The Shattered Sylph (25 page)

Tooie came to her, his arms wrapping around her as she reached down to strip off his breechcloth. His size pleasantly hadn’t changed, and he hooked one hand under her leg, pulling her knee up and against his hip as he angled himself into her ready depths. Eapha cried out and encircled his neck with her arms, holding on and kissing him as he pushed himself into her, crushing her against him as he moved.

It felt so different from any other time they’d been together. She could feel how much he cherished her, how much he gloried at the sensation of being inside her. They both felt her pleasure, and his, and the bond between them magnified everything, increasing her pleasure until her back arched and still Tooie thrust into her, his attention focused on her and the pattern of her soul. That he took into himself, flooding his spirit with her and filling the part
of him that should have been filled by a queen and couldn’t be touched by any normal master, not even her. Not until this moment. Now she flowed into that gaping hole, her pattern filling it and binding him even more deeply, her essence becoming primary over everything else.

Tooie groaned in relief. At the same time, he projected Eapha’s pattern, sending it out as far as he could. Everywhere, sylphs stopped where they were, shuddering no matter what their masters said to them, none of them moving as they felt that queenly pattern and took it into the empty core of themselves, exchanging their original hive pattern that had been lost and useless for so long, all of them reforming into a new community governed by a single woman.

Not that Eapha understood this. She was simply enjoying Tooie making love to her, his ecstasy and fulfillment. Their shared pleasure overwhelmed her, and she cried out as the peak hit, sending her tumbling into absolute bliss, her exultation matched to his own as he buried himself inside her and finished, shuddering.

He laid her down on the sand, stretching out beside and still within her as he stroked her cheek with gentle fingers. “My queen,” he whispered, testing it out. “Oh, my queen.”

“My king!” She smiled, cuddling against him.

Shocked cries sounded from outside the hut, and suddenly she knew that sylphs were gathering along the crumbling city wall, all kinds of sylphs drawn by her ascension. She smiled up at her lover. “I guess we better go and give some orders,” she said, though she preferred to stay just where she was.

Tooie wore a beatific expression. He really had a beautiful mouth, she thought. “Whatever you want.” They rose and collected their clothes, dressed, and headed outside.

The wall that separated Meridal city from the desert was
covered in sylphs—hundreds of them, all looking hungrily toward her as she stepped out of the hut. The nearby exiles all stared at Eapha fearfully, but she shared none of their misgivings. Nor did Leon, who moved hurriedly toward her. She understood now what he’d meant, and waited to see what he wanted her to do next. She was queen, she understood, but knew as well that Leon was the only one who truly comprehended what that meant. At least, she hoped he did.

He did. Leon gave her several suggestions that made her laugh, and at last she turned to her new people. Everything was going to be so much better now, provided she didn’t screw up. She’d have to meet this Solie that Leon told her about. That would help her to understand how to be a truly good queen. For now, though, she’d have to be a vengeful one.

“I have orders,” she told the gathered host, able to feel their unanimous exhilaration as well as the joy of the rest of the sylphs in the city. All of them were linked now through her and Tooie, all of them listening to what she would say.

Soon the men who thought themselves masters would know that they had slaves no more.

Ril released more than a hundred prisoners, both male and female, before the handlers tried to stop him again. The freed slaves were everywhere, trying to find their way out or even to liberate others. Frightened sylphs flickered all around, some trying to follow their feeders and others trying to stop them.

The battlers all followed Ril, instinct making them want to attack—either Ril or the men he opposed—but their orders forced them only to watch. There were over thirty now, swirling in a storm that he would have liked to join if he weren’t crippled and if they were all of the same hive. They were amused by what he did, though, and envious. The other breeds of sylph were just terrified.

Exhausted and trembling, Ril made his way along a metal catwalk, headed in pursuit of Lizzy. Her terror had eased, and he felt how badly she wanted him with her. He didn’t need Leon’s orders to want that as well, and readied himself to kill whoever threatened. He was already covered in the blood of the people he’d cut his way through, and his eyes stared out of a black and red mask of gore that had dried to itchiness on his skin.

