Larcout: Fire Born, Blood Blessed, #1

Dedication

For the ogre in the closet.

The bogeyman never stood a chance.

Acknowledgements

To my parents: for support, sanctuary, and clearing out a huge space in the basement. Most of all, for believing. To my sister: for that, that, that, and that. To Jenn: for reading, re-reading, and re-re-re-reading. Thanks for helping me navigate the whole indie thing. To Jeffe: for Goonar and Leezard. To my editor Heather Osborn: for throwing the WTF flag on the field. No braying donkeys next time, I promise. To my copy editor Melissa: for all the edits that made me quote the Princess Bride. To Glendon at Streetlight Graphics: for your patience and your amazing talent with the formatting, map, and most of all—the spectacular cover.

Chapter 1

Blood-beings could be chattel or they could be char. There were no other options for them in Agenwold. The four male gods had created these arid mountains as a prison for their sister’s fire-children, the Morsam. The Morsam, in turn, made Agenwold a prison for any male god’s child foolish enough to cross the Pogichan Sea. If blood-beings bothered to think before they fled, they would know freedom did not exist here.

Still, blood-beings ran without regard for their destination.

Vadrigyn os Harlo leaned against the warm mouth of a shale cave, watching her kin toy with their morning prey. The Morsam’s broad golden wings reflected the suns, blinding the bestial Nivurnian as he scrambled down the mountainside, sometimes on two feet and sometimes on four. The Nivurnian’s striped tail and tattered pants showed damage from the heat.

Blood-beings refused to admit the unfiltered intensity of the six suns ringing Agenwold posed a threat to their persons. The turbulent skies over their native nations had shielded them from the truth, yet even when exposed to the facts they clung to the lie.

Vadrigyn, will you not save that man from the winged monsters? The Nivurnian behind her spoke with soft deference.

The entrance to my holdings is no secret. If he wished to be saved he would run toward us and not the sea, she answered in the foreign tongue of her recently acquired chattel. They huddled in the darkness of the cavern, safe from the suns and bored Morsam. He is like many of you blood-beings—fragile and willfully blind. He believes he can conquer the terrain, yet excludes the suns from his consideration. He thinks he can run faster than a fire-child can fly, yet he ignores the physical obstacles only he faces.

An animalistic bray drifted up to the cave. Frustrated keens sounded from the swarm of circling Morsam. Her chattel shuffled back. She returned her attention to the fleeing Nivurnian. He no longer ran. His round furry ears peeked from a ring of boulders. His claws scraped at the unmovable stones to no avail. Another scream and he vanished from sight into a hunting trap—one of hers, to be precise.

Fool.

The stupidity of blood-beings amused her kin. Her kin’s stupidity provided opportunities for her. She leveraged those opportunities to amass more blood-beings. The cycle endured day after day, year after year. One day she would break free of the pattern, and break free from the mountain. One day she would prove to the gods that the burn of her essential fire was more than destructive, it was evolutionary. It was a fire that cleared away the old and fed the new.

Live. Learn. Burn.

To be achieved one day. Just not today.

Should you ever flee from me, chattel, I will not give chase. Vadrigyn tightened the protective vambraces of molded leather, metal, and bones around her forearms. You will die knowing it was your foolishness that killed you.

The new chattel retreated further into the darkness.

I will return when the suns set to lead you down to the mines. She attached an array of hollowed talons taken from the wingtips of defeated Morsam to her boots. My other dependents rest while the suns are high. You may find that beneficial, or you may continue to learn from the mistakes of your kind. I grant you the choice.

Vadrigyn locked her gorget of scavenged metal and edible rocks about her neck, and headed out into the blessed heat. Her flesh eagerly drank the touch of the suns as she scaled the jagged formations protecting the entrance to her holdings. The moment she descended, the first challenge was raised.

Half-breed, you’ve stolen my blood-sac, shouted one of the Morsam.

We own what we can keep, she countered, approaching the cluster of boulders that masked her rudimentary trap. You could not keep your chattel; therefore, he is no longer yours.

What is to say we will not take him from you, you wingless aberration? The swarm keened and rattled their armor. Morsam took great pride in the bits of armor they wore, but most Morsam could not say from whence the metal had come. They did not care to know which nation of blood-beings had brought the metal to Agenwold generations ago. They did not care to know why the metal had ceased to come. They cared about amassing whatever existed now.

They chose not to learn. They chose to be ignorant.

More than one of her kinsmen had tried to pry off the band of various metals growing from her left bicep. The scrolling depictions betrayed her mixed heritage, but served as easy bait. She had accumulated enough metal through combat to create mining tools for her chattel, winches for her hunting traps, and modifications to her attire. She did not need a full suit of armor to elicit envy among her kin. That she had her own holdings sufficed.

