewolf but he knew what he’d been raised like. He’d been abandoned as a babe because of his foot, but his guardians had taken a risk and raised him because they’d sensed his magic. If he’d been born female, he did not know if they would have brought him in.

Unpleasant thoughts, but he would not hide from them. They lived with humans, they had to fit in. Mages taught their women how to use their gifts, but it was in deeper secret than they taught men. Darshan couldn’t change that.

Then again, he had not tried.

He considered it. If--when he destroyed Banewolf and her ilk, he would put his mind to this.

The wind shifted, becoming a sigh.

“Thhey tire,” the Darkness whispered, playing with his hair, the ends of his cloak. “Thhe others talk of ssurrender.”

The words chilled Darshan. No. The mages would not turn to the Darkness. Other people had to have fought it before. Other people had to have defeated it. The people from the five towns were afraid but--

“They want something to believe in.”

“They’re not going to believe in you.”

The wind rolled over him playfully, slipping beneath his cloak to steal his warmth.

“Thhere’ss nothing else.”

Darshan could not believe that. Life had death, the day night. If there was darkness, there had to be light.

And if there wasn’t one . . .

Then mages would have to become it.

Banewolf traced her fingers over the scroll, weaving blood and magic onto the thick parchment. She would send a scroll with a severed hand to each of the remaining towns. If they did not surrender--

The wind caressed Banewolf’s skin. She looked up from the scroll.

“Bannewolf.”

“Yes.”

“Your sssonn isss coming.”

“Rathe?”

“Nnnoo. Darsshhan.”

Darshan? She did not have . . .

Shit.

Banewolf blocked the mage’s fire strike with a shield of cold air.

Their magics slammed into one another, sending an echo of pain up Banewolf’s arms and making the tall staff in the man’s hands shake. Bones and bits of thin leather knocked against the wood, creating a surprisingly pleasant sound. The mage crept to the left.

Banewolf mirrored him. So this was Darshan. If he had not attacked her, she would have found him interesting; medium height, lithe form, blond hair drawn back in a tight knot, and bright, ethereal green-brown eyes. Her eyes.

She would pluck those eyes out last, she decided. She wanted him to see the next town fall first.

“Mother,” Theran’s voice whispered through the wind. “They’re coming.”

Darshan’s lips twitched.

Bastard. How dared he eavesdrop?

Banewolf pushed against his outer shield, slamming her power against his. Darshan stumbled back, using his staff to ease his steps. His right foot was bound with strips of dirty cotton. The limb was turned inwards and trembled when he shifted. The staff stayed close, like a second bone that gave him strength. Banewolf followed, eyes latching onto the staff.

The wood was thick, making it an excellent conduit. Inside, the veins of wood trembled with magic.

And unlike Darshan, the staff was unshielded.

Banewolf sent a burst of raw power into it.

The wood shook as their dual power pulsed inside. The staff made a hmmm sound, and then shattered, sending bits of wood, leather, and bone around the room. Darshan fell back, wincing.

Banewolf smiled.

“So you’re the one the mages from the five towns sent. You’re their champion.” She wanted to laugh. “You’re a cripple.”

“And handsome. And a bastard.”

And apparently modest.

Despite herself, Banewolf was amused. Pity she would have to kill him. Then again, not a pity; he should have died ages before. This time, she would bleed him out personally.

Darshan rose. Around him, splinters and bone fragments shimmered.

Banewolf walked over to the table by her bed. Chalice or blade; one would allow her to watch him magically bleed away, the other would turn the stones beneath her feet red.

Footsteps, behind her. “My lady,” Akim said. “The mages--”

“Are here. I know.” Damn Darshan for distracting her.

She motioned at his throat with her one hand, making a clenching motion. The air around him flickered blue-silver.

No luck; his last spell was still in effect.

“Go kill the others,” she said.

Akim’s footsteps receded.

