Red Hood's Revenge (39 page)

“First I get you out of here,” Talia said.

“No time.” Snow closed her eyes. “The Wild Hunt is already on their way.”

Talia swore and headed for the doorway. “Danielle, get Snow somewhere safe and stay hidden.”

“Safe?” Danielle arched an eyebrow. “Where exactly—”

“Zestan doesn’t care about you. She wants me.” Talia set Snow down, steadying her until she regained her balance. She slipped Snow’s knife from its sheath. While not as powerful as Danielle’s sword, that dagger had power of its own, and Talia suspected she would need all the help she could get. “May I?”

“Will you let me buy that dragon?”

Talia grinned and swapped Snow’s knife with one of her own.

“What about Roudette?” Danielle asked.

Talia glanced back. Roudette appeared smaller without her cape. Smaller and older, scarred from a lifetime of fighting. “Tell the Kha’iida to take her to the desert. Lay her out with her weapons in her hands, her eyes open to the sky to help her spirit find its way.”

“She killed so many people.”

“So have I.”

“Not like this. Not for money, or for pleasure.”

“I could have.” Talia pulled the hood over her head. “I know what it’s like to lose everything and everyone you ever knew. The temple took me in. Faziya taught me to feel joy again. And then Queen Bea found me. Roudette . . . she had no one.”

“She looks almost peaceful,” Danielle said.

Talia took Danielle’s sword in one hand, Roudette’s hammer in the other. “That’s because she knew what I intend to do to Zestan.”

T
ALIA TORE THROUGH THE PALACE. Zestan had left the occasional ghost behind, but Talia dodged past them before they could strike. This wasn’t like Snow’s magic, transforming only the shape of her body. Roudette’s cape joined her to the wolf, merging two spirits into one and combining Talia’s mind with the instincts of the wolf.

Wind rushed through her fur. She could hear Zestan’s summons, calling to the Wild Hunt. She could smell the fairy magic permeating the place that had once been Talia’s home. She felt the ghosts before she saw them, their mere presence causing her hackles to rise.

Faster than any horse she crossed the courtyard. She leaped through the broken gates and sprinted into the desert. The sun had risen, warming her body as she crossed the dry lakebed. Dead vines cracked beneath her paws.

She could hear the howls behind her now. Whatever Danielle had done to send the Wild Hunt away, it wasn’t enough to hold them against Zestan’s call.

A part of her wanted to turn and fight, to face the enemy the wolfskin had been created to kill. Instead, she ran faster, wind roaring in her ears. She felt almost as if she were flying over the desert.

She scented them the moment she crested the first hill, smelling of sweat and old leather. Lakhim’s men gathered with the Kha’iida, more than a hundred strong. Talia growled deep in her chest at the sight of the white-and-green livery of Queen Lakhim.

As she watched, a streak of black resolved into a stallion carrying three more Kha’iida warriors. The men leaped from the horse’s back to join their fellows. Talia’s growl grew louder. The ebony stallion belonged to
her
family, not Lakhim’s.

The stallion vanished. The rest of the men were turning toward the palace. They could hear the howls of the Hunt as well.

Talia sat and dug her teeth into the skin, tugging and biting until she found the seam running down her chest. One of the Kha’iida had already spotted her. By the time she removed the skin, she was surrounded. She settled the cape around her shoulders and stood.

One of Lakhim’s people rushed her, thrusting a sword at her chest. Talia slapped the flat of the blade and backhanded him to the ground. “Zestan knows you’re here. We attack now.”

“Talia?” Muhazil’s lips pressed together as he took in the cape. “What?”

“Zestan summoned the Hunt. You can hear—” She stopped to sniff the air. “Faziya?”

“She insisted on coming,” said Muhazil. “I’ve ordered her to stay out of the fighting, but she said she could help to heal the wounded.”

“And you allowed it?” Talia took a step, but caught herself. She wanted to grab Muhazil, to throw him to the ground and break him. “
She’s
wounded.”

“She’s Kha’iida,” he said, a rueful smile on his face.