Come get your toy. She leapt atop a large smooth rock and motioned to the idiots above her. The thick metal spikes of her boots screeched against the stone, carving niches of traction. I will enjoy exposing your weakness in defense of what is mine.

Leave her, sniped one of the swarm. Dead blood-sacs are of no use to us. Let the half-breed play with the trash.

The fools made a grand show of stirring up dirt and pebbles before retreating from the challenge they had issued. Vadrigyn brushed off their petty attempts at stoning and snorted. Rigorous and frequent peltings had lost their effectiveness long before she had achieved puberty. She was nowhere near as breakable as a blood-being—neither in mind nor body.

Each ridge in her vambraces was a piece of a Morsam who had challenged her right to live. The ones she currently wore were far from her only pair.

She hopped off the boulder and tromped on a small treadle tucked into the shadow of a stone. The copper winch attached to the underside of the boulder spun, coiling the lynching rope and hoisting the dead Nivurnian from the deep pit. His spotted head appeared first, followed by broad furry shoulders. He had died in his partially bestial state. His remains would have been more profitable had he died in his fully bestial form with a large plush pelt, but scarcity had taught her how to repurpose everything. She hefted the rest of the massive body out of the pit and sighed.

Char and blisters littered the corpse’s back and face.

His muscles were thick and sinewy. He had a slight paunch, indicating he had been well fed. That meant he was new chattel, still full of dreams of a life on the other side of the Pogichan—a life the Morsam envied because they could never know it. The swarm had permitted his escape for the sole purpose of entertainment.

Fools.

Chattel had taught her many things. They had shared their languages, their lore, their histories, and their cultures with her. All of those things were as different as the races themselves, yet their stories held a common moral. Regardless of which male god the chattel worshipped, that god had rewarded his children for providing for and protecting the weak. That god had punished those who sought individual glory at the price of others’ wellbeing.

Those notions contrasted sharply with her goddess’s desire. Mother Oriva had created the Morsam with her essence, with her fire. The goddess’s fire demanded domination and destruction. Blind obedience to essential fire had to be the reason the male gods kept all fire-children imprisoned. Therefore, controlling those demands had to be the key to freedom.

Freedom was worth far more than the thrill of slaughtering inferior races.

However, until she could go where she chose whenever she chose, Vadrigyn had to do what she could with what she had on Agenwold. That meant preserving the dead Nivurnian’s head for accounting, curing the flesh, carving the meat into meals for the other blood-beings, turning the fat into fuel to light the caves, and honing the bones into tools.

She crossed the arms of the corpse over her shoulders and climbed out of the trap. A deafening roar volleyed up from the base of the mountain. She paused atop her vantage point and scanned the western base of the mountains.

The Pogichan Sea crashed against the foothills and retreated, leaving behind a ship broken upon the rocks. Pale men in short skirts and women in shorter dresses crawled out of the wreckage. Blood-beings from the watery lands of Jos screamed useless pleas for help as the Pogichan pushed them higher up the mountain. The sea claimed three Jossair men before receding to its banks. The blood-beings’ cries carried up the mountains, alerting every fire-child to their arrival.

Morsam hunting cheers filled the air. Swarms of young and old raced for new prey to add to their holdings.

The Jossairs shielded their eyes against the brilliant light sweeping down the mountain. Panic broke out among them. Clusters of Jossair men assembled behind each of their women. Three of the factions fanned out and ran up the foothills. The others held their ground. Jossair Mistresses shouted commands. Blue orbs of magic grew around the hands of the men.

Predictable.

The Morsam laughed, evading bolts of water magic. The Morsam’s highly reflective armor directed the merciless rays of the suns at the Jossair troops. Two Jossair men broiled on the spot from the concentrated sunlight. The other blood-beings broke formation and fled, making it easy for the Morsam swarms to pluck them off the slopes.

One swarm neglected to track their distance from the mountain.

The sentient sea roared again. Swells gained in height. Foamy caps stretched into liquid claws. The Pogichan snatched three Morsam out of the sky. Immense watery fists crumpled golden wings and crushed armor. The Morsam raged with pain. They fought with blade and talon, yet the superior strength of a fire-child meant nothing to the vast sea. The swells receded, dragging their prisoners below the endless rolling tides.

Swarms hovered nearer the mountain, waiting, watching…hoping.

The Pogichan quieted. Tides mellowed to their hateful lap and lick against the foothills.

Laughter erupted among the remaining swarms. Derision for the stupidity of the felled signaled the end to the momentary entertainment. The swarms returned to their various holdings along the mountains, carrying with them the hapless Jossairs and ignoring pleas in a language none of them cared to know.

