Queen of Abaddon by Heather Killough-Walden
It doesn’t matter, I suppose, the thoughts in his head continued relentlessly. You’re still right on her tail. What’s more, you weakened yourself fighting me. And because of your appearance, Magus greatly weakened himself doing something needless. I think... you did it on purpose, Drake. Perhaps you enjoy the hunt more than you’ll admit.
With monumental will, Drake forced his mind into quiet. Each time he heard Darken’s voice in his head, it sounded more and more like his own. He was losing sight of the line that he’d once drawn between them. It was blurry and indistinct, like a chalk line on a rainy day.
He was more whole than he’d like to admit. The crack between himself and Darken was rapidly closing. The spell he’d cast in an attempt to once more separate himself from his other half had only made things worse. It succeeded in knocking him completely out of commission for a while, leaving Darken’s cunning and callous cruelty to not only rule the Nines but search for Raven. In addition, when Drake had come back to his senses, he found he was beginning to feel more and more sympathetic to Darken’s point of view.
His patience was nearly spent. He could sense Darken’s influence upon him because it was his influence. They were one in the same, after all was done and said. He’d been born whole, with a dark side, just like anyone. He’d only split himself from it because he’d been young and impetuous. He hadn’t wanted to take his place on his father’s throne.
But it was his throne.
He believed it more and more, this certainty that he’d had his fun, he’d played his games, and he’d done the childish, rebellious thing. And now it was time to come home and admit that he’d never really left in the first place.
She would help him…. With the daughter of Malphas by his side, he could face anything. Even an eternity in Hell.
Speaking of Malphas, said that voice that was still slightly more Darken than Drake. How do you think she’s going to react when she learns you killed her father?
It doesn’t matter, he replied again easily. Far too easily this time. Even now, even second by second, that line blurred, and Darken slipped through. She will join me. I will leave her no choice. To rule as queen of Abaddon is her destiny.
At last, the line vanished completely, and Drake felt his separate spirits become one. The metal of two weapons was smelted within a hellish, crackling blaze, and in that red and burning darkness, they were reformed into one vital, volatile blade.
I am her destiny.
A thundering of horses below drew Drake’s attention to the ruby path leading to Castle Nisse’s black iron portcullis. Tantibus was returning with the handful of soldiers he’d taken with him to search for anyone bearing Tanith’s mark.
His gaze narrowed. Upon closer inspection, Tantibus had not returned alone. There was someone else with him on his horse. It wasn’t Raven.
No matter what form she might have taken, he would recognize her at once. This wasn’t her. And besides… he’d seen her now. In the cursed elf’s cave. He knew what she looked like in the disguise Magus had so cleverly given her.
Of course, if Magus was as smart as Drake believed him to be, he would change that disguise now.
The King of Hell tilted his head in the smallest of gestures, and disappeared from the overlook upon which he stood. A moment later, he reappeared several stories below, in the main hall of Nisse’s palace.
The sound of the castle’s portcullis raising was a deep, scraping rumble. Iron scraping iron, a reminder that the entire realm of Abaddon was fortified with the one element the elf king could not abide. The thought made Drake smile. It was a grim smile, however. They all were lately.
He waited as Lord Tantibus rode to a stop before him and hurriedly dismounted, showing incredible grace for a form so tall and draped in metal. Behind him, cowering like a small white flower in a field of fire, was a blonde woman with eyes like the sun.
He knew her. She’d once been a friend of Loki Grey’s.
Tantibus grasped the young woman by the waist and lowered her to the ground, where her legs barely managed to hold her up. She positively cowered there before them, in that courtyard of doom, in the lowest and most terrible circle of the Nine Hells.
That made him smile too.
She was forced to her knees before him, one of Tantibus’s large hands firmly upon her shoulder. The woman looked at the ground and shivered in a visible, violent manner.
“Summer… is it?” Drake asked calmly. Quietly.
“Y-y-y…y….” She seemed incapable of speech. So she clamped her lips tightly together and nodded instead. The heat of Nisse was already affecting her. Sweat trickled from her now damp hair, down her forehead to threaten her eyes. It wouldn’t be long before she succumbed to the atmosphere and passed out.
“You’ve done well,” he told his steward. Things were looking up.
*****
None of them were quite ready just yet to grab hold of the map and go flying to some place new. The air here was warm, the breeze was gentle, and the water cleaned the last few days off their skin and out of their hair. They built a fire and despite the fact that you didn’t have to eat in Immeloria, Grolsch caught a few fish to sustain them for when they left. They were blessedly plentiful, as if the InBetween knew what they wanted. This time Raven partook of the fish; the attack of the Shadar Kin had weakened her too much to turn the nourishment away.
Loki used a bit of his own magic to summon drink for them, calling forth water and wine. Raven enjoyed a bit of both. The water gave them back their strength, and the wine took away their pains. The afternoon was a salve on weary bodies and minds.
