Her return had shocked Artaios. So had the “gift” she’d dropped at Rakuiss’ feet. Rakuiss stood behind Artaios now, muttering in contempt.
“Look at her. Still just human garbage.”
The old General had begged for the honor to execute her. Artaios took a step into the prison cave, standing imperiously before the cell, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Alisaundra had been driven mad by her closeness to Moth. Artaios understood that, even blamed himself a little. He wondered what it was like for her, caged in such an ugly body.
“Alisaundra,” he called softly.
He waited for her to lift her head. She did so shyly, her eyes peeking out from her arms.
“You murdered my messenger,” said Artaios. “Why?”
Her voice quavered. “Because—”
“Stand up!” barked Rakuiss. “You’re talking to the Prince of the Sky!”
Alisaundra rose shakily. She hooked her claws onto the silver chain around her waist, lowering her eyes to the filthy floor.
“Answer me,” said Artaios. “Why did you kill the harpy? Why did you betray me?”
“The boy maddened me, Great One. My head filled with human thoughts!” Alis put her claws to her temples. “So many voices! But I came to my senses. When I saw the harpy…” She raised her eyes pleadingly, looking only at Artaios. “My lord should never have such a filthy beast speak for him. I am your messenger! Seeing the harpy broke the human spell. I belong to you, sweet Artaios.”
Rakuiss snorted, unimpressed. “She betrayed you, Artaios. She has to die.”
Alis didn’t flinch. “If that is your wish I will do it myself. Give me a dagger and I will slice open my guts for you!”
“Lies,” hissed Rakuiss. “Kill her and be done with it, Artaios. We have work to do.”
Artaios thought a moment, considering Alisaundra’s pitiful face, the depth of her words. For years he had favored her, the brightest of all his Redeemers. Despite her crimes, he was glad she had returned.
“Do you wish to serve me, Alisaundra?” he asked. “Truly, is that the fondest dream of your heart?”
“Oh, yes, my lord,” sighed Alisaundra. “It is all I wish!”
“My lord, please! Don’t fall for this!”
“Wait,” counseled Artaios, smiling at his friend. “Wait.” He stepped closer to the cell, looking at Alisaundra through the bars. “There is a breastplate of armor, made for me by Ivokor himself. Within its metal is held the souls of seven Redeemers. All true servants, Alisaundra. My best, most beloved slaves. If you are truly repentent…”
“I will join them gladly, Master!” Alisaundra floated toward the bars. “Let me prove myself. Let me be your most devoted one!”
“You’ll give yourself freely? To live forever in a prison of metal?”
“Yes!”
“Swear it, Alisaundra.”
“I swear it, my lord!” Alisaundra grabbed hold of her chain again. “By this chain I swear it!”
“On your knees,” Artaios commanded.
Alisaundra dropped before the bars, bowing her head. “Tell me what I must do,” she begged. “Tell me how to please you forever.”
Her golden hair caught Artaios’ notice. She had brushed it clean of dirt, probably to seem more human.
“I am merciful,” he told her. “I can end your pain. All you must do is give me your soul.”
Alisaundra began to weep. “My lord is gracious. My beautiful lord…”
Artaios reached between the bars, gently kneading her hair. Her whole body shook with sobs. “Dear Alisaundra,” he sighed. “Soon this torment will be over.”
“Yes,” she groaned, raising her tear-stained face. She took his hand and kissed it, rubbing his palm on her wet cheek. “Soon…”
Artaios felt his arm wrenched from its socket. His face collided with the bars. Pain shot through his skull and shoulder. Rakuiss was screaming. With his eyes bulging, Artaios saw Alisaundra’s rising, hissing face.
“I remember everything!” she rasped.
Artaios fought to free himself. Alisaundra’s claws dug into his flesh, pinning him to the bars, forcing him through them. He screamed for help, his wings shooting out in panic.
“Look at what you did to me!” she commanded. “Look! I was human once! I was beautiful and I had everything!”
Her raging face filled Artaios’ vision. Pain overwhelmed him, his screams bouncing wildly through the chamber. Rakuiss was cursing, pulling hard on his waist to free him. The Redeemers on guard bounded forward.
“I had a daughter!” seethed Alisaundra. “She came with me into the Reach! What did you do with her? What did you do!”
Artaios tried to talk but couldn’t. With a broken jaw, he could only scream. Half his shoulder was already in the cell, squeezed through the bars. Furiously he beat his wings, fighting to save himself.
“I was beautiful,” she said again. Finally, she extended one claw. “Now it’s your turn to be ugly!”
Like a razor she drew her claw down his face, down his eye, his cheek, and his chin. The skin opened up, gushing blood. With a great laugh she released him, falling away from the bars as the others pulled him to safety. Artaios crumpled, covering his face. Through his bloody fingers he saw Alisaundra through the bars, pleased with what she’d done.
“For my daughter,” she spat at him. “For all of us!”
The Redeemers flung open the gate, grabbing hold of her. Alisaundra didn’t fight them. As Rakuiss stalked toward her, she grinned.
“Stop!”
Through pain and blindness, Artaios struggled to his feet. His face burned, the open wound sluicing blood across his neck and white garments. He pulled his sword, staring hatefully at Alisaundra. The Redeemers pinned her arms, holding her, but she didn’t resist. Instead, her expression was serene.
“Kill me,” she jeered. “You only send me to my daughter.”
With one touch of his gleaming sword, Artaios granted her wish.
ONE WAY OR ANOTHER
IN THE PREDAWN DARKNESS outside the village, Moth, Fiona, and a thousand centaurs watched the airship Avatar start its noisy engines. The centaurs had worked throughout the night, moving their children and supplies out of the village, into the distant hills where they’d be safe from the invasion. Nessa, Jorian’s wife, would be in charge of them now, promising the Skylords a “death of thousand cuts” if they followed the young ones into the hills. Jorian said a proud good-bye to his wife as he watched Nessa and a handful of warriors disappear with the children, but Moth could tell he was worried. The Chieftain’s painted face lost all its tenderness as he turned to Rendor.
“When you are high enough, we will follow,” said Jorian.
Fiona stood beside him, watching her grandfather with wide, troubled eyes. “I can come with you,” she said. “I’m not afraid.”
Rendor stooped down, taking her hand. The wash from the Avatar’s engines stirred his silver hair. “Remember what Merceron did for Moth?” he said. “He lived a good life and no one needed to cry for him. That’s what I want, Fiona—no tears.”
“I’m smart,” said Fiona, “and I’m tougher than you think. I can help you up there.”
“Your mother died in an airship, Fiona.” Rendor struggled with his words. “I’ve already lost a daughter. If I lost a granddaughter too…” He shook his head. “You can’t follow me, Fiona. Not where I’m going.” He pointed toward the mountains. “Right into their heart,” he declared, so everyone could hear. “We’ll punch a hole right through them. One way or another.”
They all knew what he meant. No one dared a single word, except for Fiona.
“You’ll come back,” she said. “I know you will.”
Old Rendor frowned. “To promise you that would be an insult, Fiona. A lie. Don’t make me say that.”