Page 2 of Vasmora

“Perhaps you might be careful with that one,” a crackled voice said, bringing the general to a halt.

I didn’t have to look to confirm it was the beldame who’d arrived with the general–the one she’d called Melantha.

Though, she looked nothing like the fiery young redhead I’d met once before. In her place was a horrifically disfigured woman, one of her eyes as black as pitch, making the socket appear as an empty void. Her wrinkled gray skin and the hunch in her back could’ve fooled anyone into thinking she was someone else entirely. “She’s mortal. Her wounds stick far longer than ours.”

Breath stuttered through my lungs, my body still awaiting that strike.

Loyce lowered her fist and sneered. “What mortal do you know wields a bone whip?”

“That is a question you should ponder carefully, General.”

“Or you could spare your one good eye and tell me yourself.”

“It so happens she harbors a goddess. The most vicious of all.”

The general’s lips twitched, and a biting scoff slipped through her teeth. “What use does a goddess have of a mortal?”

At the risk of another strike, I glanced at Melantha and back. How could she know such a thing?

“What sense does it make for a goddess to choose something so weak? Powerless.” The general’s gaze raked over me with scorn. “I see no evidence of a vicious goddess. Only a frightened girl.”

“You are both sightless and ignorant, if you think I’m afraid of you,” I gritted out.

A cruel smile twisted the general’s lips. “Oh, how I look forward to proving you wrong. And we shall see just how vicious your goddess can be.” Her eyes gleamed with the promise of brutal vengeance.

I dragged my gaze lower, to those grisly gashes I’d left on her face that’d surely leave a scar. A defiant smirk tugged at my lips as I watched the amused look on her face turn sour.

“General Loyce!” A new soldier loped through the maze of trees toward us. “A message from King Jeret!” Bending at the waist and heaving, he stood outside of the soldiers’ circle. “Arrived by mimicrow.”

The general didn’t spare him so much as a glance as she rested her palm against the wound I’d inflicted, and a cold, glassy film settled over her eyes. “Someone remove her glove. Now.” She spun around, and a new soldier lurched toward me as she stormed off toward the one who’d summoned her. Loyce and the messenger whispered outside the surrounding guards, their secrets unheard. Meaningless.

I didn’t bother to fight as my hand was lifted. They could try removing the glove all they liked. I already knew it wouldn’t come off.

When the soldier’s gauntlets merely slipped over the surface, he huffed and removed them, tossing them aside. The moment he gripped one of the veins, he drew back his hand with a swift reflex. “Fuck!” A gash bled across his palm, one I suspected burned like a handful of hot coals.

Still cupping her cheek, the general strode back toward me, and like a fool, the soldier gripped my hand again for another futile attempt. Just as before, he recoiled at two more slices across his fingers. “It won’t come off, General.”

A low growl rumbled in her chest, her patience visibly thinning. “We don’t have time for this.” Then, like a snuffed wick, the wrath in her eyes vanished and she snapped into focus. “It seems we have a change of plans.”

I refused to look away from her, the oozing wound at her cheek when she lowered her hand giving me the slightest satisfaction.

When she turned, putting her back to me, a surge of adrenaline shook my muscles.

I lurched forward, but a quick palm slammed into my chest, the bruising hit knocking loose a cough as one of her soldiers blocked my path.

Loyce glanced over her shoulder again, sneering as I rubbed the lingering ache. “Gaius.” The moment she spoke the name, a soldier standing by stepped forward. “How far can you cleave us to Solassios?”

“Solassios, General?” He glanced around as if looking for clarification from his fellow soldiers. “Are we not returning to our post in Dragon’s Pass?”

Neither location sounded familiar, but it didn’t matter where she took me. Death would surely follow, either way.

She rolled her shoulders back, clearly annoyed by her subordinate’s question. “King Jeret has ordered us to return to Luximos. Commander Thornemere will remain in Dragon’s Pass. Now, I’ll ask again. How far can you cleave us?”

In as subtle a movement as I could, I surveyed my surroundings, noting the distance between soldiers, the weapons held firmly in their hands. Any move I made would’ve gotten us killed. Even if we managed to slip through the soldiers successfully, we surely wouldn’t get far. Not with the short, squatty man standing beside Melantha.

The one who’d cursed us magicless.

He wore the terrifying face of a man who likely didn’t spare anyone mercy—half of it a crude mask of silver, seared to his skin as though molten steel had been poured over the flesh. The other half bore a thick, purple monocle strapped to his head. He looked like a machine that killed at command.