No one had answered Raven’s question about her father. And since Magus had vanished, no one had again brought the subject up. Instead, they’d gone about gathering the wood, bark, and dried palms that had fallen from the palm tree and built the fire they now sat around. They’d been quiet in that way that companions sometimes became when they were comfortable enough with each other not to have to fill the silence with endless chatter.
They all had their questions, Raven knew. And Raven knew they also had their answers. She figured no one wished to give them voice.
Drake had killed Malphas. Raven’s heart knew this. She could feel that new emptiness there. But she, alone, called him father. As far as Loki was concerned, their parents were locked away somewhere behind the impenetrable walls of a fae palace. Grolsch’s parents were long dead.
To them, the death of an Abaddonian lord was a good thing, nothing more, and certainly not worth discussing. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything about it.
Raven crouched at the edge of the sand and rinsed her mouth with the salt water that washed clean upon the shore of the small island. She used her finger to brush her teeth, though she knew she didn’t need to. Her Abaddonian blood made things possible and automatic. If she wanted a clean mouth, she simply had one. Sweet breath? She had it. But doing the same tasks her brother and Grolsch did made her feel more a part of them, less… segregated.
She was pouring fresh water from Loki’s spell over her face and hands, and coming to her feet again when Loki’s voice drew her attention.
“What the….”
Raven turned to find both men standing still, their feet planted, their bodies tensed as if for a fight. She followed their line of sight to the beach on the other side of the tiny island.
A young man stood at the water’s edge, tall but a touch too thin, with jet black hair that was in sore need of scissors. He wore leather breeches replete with dirt stains and holes, and black leather armor that looked as though it had been created by someone who wasn’t proficient with leather working. It was strapped to his body using multiple leather ties, but all in all, covered the important bits.
Even from across the island, which Raven estimated at around a hundred feet at its greatest width, she could see that the man’s knuckles were raw, some of them scabbed over. Bruises marred the flesh of his arms, but he was strong. She could see the wire of his muscles ev
Familiarity took the edge off her fear. It was Drake. This was another vision of his past.
Chapter Twenty-Two
He might not have been much older than fifteen, or perhaps sixteen. But again, she would know him anywhere.
Across his back lay a longsword, strapped firm and secure, with its grip well within his reach. There was also a small pack, and Raven noticed the end of a rolled up parchment peeking out from one corner. Dangling from the pack were what looked like crudely made charms. The beginnings of magic.
She couldn’t see his eyes; his gaze was distant. He was waiting for something, or rather watching something or someone come near. Raven followed his line of sight now, looking out over the water.
That’s when she noticed the fog coming in. It must have been sitting like a silent cat in the distance, thick and immobile, waiting to pounce. But now it rolled rapidly toward them, a massive white beast without form or face, but nonetheless seeming to possess a life all its own. Any moment now, it would swallow them whole.
“Is this another glimpse into Drake’s past?” Loki asked, turning to glance at her over his shoulder.
“It is,” responded Grolsch, taking the words from her mouth. “I know this,” he continued without looking at them. He, too, was watching the fog roll in. “I remember him telling me about this moment one night in a tavern.”
Strangely enough, Drake seemed to be watching the fog moving in as well. Last time, he’d been oblivious to their actual surroundings, immersed instead in the surroundings of his past.
“That fog is real,” said Raven. She could feel the mist of it drawing closer; it was curling the hair that framed her face. She could swear it was real.
“No, he’s watching it,” Loki countered, shaking his head. “It has to be in Drake’s world, not ours.”
Raven’s brow furrowed. She moved from her spot by the water, and walked slowly in Drake’s direction. She made it to the tree before she stopped, her nerves preventing her from going any further.
Every time I see him, he’s hurting.
It was a thought that danced through her mind, outlined with pain that zapped through her nerve endings and stopped to pulse deep and hard in the chambers of her heart. The first time she’d witnessed a past vision of Drake, he’d been a skinny little boy with bleeding knees and an iron will. And now here he stood again, a little older, a lot harder, just as thin, and even more beat up.
She watched him, close enough now that she could have run to him in three steps and reached out – touched his cheek – and she wondered how in the realms he could still be so devastatingly beautiful.
Suddenly, Drake’s head turned, and the light caught his eyes. Silver flashed, and Raven froze. She’d raised her right hand out toward him and hadn’t even realized it. That infamous, hypnotic gaze sought her out, and for just a moment, they made eye contact. She felt like lead in the weight of it.
But then he let her go, and continued to search the area around her.
Raven exhaled, dropping her arm. Did he see me? But she knew he hadn’t. It wasn’t possible. He wasn’t really there.
Yet, for some reason, it almost felt as if he were there. He seemed closer this time than he had been before.
Maybe because it’s not as far in the past, she thought. Then she followed his gaze once more as he again looked out over the sea, toward the fog that was nearly upon them. This time, however, within the depth of that fog, Raven could make out figures. There were at least half a dozen of them, maybe more, tall and dark….
They’re on horseback. That was why they at first appeared so tall.
“He’s not looking at the fog,” she told her companions. “He’s waiting for the riders.”