Half-breed, shouted the largest of the Morsam, breaking away from a swarm. He dangled two brawny Jossair men by their feet. I demand a trade.

Vadrigyn gripped the corpse’s wrists with one hand and opened her other hand at her side. Surging essential fire woke the parasites residing within her. The flesh of one palm parted. The Dorgof parasite stretched its singular impenetrable white talon until it reached a length and breadth comparable to a man’s thigh. Its sharp edges gleamed under the brilliance of the suns. Umber venom beaded at its curved tip and dripped on the rock, burning a divot with each drop.

If I wanted water chattel, Begreith, I would have gone and claimed one for myself.

Liar, her half-brother derided, hovering overhead. You trade food for blood-sacs. Sometimes you steal from unguarded pens. The latter is less shameful.

Padorma, whispered his captives. They quit their flailing and pointed at Vadrigyn’s left bicep. We found the Padorma.

Only the water race called her by that infernal name, and usually just before they attempted to kill her.

The Jossairs’ panicked curses gained in speed and lessened in volume. The metal embedded in Vadrigyn’s skin tingled with the pricks of a thousand tiny frigid spears as the blood-beings invoked their foreign magic.

Unless you want them to die, Begreith, I suggest you remind them they are no longer in the water nation.

Begreith lobbed the captives in the air and caught them by their glowing hands, crushing their bones. Chants distorted into a unified shriek. Begreith held the Jossairs to his chest and shattered their lungs with a brutal squeeze. Shrieking faded to gurgles that ended in eternal silence.

The tingling in her arm stopped.

You accept the trade, then. Begreith dropped his dead prizes. One landed on her boulder with a crunch, snap, and sizzle. The other plummeted into her trap.

Hardly. She grimaced. The stench of broiling flesh turned her stomach.

Then you should not have made me destroy two of my Jossairs. Begreith alighted on a boulder across the pit from her. He flared his wings and removed his helmet, revealing vibrant Jossair silks coiled around his hairless head. Hand over two of your Nivurnians—live ones.

One Nivurnian is worth more than twenty Jossairs to me. She sliced through the broken neck of the dead Jossair at her feet.

Begreith flicked blood spatter from his cheek and tossed aside his helmet. A trade is a trade, half-breed. Give me my due.

Trade assumes two parties are in agreement. She hooked the tip of the Dorgof into the Jossair’s hair and flipped the severed head to Begreith. I agreed to nothing. You are the fool who killed your own chattel. If you want to pay me to dispose of your dead, then that is a different matter.

You dare demand payment from me, half-breed? He crushed the head between his gold gauntlets, spraying brain and gore. For that insult, you will give me four Nivurnians and a half dozen Kethorians for good measure.

If you are going to steal from me, the entrance to my holdings is over there. She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. His hiss made her grin. What is wrong, Begreith? Do you have a problem entering the caves? Afraid your wings will be crushed?

He covered the distance between them with one step. He stood close enough to her that his breastplate smashed against her bosom. She refused to give ground. She met his pale yellow gaze, unflinching.

Do not think I am blind to the games you play with your chattel, he murmured. His wings beat, churning the air until the corpse along her back danced with the gusts. You will not succeed. Morsam can only be ruled by strength and ruthlessness.

Rule, she scoffed. What reward is there in ruling a prison?

You either dominate or you are dominated. He tilted his wings until they caught the sunlight and burned away the residue of his kill. This is a truth no pure fire-child can escape.

The fire of our goddess flows through my veins at all times. That it burns differently from yours does not invalidate Mother Oriva’s blessing upon my existence. She curled her lip, exposing a double set of thick fangs.

Do not flaunt your shameful differences to me, half-breed. He yanked the Nivurnian corpse from her and flung it to the ground. The body collapsed in a malformed heap, its bones crushed by his careless touch. Harlo humiliated every Morsam by permitting the blood-sac Ephinnia to swell with his get.

Essential fire stoked brighter. The second parasite grew from her other palm.

You will speak of our father with respect.

He leaned down and touched his nose to hers. Harlo deserved to die.

No more than you. She whirled behind him, aiming at his unprotected wings. He spun aside, evading her blow. The parasites sliced off the solid gold barbs protruding from his armor.

For years I have tolerated your existence because you provide entertainment. He drew his sword and laughed. It amuses me to watch you siphon from the greater holdings without them realizing their stupidity.

It has created envy within you. She raised her forearm and pivoted under his counterattack. The ridges of her vambrace deflected his blade, but the impact vibrated up her arm and rang in her ears. She thrust aside his weapon and leapt to another boulder.

Do not confuse my notice with envy. He brandished his sword and shook his head. I will admit to being impressed by the power you’ve amassed by becoming the sole provider of food to numerous holdings. But the time has come to make that power mine.