Banewolf turned and picked up a knife. Most mages focused on magical protection and didn’t bother with physical ones. If this one had focused on keeping up his defenses to outlast his conduit--

Pain spiked into her back.

Banewolf gasped. The sharp ache cut through her, pulling at her muscles. A glance down showed that something metal had come partway through her, the blood-slicked point sticking out of her chest.

Banewolf turned, raising her knife. She would not allow him to live and tell others that--

Her insides--her stomach, her arms, her head, everywhere-- trembled. The pain swamped her, becoming her.

Flesh tore open along her fingers, sending red seems up her arms. Red muscles opened, revealing glistening white bones. “Dark--”

Darshan watched Banewolf’s body unravel. The wet meat tore open, breaking away from the bones. Pain had been central to the spell he’d cast on his blade. He’d hoped that an intense feeling would hamper her ability to gather strength from the Darkness. The gambit had proven true.

He turned and headed for his staff’s remains. Pain throbbed up his leg, sharpening when he knelt and gathered the small bones. They felt cool against his skin. Strong. It would please them to know that they’d won, and this world was theirs again.

Darshan rose. He hoped . . .

He smiled. He hoped.

A few feet away, Banewolf’s bones lay on a pulpy red sea. Darshan moved through it carefully. The struggle had physically tired him, and his foot hurt when he placed weight on it.

It was a good pain, though. A companionable pain. Something that would focus him and make him careful. A cripple? No. A mage.

He picked up Banewolf’s skull and limped out of the Tower.

They’d been too late to save Numeira, but the remaining three towns were safe. They would strengthen their fortifications, increase their protection wards, and destroy the remains of Banewolf’s empire. With Banewolf gone, the five towns-- Three.

Damn her and her Darkness, there were only three towns of the plains now.

The destruction was still too raw for Darshan to accept. He thought of the towns as a hand guiding the world forward. A man--or a woman, he silently amended, could live with only three fingers. It would take time to learn how to work around the absence, but the loss would always remain.

And like him, they would not be cripples. They would grow out of this. They would change. They had to; the past had led them to this, and he would be damned if Bab edh-Dhra was destroyed for nothing.

Outside, a small hill of bodies burned. At the sound of his steps, figures emerged from the shadows. They bowed their heads at his approach. One of them--Akim, Banewolf’s former general--kept his gaze on him.

Darshan reached into his cloak and withdrew his blade.

Akim had approached him a month before, whispering that Banewolf had noticed his son. With her gone, the general no longer had a reason to stay with them. Darshan limped past Akin, then pivoted on his good leg and drove it into Akim’s arm.

Warm blood rained over Darshan’s hand, and a moment later the tip of the knife broke through the other side of Akim’s arm.

The strike pushed Akim back, knocking his wounded arm and the knife’s tip into the woman beside him.

Darshan yanked the blade back. Akim and the woman, the only survivor from Numeira, clamped their hands over their wounds and scowled.

“Thank you for your help,” Darshan said, slipping the knife back into the sheath inside his cloak. Their scowls eased, leaving confusion.

Darshan continued walking, heading for a clear space on a rock. Guilt and relief tumbled over one another in his gut. As long as they had a common enemy, the group would work together. They would follow him, work with their own women, and accept Akim. When Banewolf and her children were gone, they would revert.

The twin scars, though, seemed to create loyalty. It would buy them the time to learn Akim’s secrets, learn how to move past crippling beliefs, and hopefully keep them united.

Hushed steps followed him.

“What do we do next?” the woman asked.

“Kill the Darkness’ servants,” Darshan said. “Kill, don’t play.”

“Sire,” one of the other mages said. “They’ve made us suffer over the years. It would be good to return it.”

Darshan shook his head. He could not deny that it would feel good. However, he wanted something different for them. A fresh start, untainted by their past. “We’re above that.”

“Sire--”

“We. Are. Above. That.” Darshan slumped onto a rock. Blessed be to whoever was the first to fight the Darkness, but it felt so good to get off his foot. “I will destroy anyone who defies this order.”