The men and women he’d freed milled about like frightened sheep, staring in shock and horror even as he opened their cages. A few of the men kept their heads, though, and at last these tried to lead some of the others out. Ril hoped they made it. He had no idea what sort of force might be waiting for them. Still, it was possible they
would prevail through sheer force of numbers—at least until someone appeared who could command a battler to attack. Ril hoped to have Lizzy well clear of this place before that happened.

At the other end of the catwalk, a male handler brandished an axe, screamed, and charged, dodging the freed feeders desperately trying to get out of his way, a few even running back into their cages in fear. Ril snarled and waited, letting his assailant get well within striking range before lunging forward in attack. The man’s axe blade swung down, gouging his side, but then Ril was upon him, his hand closing around the handler’s face. With a grunt, Ril yanked the head around, breaking the neck. There was a crunching sound and the handler collapsed. Picking up the axe, Ril tossed it to the closest feeder. The man looked down at the weapon in shock.

“Take that and get out of here,” Ril told him. The feeder grinned before running off into the throng.

Ril continued onward, tearing doors off every cell he passed. It was tiring to do so, but all of the feeders were on their feet now, shaking the bars and screaming silently. He didn’t much care for their feelings, but he couldn’t leave them, either—not understanding slavery as he did. He tore every door off its hinges and made his way out of the feeder pens. Lizzy was out here. He could feel her easily.

His path led to the central office for the slave pens. Battlers still followed Ril, a swirling cloud framing him in smoke and lightning. He walked to the closed door at the end of the passage, his body soaked in blood. The door was locked, but Ril didn’t even bother to check. He just kicked it once he was close enough, and it flew off its hinges, taking half of its frame with it. Swordsmen waiting on the other side were struck and mowed down.

Ril entered the chamber, stepping over the downed
men and regarding his assembled foes. Lizzy was with them. She stared at him in shock, clearly processing his bloody state with growing horror. Handlers, both male and female, stood in front of her, and Rashala and Shalatar behind.

“Seven-oh-three!” Shalatar shouted. “Stop where you are immediately!”

Ril eyed him coldly. “That’s not my name, and you’re not my master.” The bald man blanched, and though he could feel him as clearly as Lizzy, Ril didn’t care. Thanks to Leon, Shalatar had no hold over him. “Let her go.”

“No,” Rashala called out. She had a grip on Lizzy’s arms and was using her as a shield. Her brother stood frozen, still reeling from the shock of his battler’s disobedience.

Remembering an old promise he’d made while he was still a bird—that someday he would kill his master—Ril raised a weary hand. He’d eventually come to think that promise was no longer needed. How wrong he’d been. He fired a very contained burst of energy that slammed into Shalatar’s middle and exploded, blowing the slaver off his feet and out of his sandals. Blood sprayed everywhere, over both his sister and Lizzy, before the man hit the back wall and crumpled to the floor. Ril felt the pattern of him snap and vanish from his mind. It was satisfying.

“Shalatar!” Rashala screamed, staring at her brother’s corpse.

Ril pointed his hand again, aware that it was trembling. He was on the very edge of exhaustion and drew upon Lizzy’s energy to fuel himself. He couldn’t absorb much, though—she was too far away. He didn’t have enough energy to fight much longer, not even with her there. He ached with weariness, and his eyelids were growing heavy. But his anger kept him going. He growled, the sound echoing through the small chamber. The handlers flinched
but didn’t retreat. There was nowhere left for them to go. Only Lizzy stared at him without being afraid of him. Instead, she was afraid
for
him.

There were twelve handlers, both male and female, with the men carrying longer swords than the women. Ril hissed, trying to shift his arms back into multibladed swords, but he winced in pain and they refused to change shape. Sensing weakness, and like a flock of birds deciding at the same time to take wing, all of the handlers charged.