Lights shimmered, heralding the arrival of onlookers. Morsam always gathered when fire was guaranteed to blaze. They formed a combatants’ ring around the boulders, forcing her to stay on elevated terrain. It was not the wisest place to be when facing an opponent who could fly. If she fell into the trap she had rigged, Begreith would bury her alive.

Wretched way to die.

You cannot gain that power without my chattel. She crossed her parasites and caught his crushing blow. Her elbows buckled, but the Dorgof held. His sword did not. Metal broke across the unyielding parasites. The fractured sword tip bounced harmlessly off of her gorget and into the pit.

Roaring laughter poured from the crowd congregating around them.

Without you, there is no one to stop me from claiming them. He threw aside his useless hilt.

Are you prepared to tear apart the mountains? she taunted through clenched teeth, embracing the pain radiating up her arms from his thwarted attack. You will have to, in order to reach my chattel.

The blood-beings she hoarded did more than mine edible rocks. Protecting and providing for the weaker races showed the male gods she was not a wholly destructive Morsam. Essential fire did not control her. She controlled it. Most of the time.

She was worthy of freedom.

You collect Kethorians and Nivurnians; I collect Jossairs. He swiped at her with the talons of his wings, forcing her to guard her back as well as her front. They will flood the caves and drive your precious chattel into my waiting arms.

Your feckless Jossairs will drown the chattel you mean to possess. You will have nothing. She dug her soles into the boulder as he unsheathed his short swords. She narrowed her eyes and tipped her head. Why now? Why do you need my chattel now?

The arrival of a searing light was accompanied by a swell of cheering. The half-breed asks a valid question, Begreith os Harlo.

Chieftain Reidrig. Begreith drew back his wings and returned his swords to their scabbards. However, he kept his hands on the hilts.

Chieftain Reidrig alighted at the edge of the ring of combat. A raw scar shaped like flames covered her golden face—the recent blessing of leadership from Mother Oriva. If you want to earn the mark of rule, Begreith, shouldn’t you be challenging me?

I prefer you heal before I take it from you. Begreith sneered. Whatever occurs between Vadrigyn and me is purely a matter for the Harlo fireline.

You are meddling with my food supply. The chieftain drummed her fingers on the buckle of her weapons belt. Her serrated blades clanked against her chainmail. Meddling irritates me.

The gathered Morsam guffawed. Armor rattled.

You, Reidrig pointed to her left. Slaughter all the os Harlo chattel you can find.

Whooping cheers erupted as a dozen Morsam took to flight. Begreith clutched the hilts of his short swords so tightly the dense metal molded to his hands.

Vadrigyn swore and bid the Dorgof to retract into her palms. Her chattel were safe within the mountain, but Begreith’s Jossairs would die. No matter her disdain for the water race, the slaughter of blood-beings was precisely what kept them all imprisoned.

Please forgive my interruption, most wise and ruthless Chieftain Reidrig. A cold feminine voice mangled the rough rasp and flow of Morsam with a nasal pitch. A shroud of familiar pelts wended its way through the gathered Morsam. The wingless woman with black skin and a large dark opal embedded in her brow crouched at the chieftain’s feet.

The blood-being Ephinnia.

Vadrigyn tensed and reassessed all those within reach of the vile woman who had birthed her.

What is it, blood-sac, Reidrig snarled.

Ephinnia stood and clutched Reidrig’s bare arm. Vadrigyn is building an army of chattel. She is the one who intends to seize your mark of rule.

Pain scraped through Vadrigyn’s mind like talons through flesh. Proximity to Ephinnia had always been unpleasant and more than dangerous. Their mutual hostility grew more vicious as they both aged.

Chieftain Reidrig, the blood-being uses her foreign magic on you, Vadrigyn cautioned. Do not permit her to touch you.

Begreith seeks to preserve the honor of his father by eradicating the monster Harlo coerced me into creating. Ephinnia clasped Reidrig’s naked palm to her marred dark breast. Word of a revolt is everywhere among the slaves. The only way to stop it is to kill my daughter.

The chieftain’s dark golden eyes glazed over.

The pain in Vadrigyn’s head doubled. She bared her fangs. Her heart thundered in her chest. The accursed blood-being had successfully claimed another Morsam chieftain as her prey. None of the Morsam understood the insidious nature of Ephinnia’s magic. None believed the woman had magic because they could not see it manifest.

Fools.

Chieftain Reidrig, Vadrigyn barked. Move away from the blood-being, lest you fall as Harlo did.

Vadrigyn os Harlo, do you dare to command me? Reidrig’s booming voice brought silence to the mountain. Do you dare call me weak?