Talia drew Danielle’s sword in one hand, Roudette’s hammer in the other, trying not to think about that. There was no time to send Faziya away. The only way to protect her now was to make sure the Wild Hunt never reached these hills. “Prepare your men.”

The Wild Hunt rode a path of smoke and moonlight as they thundered across the desert. Zestan’s magic cloaked each one in night and moonlight, giving them freedom to ride beneath the morning sun.

Zestan would be watching, as would her ghosts. Talia licked her lips, which were cracked and dry from the desert air. If Snow was wrong, this would be a short-lived battle. As the warriors formed ranks behind her, she raised her sword and shouted, “I am Talia Malak-el-Dahshat.” Could the ghosts even hear her? “You came to this palace to save me.”

The words tasted like tainted meat. To
save
her? They had come to claim her as a trophy, to steal her family’s power. They were little better than Zestan, thieves who meant to take Arathea from its rightful rulers.

“Protect me now!” she yelled. “From the Wild Hunt. From Zestan. Protect me and those who fight beside me! Protect Arathea!”

Prince Amabar was the first to cross the low wall surrounding the palace. His movements were uncertain as he strode into the sunlight. Talia could hear the warriors muttering to themselves as the ghost prince strode forward.

Talia swore. The Wild Hunt would be upon them in moments, and she had only a single ghost who looked too lost to fight. She called again, with no better luck than before. “Snow, you said the ghosts would follow me.”

“If we’re to attack, we should do it before the Hunt reaches the hills,” said Muhazil.

“If we attack now, they’ll slaughter you all.” Talia scowled at the lone ghost below. “Zestan has an army of the dead waiting beyond that wall. If they join us, we might have a chance against the Hunt.”

A middle-aged man wearing the green and gold sash of a raqeem, or field commander, approached from the other side. This would be the leader of Lakhim’s forces, then. “
Now
is the time to strike, before the Wild Hunt has time to prepare.”

“These aren’t bandits and thieves,” Talia snapped. “The Wild Hunt will slaughter you all. Now shut up and let me do this.”

The raqeem’s hand went to his sword. “I take no orders from murderers. You are no princess here.”

“She risked her life trying to protect Arathea.” Muhazil raised his sword. To Talia, he said, “The Hunt will not wait. Summon your ghosts if you can.” He slashed the blade through the air and ran. The rest of the Kha’iida followed, shouting as they charged the Wild Hunt.

The raqeem ordered his own men to follow, though Talia noticed he allowed the Kha’iida to keep the lead. The Wild Hunt hit hard, trampling through the Kha’iida and coming about for a second charge. Hounds attacked as the hunters spread out to surround the group. Their weapons lashed out, and humans began to fall. Even the best mortal fighters wouldn’t last long against the mounted fairy warriors of the Hunt.

Talia turned her attention back to the palace and Prince Amabar, the only one to respond to her call. The only one to remember her.

She bowed her head, thinking of her mother. Beautiful and proud, her every gesture slow and confident. Her mother had lived in the shadow of her husband, but no one who looked upon her ever questioned the strength and power she carried, even if that power was rarely used.

Her mother wouldn’t have raised her sword like a common soldier. She was queen of Arathea, and when she spoke, her word was law.

Talia lowered her weapons and walked toward the palace, doing her best to ignore the battle below. “My bloodline runs back to the very founding of this land. Obey me, or forsake the honor of your families’ names. The Wild Hunt threatens your nation. They threaten your rightful princess.” Another ghost joined Amabar, then a third. “You are princes of Arathea, children of the desert, and your home is under attack. Defend it!”

The dead surged from the palace, Amabar in the lead. Lakhim’s troops had already hit the Hunt from behind, forcing them to widen their ring, and now the ghosts struck from the opposite flank. Hounds and hunters turned against the ghosts, who fought back in spectral silence.

Talia was halfway down the hill before she knew she was moving. Each step was longer than the last, until she felt as though she flew over the desert like the huma bird of old. The wolf’s eagerness left no room for fear or hesitation. She raised her weapons, laughing as she reached the Hunt. She jumped over a fallen Kha’iida and swung at the closest hunter.