She regarded her brother as he and Grolsch approached to stand beside her, then turned back to watch as the riders moved in.
The closer they came, the more detail Raven could make out. It was entirely ominous, watching these men ride in on a wave of dense, rolling fog. It was like watching a legion of death draw nearer, dragging all of Hell behind them.
Drake didn’t move a muscle. Just as he had when he was but a child, the slightly older Drake did not seem to know how to back down. The riders were close enough now that Raven could see they wore lavish and thick black leather armor, and their heads were partially concealed by the cowls of black cloaks that billowed behind them as their horses thundered across a ground that wasn’t there.
There were eight of them, now that she could see them clearly enough to count. She could hear them now too, the sound of hooves on rocks and dirt completely bizarre considering they drove their mounts in the air above a peaceful sea. Raven straightened and naturally stiffened as if for a conflict when they slowed down in the last few feet of their approach. Finally, they came to a stop directly in front of the young, starkly handsome, but bedraggled Drake.
Still, Drake did nothing. His stance was easy and sure, his posture confident and unflappable.
Raven could feel Loki and Grolsch go still beside her, echoing the wariness she seemed to feel in place of the fear Drake lacked. None of them said anything; they held their collective breaths as they waited.
At last, one of the riders spoke. “You are the one called Tanith?”
There was a long pause before Drake nodded. Just once. The eight of them had surrounded Drake in a wide half-circle.
“Then we are here to serve you,” the rider said. With that, all eight of the men dismounted and dropped to one knee before Drake. “You rescued Lady Drowynn’s son, and as promised in her bounty, she has sent her eight best warriors to join you.”
All eight warriors bowed their heads.
It was another long while before Drake said anything, and in that yawning silence, Raven noticed that the fog had completely enshrouded the small island in Immeloria. She wondered whether it had anything to do with the vision they were witnessing.
And if it didn’t, then what did it mean? Did things like this ever happen in the InBetween? It hadn’t happened while she and Loki had been trapped there for nearly a full year.
But she was entranced by what she was seeing – these men in their dark garb, and this very young, but clearly already very powerful Drake of Tanith. She felt locked in the pull of all that it was revealing, and she wasn’t sure in that moment that anything at all could have forced her to look away.
“You are her eight best?” Drake finally asked. His voice was deep and crisp, laced with an innate commanding presence that hinted at the blood running through his veins.
The man who’d spoken before raised his head to look up at Drake. Hesitantly, he said, “We are.”
Drake cocked his head to one side. The world ticked like the hand of a clock. Then Drake pulled the sword from his back, a long blade that appeared as if he’d taken much better care of it than he had himself. It shimmered in the dim light of the vision.
At once, the lead warrior was up on his feet, drawing his own weapon. The other seven riders slowly gained their footing as well, but hung back and out of the way, allowing the two to fight one-on-one.
Raven took an unconscious step back as metal met metal. The sound clanged loudly across the island, but was muffled by the fog, prevented from carrying any further.
She tried to keep track of what was happening, but Drake’s tall form moved so fast, it literally blurred, and the warrior in black armor truly appeared to be doing everything he could to keep up. The newcomer scrambled and dodged, parried and ducked, and swung his own longsword with incredible speed. It was an impressive display of pure talent and spoke of years and years of experience.
At last, Drake twisted and moved in such a way that the warrior was caught off guard. The weapon was knocked from his hand as he was sent once more to his knees.
If the scene had really been taking place on the island in Immeloria, the man’s impact would have sent sand flying. As it was, Raven found herself ducking when the sword flew off in her general direction
He gave them a brief, reproachful look as the sword moved right through him and vanished. Loki rolled his eyes.
On the beach, the unarmed warrior breathed hard and remained kneeling. The tip of Drake’s immaculate blade nudged threateningly against the man’s jaw line. But there was no killing blow, as Raven very much feared there might be. Instead Drake lifted the sword, smiled tightly, and said, “You’ll do.”
Then he re-sheathed his weapon and offered the warrior his hand. The man on his knees looked at the offered hand, hesitated, and finally accepted it. He grasped it firmly, and Drake helped him to his feet.
“You may consider yourselves the first Bounty Hunters of Tanith,” Drake told them simply. He turned away and appeared to busy himself with something that Raven couldn’t see, because it was not really there.
“The first?” the exhausted man asked. The others moved back in around him, their collective gazes on their new master.
“Trust me,” said Drake. “You won’t be the last.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
It struck Raven that Drake was one man leading eight other powerful people, and as king of Abaddon, he would be again. But the vision was fading now, graying out to blend in with the fog that so thickly surrounded them.
“Uh… Raven?”
Raven turned from the fading image to see that Loki had stopped watching it as well. Instead, he was staring at the pile of packs and belongings they’d carefully built to one side of the island when they’d arrived in Immeloria. At the top rested the Hunter’s Map.
It was glowing.
A very faint blue-white glow was emanating from the rolled-up scroll. Raven frowned and approached it. Grolsch and Loki hung back, likely assuming by now that she was in charge of this particular artifact.