You are under a spell, Chieftain. Vadrigyn gauged the anticipation on the faces surrounding them and the bemusement on Begreith’s. In your mind, you know chattel pose no threat to our race. What damage can a blood-being do to a child of Mother Oriva? If they cut us they burn from the escape of our essential fire.

Murmurs rippled from the gathering.

See how the half-breed is turning your people against you, Chieftain Reidrig? Ephinnia tightened her grip on the chieftain’s hand until her knuckles whitened. Make her kneel before you. Take her head while she grovels for mercy.

Vadrigyn os Harlo, kneel, bellowed Reidrig.

Morsam do not kneel. Vadrigyn shook her head against the increasing agony tearing apart the inside of her skull. Her smoky essence dribbled from her nose. These are not the words of a Morsam chieftain in control of her own thoughts. They are the words of a blood-being who would see us destroy ourselves.

Force her to her knees, Ephinnia shrieked. Take her head now.

Begreith os Harlo, prove your honor. Seize the half-breed, Reidrig commanded. Put her on her knees.

Begreith’s gauntlet connected with Vadrigyn’s chest before Reidrig finished speaking, knocking Vadrigyn into the drop-trap. The Dorgof severed the dense wire as they peeked. The net of the trap unraveled around her. Vadrigyn’s hands tangled in a knot of frayed wire uncoiling from the winch.

Your chattel will still be mine. Begreith grabbed her wrists in one hand and hauled her out of the pit. You brought this upon yourself, half-breed.

Vadrigyn had done no such thing. Ephinnia, the root of virulent evil, watched her with malicious anticipation as she continued to pet the chieftain.

Reidrig’s hands rose to the brilliant sky, silencing the crowd of whispers. Blessings to Oriva, the Goddess of Instigation, mother of the Morsam.

Blessings to Mother Oriva, the Morsam answered in unity.

Harlo required us to tolerate his half-breed get, but his embers are long cold. Today we end the disgrace his weakness foisted upon us. Today we honor Mother Oriva’s glory by purging Harlo’s shame from the mountain. Death to Vadrigyn os Harlo. Reidrig drew her weapons and thrust them in the air. Her words devolved into barely coherent muttering as she tumbled further under Ephinnia’s enchantment. Death to Vadrigyn os Harlo.

Promise me your chattel and I will let you go, Begreith murmured, brutally pinning Vadrigyn’s arms behind her back.

No. Vadrigyn resisted his offer and his hold. I will not give up my chance at freedom from this prison.

Freedom? I never took you for an imbecile. He wrenched her arms and slammed his kneepieces into her legs.

Vadrigyn’s legs buckled. Her shoulders strained in their sockets. Agony contorted her body and rolled her eyes. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out her weakness.

Purge Harlo’s shame from the mountain. Death to Vadrigyn os Harlo, Reidrig said flatly as she spun her swords.

Ephinnia released her tool of destruction and smiled triumphantly.

Purge Harlo’s shame from the mountain. Death to Vadrigyn os Harlo, Reidrig repeated as she advanced, wings beating and swords angled for a killing blow.

Vadrigyn struggled against Begreith, gaining her feet. The pain in her shoulders amplified. She embraced it. Essential fire flashed, demanding domination and destruction.

The suns blazed off Reidrig’s weapon until she was within reach.

Purge Harlo’s shame from the mountain, Reidrig screamed. Death to Vadrigyn os Harlo.

Vadrigyn kicked back at Begreith. Her spiked soles connected with his shin guards. He laughed and jerked her arms higher. She struck out at him again and again. Each of her moves was countered by one of his, increasing the pain. He held fast. She twisted once more against his unrelenting grip and dislocated her shoulder.

Pain laid open the mind to the will of the gods.

Hideous cold burst forth from her heart and oozed into her muscles. Terror intensified with the strange sensation of her inner fire dying. She could not move. She could not breathe. The weight of a thousand unseen boulders pummeled her skull. Discipline crushed her panic. Logic had to prevail. Her body was no longer under her control. Her essential fire was being suppressed by someone.

Someone held her in the clutches of outsider magic.

Reidrig raised her swords and angled them at Vadrigyn’s neck. Once more the words of Ephinnia’s enchantment spilled from her lips. Purge Harlo’s shame from the mountain. Death to Vadrigyn os Harlo.

Vadrigyn’s mind was the only part of her untainted by magic and still functional. If her thoughts were the last weapon she possessed, then she would wield them until her eternal end. For all the good they would do her.

Fire demanded fight.

She silently shouted at those around her, Stand down. Stand down. Now.

Ephinnia clutched her skull and collapsed, screaming and writhing in the dirt.

Stand down. Morsam, stand down. Reidrig shouldered her swords. You too, Begreith. Now.

