Page 4 of Vasmora

Loyce sighed and crossed her arms. “Seems you steal their vitriol as well. Good to know.”

“It isn’t any wonder to any of the men here why you’ve failed to defeat King Jeret’s greatest enemy.”

The faint hum of voices carried around us, and the humor in Loyce’s eyes snapped to venom.

When she glanced around, those voices silenced. She stepped toward the cloned soldier. “This will be your only warning. Stop now or suffer the consequences.”

“Zephromytes aren’t fit to lead,” the soldier kept on. “Particularly not a wom–” Eyes wide, the soldier’s mouth gaped, the blond hair atop his head spilling into long, red locks, before his face faded for one more familiar, the one I had come to know as Melantha, brimming with youth and beauty. The one who’d led me out of the king’s castle and straight to the archway.

Hands clawing at her throat, she gasped and fell to her knees.

General Loyce sighed. “I did warn you.”

When the pain seemed to cease, Melantha fell forward, catching herself on her palms as she heaved and coughed.

“Now, unless you’d like to know how it feels to swallow a blade, I suggest you cooperate.” Loyce turned away from the woman. “Get her to her feet.”

Soldiers scrambled forward, gripped her arms, and wrenched the woman upright.

Loyce ushered her forward with a theatrical wave of her arm. “To my palace, if you will.”

Again, I scanned over my surroundings, panic rising into my throat. To follow her meant certain death, but any miniscule chance for escape quickly diminished as the soldiers pressed closer together, tightening the circle around us.

Melantha didn’t bother to move at her command. “I cannot cleave to where I’ve never been.”

“Oh, but you have. You harbor the blood of my soldier. Get us there, and I will ensure comfort and a warm bath. And more blood than you could possibly need.”

“What more do you want from me? I led you here. Rydainn is dead.” Melantha’s words punched at my chest, and once again, I swallowed back the urge to break at the finality of those words.

“You have talents that may prove useful. I’m nothing if not resourceful. And I do take care of those I value. Now, cleave.”

As Melantha raised her palm, I noticed the same skinny black band around her wrist that’d been burned into mine. The one that’d kept me from calling on my whip or my Corvugon.

How was she able to cast magic?

Melantha seemed to chew on her cheek, her hand trembling as it awaited its command. The air around her wavered and flickered, a bright light beaming through from within a glowing, pale blue circle that split open like a wound. “There you go.”

Loyce wrenched the back of Melantha’s head, fist full of red hair, stretching her neck as she pressed a blade there. “If you attempt any trickery, I’ll remove your head.”

“You’ll see to my comforts and feeding?” Melantha gritted.

“A promise is a promise.”

“Well, then, it’s done.”

One hard shove sent Melantha flying forward into the glowing circle. It was then the view from the other side shimmered into visibility: a white marble floor spattered in red, and Melantha spitting blood as she pushed to her feet.

“Very good,” Loyce said. “Now you.” The moment she pointed at me, my head protested, urging me to flee.

Run.

Clearly sensing my intent, she signaled to the two nearby soldiers, and as they reached for each of my arms, I lurched forward to avoid their grip.

Not fast enough.

Metal bit into my skin as both soldiers dragged me from my path of escape, leaving me strung between the two and kicking my feet in futility.

“Raivox!” I screamed, but my hoarse voice wouldn’t reach the same pitch as the whistle. “Raivox!”