He parried the first blow. His horse reared, hooves kicking at Talia’s skull.

Danielle’s sword cut the leg from the horse. It fell, and Talia finished off the rider with Roudette’s hammer. She leaped to intercept the next hunter. There was no thought. No strategy. Allies were nothing more than obstacles blocking her path to the next enemy. Only when the ground itself shook did she pause in her rampage.

Injured men cried out in pain. Many lost their balance as the trembling grew more violent.

Talia blinked and backed toward the edge of the fighting. She wiped her face on her shoulder. The Wild Hunt had been hurt, but for every hunter who fell, three humans lay unmoving in the sand. The ghosts continued to fight, but their numbers had diminished as well.

The hunters retreated toward the palace. Talia started to follow, but one of the Kha’iida caught her arm from behind. Talia recognized Muhazil by smell. Muhazil clutched a wound in his side, but he still stood. His eyes were wide, and he stared at her as though looking upon a monster. “You fight like the deevslayers of old.”

Talia pointed toward the palace where Zestan stood atop the central wall, an angel shadowed in darkness. The air around her rippled, as though burned by her mere presence.

“Enough!”

The ghosts continued to harry the Wild Hunt, but they vanished as they passed over the fairy wall. The humans stood frozen by the power of Zestan’s voice.

Talia swallowed. More than half the men who had attacked the Hunt lay dead or dying, and she didn’t see a single warrior who had escaped injury. Looking back, she saw archers standing ready atop the hill. These would be late arrivals to the battle, brought by Lakhim’s ebony horse.

Zestan raised her hands. “Bring me the one called Sleeping Beauty, and I will be merciful.”

Muhazil touched his chest. “That is no deev.”

“No,” said Talia. Sweat soaked her robes and stung her eyes. She was breathing hard, from excitement and eagerness as much as fatigue.

“A peri.” His face slackened into an expression of awe.

“A peri who turned the Wild Hunt against the Kha’iida,” Talia reminded him.

Another Kha’iida stepped forward. “The peri were said to sit at the right hand of God. If she demands the princess, perhaps we should—”

“You’re welcome to try.” Talia raised her sword and smiled.

Thunder echoed through the desert, so close it was as if the sky itself had cracked overhead. The air grew still, and Talia’s skin tingled. A burned-metal smell made her wrinkle her nose.

“Peri magic,” breathed Muhazil.

In the distance to the right, the sand began to swirl, growing higher as Talia watched. Soon a pillar of whirling sand danced toward them.

The warriors whispered among themselves. Talia could smell their fear, like sweat and piss. A second whirlwind joined the first, then a third. All around them, the desert reached up, raising towers of sand that seemed to pierce the sky itself. They writhed like living things, bending and bowing as they crept closer, swallowing all in their path. Entire hills were torn to nothingness faster than Talia could see.

Talia raised her sword. She ignored the whirlwinds, concentrating only on the Wild Hunt arrayed behind the fairy wall, waiting. “Help me pierce their lines. If I can reach Zestan—”

He stabbed his weapon into the sand and stepped close, gripping her arm. “Princess, your ghosts are beaten. Our people cannot survive another battle with the Hunt.”

“You don’t have to survive! Just get me through. I won’t let her take Arathea.” She stopped herself. Muhazil was right. All she wanted was to fight until either she or Zestan lay dead. She couldn’t even distinguish the wolf’s anger from her own anymore.

“If you flee, your cape’s magic might allow you to escape,” Muhazil said. “The speed of the wolf—”

“I’ve been running and hiding since I awoke.” Talia touched her throat. All that held the cape in place was a thick tie of folded velvet. “Zestan wasn’t afraid of me,” she whispered, frowning. “Or of Roudette. But she worked to turn the rest of Arathea against you. She sent the Wild Hunt to attack your tribes. We thought it was because she was a deev . . . Muhazil, I need your knife.”