A coward rescinds a ruling she just made. Begreith released Vadrigyn and drew his weapons. Reidrig, if you cannot withstand the burdens of command, then the time of your rule is at an end.

My time has just begun, Reidrig barked. Her wings flared, stretching their talons. How dare you question the blessings of Mother Oriva? Morsam, purge Harlo’s true shame from the mountain. Death to Begreith os Harlo.

Begreith launched himself at Reidrig. The two Morsam collided in midair. Sparks flew from the clash and crash of weapons and armor. Begreith’s blade pierced the gap between Reidrig’s gorget and spaulder. Fire burst from the chieftain’s severed arm. She staggered back, confusion puckering her features. Begreith’s second blow felled the chieftain with blazing finality.

Reidrig is dead, bellowed Begreith. I claim the right of rule.

Words leapt to Vadrigyn’s mind, but still nothing formed in voice. Not even air could move past the hateful magic immobilizing her body. If she did not break the enchantment soon, she would die from suffocation before any Morsam blade reached her.

The time for change was now.

The time for change is now, Morsam cheered in unison, launching into the air. Armor rattled. Weapons gleamed in the suns. Shouts of new challenges filled the sky. The contagion of battle lust spread with lick of flame and curl of ash. Morsam turned on each other, each eager to claim the mark of rule.

Kill the half-breed. She is the source of this. Kill her. Kill her now, Ephinnia howled, clawing her way along the barren ground. The detestable woman seized foot after foot of Morsam in the throes of conflict. Kill the half-breed. Do it now. I command you.

Kill the get of Harlo, shouted someone. Death to Begreith os Harlo. Death to Vadrigyn os Harlo. The time for change is now.

Morsam flew at each other, clashing in the skies above Vadrigyn’s head and tumbling past her feet. Panic constricted her throat. Her hair tangled around her, moving with the beat of conflict drawing closer and closer. A dislodged piece of armor bounced off her chest. A blade sang past her ear.

Vadrigyn tried to move but cold held her fast. Spots filled her eyes. She could no longer sort the ringing of battle from the ringing of suffocation.

What horrible magic was this?

Hot metal pierced her shoulder. Damp smoke burst from her wound.

Mother Oriva’s fire roared within her, chasing away the cold. Mobility returned to her muscles with each reawakened lick of essential flame. Convulsions shook her from head to boot. Her legs gave out. She toppled to her side. The agony of her speared and dislocated shoulder overrode the pain in her skull. She gasped and panted, fighting for control of her own body.

A Morsam war cry keened overhead. Vadrigyn rolled to her back. The Dorgof sprouted from her palms. The venomous parasites pierced armor. The flames of the Morsam attacker’s death passed blissfully over her aching body.

She was a half-breed. Fire renewed.

Vadrigyn, my dear strong daughter. Ephinnia struggled to her feet and threw off the pelts. Dark arms opened in welcome. By the benevolent gods, you have inherited the magic of my Larcoutian blood. At long last, you and I will rule these mountains as is our right. It is the legacy your father left you, left us.

Vadrigyn extracted her weapon from a dying fool and sprang to her feet. Fire raged as she faced her true enemy.

Morsam leadership is earned not inherited. Vadrigyn spat ash. If you had bothered to learn that before raping my father, you could have been spared your misery. Instead you have consistently sought my demise in hopes of eradicating the proof of your foolishness. Today changes nothing. I am not now, nor will I ever be, your means of ruling any race.

Today changes everything, Ephinnia gushed, her dark eyes alight. The Divine Larcout has blessed you with a gift like mine. We are Kontros, manipulators of desires and free will. You enthralled these monsters. All of them. You seized their minds and—

Dorgof silenced Ephinnia’s last lie.

Ephinnia’s head thudded at Vadrigyn’s feet. Gore dripped from the parasites. The mild warmth of blood spatter bathed Vadrigyn’s chest and dotted her face.

Strange the way blood lingered after the kill.

Her tongue captured a crimson droplet dangling from the tip of her nose. It tasted of salt. Her smoke did not taste of salt. There was no Larcoutian blood within her, no matter what Ephinnia had wanted her to believe. There was only Mother Oriva’s fire.

Inherited blood-magic. Ridiculous.

Purge the mountain of Harlo’s get. Death to Begreith. Death to the half-breed. Death to all blood-sacs. The time for change is now.

The hateful cry jerked Vadrigyn’s chin up. The infection of Ephinnia’s magic lingered in spite of the woman’s death. The clang of stone and clatter of metal played a heavy bass beat to the cries of death as the Morsam reveled in battle lust. Fire blazed from open gashes, sending kin and kith slamming into the arid mountainside. Plumes of ash and dirt merged with smoke to block the glare of the six suns.