Snarling, Ril leaped forward to meet them before they could force him out of the room. If they managed to get him back in the hallway, they could hold him off until he exhausted all his energy. Slamming a fist into one man’s face, he twisted sideways to avoid the sword thrust of another—which brought Ril in line with a third, whose blade struck deep into his side.

Lizzy screamed, and Ril brought his elbow around in a deadly arc. The handler’s nose shattered, leaving the man howling and falling back. The sword pulled painfully out of him, and Ril gasped for breath as he dropped into a one-legged crouch, his other leg sweeping around to trip the handlers closest. Three of them fell, nearly landing on him, while a fourth managed to evade. Ril rolled to avoid his counterattack, smashing into a different group. They all tumbled or crashed into each other.

He was much slower than he’d been in the harem, much more fatigued and getting worse. He was still faster than a human, but only barely, and there were so many foes. Another sword cut deeply into his shoulder, and he grabbed the blade, ignoring the pain as he yanked it out of the woman’s hands and smashed the hilt across several other handlers. As they howled, he took it in his undamaged hand and pushed himself to his feet.

He tried to remember Leon’s lessons back on the ship, about fighting like a human. This wasn’t about strength—which was good, as he had hardly any left. His swiftness was nearly gone as well, but speed was less important than accuracy. Staring at the remaining fighters, he focused on them, on their fear and concern, and on the emotions that would give them away. He had to let go of his own rage. It was too distracting.

He sensed when they were going to attack, when each man would strike. He moved just a bit faster, anticipating, and the first fell with his guts sliced open before Ril retreated toward the wall. Two who were on his sides came next, and Ril cut them both down. Lizzy was only twenty feet or so away, but she might as well have been on the other side of the ocean.

Rashala glared at him with real hatred and grief. “Kill him!” she shouted.

“No!” Lizzy begged. “Ril!”

Ril felt the handlers’ fear and anger, a chaotic emotional soup. There were so
many
of them. And they were preparing to attack again. But then, over it all, he suddenly felt something new, as did every other nearby sylph. For a moment Ril didn’t understand, but then he did. Somewhere, a queen was ascending, her pattern overlaying all of the sylphs in the city.

All the sylphs were silent, frozen in joy and excitement as they listened. They let it take them. Ril felt it sweep through him as well, but he had such a pattern already. He hadn’t lost his connection with her after all. Even with Leon’s control, Solie was still there in the depths of his soul, an unassailable reality that blocked this new queen even as she distracted him with her arrival.

A handler dove forward, and Ril heard Lizzy scream. Looking down, he saw a sword blade sticking out of his
chest. The man, dark-haired and bearded, sneered and twisted the blade before yanking it back out. Ril choked in agony and dropped to his knees, overwhelmed at last by his injuries—and by the anger of the battlers, all of whom were suddenly free to protect their hive. A foreign and therefore enemy battler right in the center of their hatred and loathing, Ril fell over onto his side and passed out.

Lizzy screamed as she watched Ril collapse. She tried to throw herself forward, but Rashala had too strong a grip on her arm. “No! You can’t do this!”

The woman yanked her back. “Finish Seven-oh-three,” she ordered the black-bearded handler. “And kill this one as well.”

Lizzy felt herself shoved suddenly forward and released, and she fell to her knees. She kept staring at Ril, oblivious. He wasn’t dead—he’d be nothing but flecks of light if he were—but he was hurt. She tried to crawl to him, not processing what Rashala had said. She was stopped as a handler grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head up and bringing a dagger to her throat.

Four-seventeen had watched Ril’s progress with tremendous glee, happily following the other battler as he released feeders and killed everyone that Four-seventeen himself had been wanting to kill. The rampaging sylph even let Four-seventeen’s feeders go, but that didn’t bother Four-seventeen. He could find them again if he needed them, and he was actually glad to see them escape. Their energy had always tasted poor, and even seconds of freedom improved its flavor.