There’s the half-breed. Whoever takes her head, takes the right of rule.

Curses spilled from her lips as she scanned the battlefield and identified six avenues of escape, but what then? If she ran, she would be just like the blood-beings—what was left of them. If she stayed, she would fight. She might well win, but the Morsam would blame her for the slaughter they themselves had wrought. Each fireline would demand payment from her flesh.

So be it.

She would survive it. She would prove once and for all that she was not weak because she was wingless. She would come out of it with their respect etched into her skin. Vadrigyn dug in her heels and braced for battle.

If she could not have freedom, she would have dominion.

The first attacker came on foot. Vadrigyn spun and kicked high. The talons adorning her boot rent flesh from sword arm. Fire spewed from the wound. She pierced the Morsam’s thigh with deadly venom. Her opponent roared in fatal agony and collapsed upon a smoldering corpse.

The second attack came from above. She leapt toward him with her Dorgof aimed at his ribs and sliced him in half where he hovered. On and on she fended them off. Exhaustion weighed upon her, slowing her reactions, but still she fought.

The fump, fump, fump of golden wings churned through gray skies and blew blinding ash into her eyes. Fireline fought fireline without care for cause or reason. Reidrig was dead. Chaos reigned.

Pain exploded across her skull. She staggered forward as her vision blurred. Two gold gauntlets captured her wrists and twisted the parasites toward her spine. She retracted the Dorgof and screamed with agony as her shoulder popped back into place. Her gorget kept her opponent from using her arm to crush her own throat.

Well played, half-breed, Begreith breathed in her ear as his mighty wings took them above the battlefield. I must say I’m impressed and more than a little pleased.

She stilled. Lashing back with her unguarded elbows into his full suit of armor would hurt her more than it did him. The angle at which they flew kept his legs away from hers.

You finally killed your own worthless mother, he jeered as he evaded clusters of aerial conflict. Once I dispose of you, Agenwold will be completely purged of shame. Mother Oriva will reward me with the mark of rule.

It is your name on their tongues as well, Begreith. You are tainted by your own actions.

Night will come and clear away the haze of battle. New leadership will rise with strong arm and stronger will. His lips grazed her ear. No one is stronger than I, half-breed.

Look down, Begreith. They have slaughtered the chattel. They will blame you when boredom blends with hunger. She scowled at the evidence littering the mountain as the last chattel were slaughtered while they ran. Blood flowed in dark streams around the smoldering corpses of fallen Morsam. You may claim rule, but you will not be able to hold it.

I’m willing to bet your chattel still cower inside the mountain. Your abandonment of them will draw them to the surface. I told you they would be mine and so will all the metal you’re hoarding in your caves. I will build a metal palace on the summit so that all will be blinded by my glory. He hovered high above the banks of the Pogichan. As for the other firelines, a tribute to the Pogichan will encourage it to deliver more blood-sacs for our amusements. The Morsam will not suffer for long.

The Morsam will suffer for as long as the male gods keep them prisoner. You refuse to see the path to freedom even though it winds around your feet.

Your greatest weakness is the part of you that is a blood-sac, he chuckled in her ear. Blood stays your hand when your fire tells you to kill. Mother Oriva has no use for those who refuse to dominate and destroy.

You are a fool, she hissed.

And you are fodder. Begreith hurled her over the sentient sea.

A furious cry ripped from her as she plummeted toward the gods-created slayer of the Morsam. The water’s crisp sweet stink filled her lungs. Rushing winds forced her eyes wide. In the distance, the watery lands of Jos and woodsy lands of Kethor mocked her demise. Below, the Pogichan rippled and balked, creating swells as it rose from the confines of its banks.

Her bloodstained hands scrabbled at the wind. Her gorget slammed into her jaw. She split her lip on her fangs. Her smoky essence dribbled into the raging waters. The Pogichan surged. Frothy swells morphed into reaching claws. Cold spray struck her face. Wet curled around her body.

She screamed.

Ominous laughter drowned out the roar of the sea. Water’s slimy touch turned abrasive. Dark grit dotted the foam and froth, multiplying and thickening until a black cloud of sand pried open the watery claws. Stark fear mixed with the demand to fight. She lashed out at the new threat with fist and boot.

To no avail.

Grains of sand closed about her, as insubstantial as water. The Dorgof burst from her palms, reaching for something, anything solid. The disembodied laughter roared until she could no longer tell if it came from the sea or from some dark hollow within her. It shook her mind and juddered her muscles.

Sand tightened around her, an unyielding fist crushing armor into flesh. More sand jammed down her throat and up her nose, scoring her insides. Her Morsam essence welled, heating sand to glass. She gagged on the clumps and gasped for air.

Glimpses of the grasping sea faded amid the lethal onslaught of black sand.

Chapter 2

The sand finally loosened its hold and ceased its invasion of her body. Vadrigyn spat glass and gulped mouthfuls of air.

Air.

Not water.

Air through which she continued to fall.

Vadrigyn opened her eyes and choked on her own essence. She careened toward an overpopulated pit of wingless dark beings milling through green land and frolicking in tranquil blue water. The circle of blue did not reach for her as the Pogichan had, but the stink confirmed it was definitely water.

What magic spared her from the clutches of the sentient sea only to drop her in this center of rippling blue?

A prayer for wings escaped her lips. Mother Oriva remained unwilling to grant that request.

If the water did not crush her upon impact, she might stand a chance at reaching the shore. How one successfully fought against the water eluded her, but she was Morsam.

Fire demanded fight.

Landing feet first would shatter her spine. She threw her weight forward until her heavy boots rose above her head, speeding her descent. Her gorget rattled against her jaw. The Dorgof retracted. Her arms extended over her head until the palms touched each other to protect the parasites.

Cheering reached her a heartbeat before she plunged into the frigid blue.

The pressure of the water slowed her descent until her fingertips buckled in curious muck. Land. Land lay at the base of water, not ice. There was a chance for life if she could follow the land out of the water. Her lips clamped together to impede the cold liquid from making it inside her body. Her hands walked along the muck until the need for air began slowly crushing her lungs.

So this was the death her kin feared—with good reason.

Her talon-tipped boots sank to the unstable bottom. She clawed at the moving walls. Each downward swipe propelled her toward the surface. She kicked her feet and moved faster. Soon her head broke the surface, but too quickly she was drawn back into the depths. She fought the slayer of the Morsam and sucked in a quick mouthful of air before the water reclaimed her. The water scratched her lungs and throat, a heinous poison.

An arm snaked up her chest and hauled her to the surface.

Easy, easy, my exotic diver. You can quit flailing like your life depends on it. I have you, a masculine voice chuckled in her ear. Try to relax and the return to shore will be a bit quicker.

Larcoutian.

The man fighting water spoke Ephinnia’s native tongue.

Her hands broke free of the cold wet, reaching for the black arm angled between her breasts. The venom in her palms converted water to steam. Essential fire demanded she dominate and destroy. Essential fire demanded she live above all else. The certain death of water warred with the danger of trusting a Larcoutian.

Her hands hovered a hair away from the blood-being’s fragile flesh.

Ephinnia had been the only one of her kind on Agenwold. Vadrigyn knew nothing of Larcoutians except for their language. If they were all like Ephinnia, then he was taking her somewhere to kill her. On the other hand, perhaps she had been spared the Pogichan to stand accountable before Ephinnia’s god. If so, killing this Larcoutian male would not be wise.

She turned her palms away from the blood-being’s arm.

I may have misspoken, the man grunted. You must be wearing shoes of stone along with your collar of priceless metal. Help me out a little by kicking, eh?

She began kicking furiously, eager to do anything that would get her to land. The water filled her nose and mouth, causing her to choke.

Ouch, the man cried, laughing. Not so hard.

Their progress slowed as a knee pressed in the small of her back. Arch your back a bit and let your body float as best you can with those heavy feet. There you go. Now rest your head on my shoulder and let your arms drift out. Think of yourself as a feather floating on air. That’s it.

Difficulty breathing precluded her from correcting his error. Feathers did not float on air, they glided on currents.

I cannot imagine what you do that demands this interesting attire. He pressed his knee against her spine again. No stiffening, we’re almost there.

More water splashed into her mouth, tearing up her insides. Water gurgled in her lungs, destroying her ability to draw pure air. She had to comply with the blood-being while she focused on the fight against the wet until solid ground supported her.

Here we are. The stranger slogged up a slope of black sand rising from the banks. The arm he had used to propel them through the water swept under her knees. He carried her with notable effort due to their disparate size, yet he did not falter. His white hair stuck to his bare brawny chest. His black gaze drifted over her, full of curiosity.

Her growl escaped as a mewling wheeze while she fought wet air.

He quickened his pace. When the water crested at his hips, he tossed her up to the flats of the black beach. Lady Sana, I believe we are in need of assistance.

Coming, my Laric.

Vadrigyn rolled to her knees and tried to breathe. Her lungs froze and her ears rang. Breathing became a new enemy to battle.

By the gods, gasped a woman as soft hands smeared Vadrigyn’s hair from her face. You must have swallowed a lot of water.

She drank half the lake before I reached her, drawled her rescuer. I don’t think it agrees with her.

I might be able to help. The woman waved to her rescuer. My Laric, if you would hold her hair while I try to get it out of her?

Vadrigyn pounded sand.