As the slaves ran for the exit, Four-seventeen followed Ril with the rest of the battlers who were lucky enough to
witness this spectacle. They were all equally excited, flowing around each other in a storm of companionship they normally didn’t share, and he didn’t even realize what was happening for the first few seconds of Eapha’s ascension, thought that the pleasure flowing into him was just more happiness at seeing his enemies obliterated. When he did figure it out, he froze, his senses stretched as far as possible. A queen? An actual
queen
? He felt her pattern being broadcast and absorbed it eagerly, letting it fill the deep cracks inside that had been empty ever since he’d crossed the gate.

Around him, the other battlers did the same. All of the sylphs were frozen in ecstasy, all of them suddenly aware of each other and changing internally, bonding, forming a hive larger even than all but the greatest back home—a beautiful new hive that needed protecting.

Faintly came the orders, broadcast by the lead battler as directed by his mate:
You are held by no commands but the queen’s. You can speak, you can change shape. You will only obey the queen. You can go anywhere, do anything. You are free.
Finally, the last order came, fulfilling a promise made to the man who’d shown the queen her destiny.
Save the girl Lizzy and the battler Ril. Bring them to us.

Freedom! Beautiful freedom!

Four-seventeen glanced at Kiala—his Kiala, his beloved Kiala, who secretly called him Yahe. She was standing fearfully in a handler’s grip only a few feet from Lizzy, who was about to have her throat cut.

He shifted shape and attacked. He didn’t take his old, strange-legged, mouthless humanoid form, but instead he became human, assuming a man’s shape he knew would please Kiala. Lunging for her, he slammed through the surrounding handlers. He didn’t use his energy blast, not when his beloved was so close, but he cut through them
just as surely and slaughtered the handler who was about to kill Lizzy.

Saving her was satisfying. He liked the blonde girl, and orders from the queen were absolute. Of course, without them he’d have killed the battler he’d been cheering on just a minute before. He could feel how alien Ril now was, a foreign battler in his newly created hive—an impossibility, but one the queen had ordered.

Yahe—for he’d never answer to Four-seventeen again—stopped before Kiala. She stared at the branded number on his chest, then up into his face as her eyes filled with tears. Her handler let go and backed away, but Yahe killed her anyway. Then he took Kiala into his arms. She was stiff against him for only a moment, then embraced him and started to cry.

Behind him, the other battlers attacked. Even one was enough to massacre everyone in the room, and there were twenty. The struggle was brief.

Lizzy crawled forward, sobbing. Around her, battle sylphs were murdering the remaining handlers. Squeezing her eyes shut, she grabbed Ril’s body, but he was unconscious and his form only partly solid. Her hands sank deeply into him.

“Ril! Wake up, Ril. Please!”

The battlers had finished the handlers. The only one left was Rashala, her face ashen. She stood with her back pressed to the wall, staring at the sylphs who coalesced before her. Some took human shape, others became more monstrous. A few even retained the green, odd-legged form they’d been ordered to use in the harems, but all wore the numbers Rashala and others like her had carved into their mantles.

“Stand back!” she shouted. “I’m ordering you to stand
back!” Her voice was forceful, her words strong, but she was no queen. Perhaps she could have been, had circumstances been different. Instead the battlers fell on her, and Lizzy looked away as they took their vengeance.

“Lizzy,” Ril whispered.

Her heart missing a beat, she glanced down. He was soaked in blood, and his hair was so tacky that it stuck out at odd angles, but Ril’s eyes were clear and fixed on her like chips of glossy pale stone. He took a deep breath, and she suddenly felt her energy flowing into him in great drafts, just as she felt his form grow more solid.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“I will be.” He drank a bit more and relaxed, letting his eyes close for a moment before he reopened them and reached up to lay a bloody hand on her cheek. She leaned into it. Her dress was soaked with gore, ruining the translucency she hated but also making her skin crawl.