Artemis

  Dinner twitched once, then went still.

  The shard of ice had sank into its skull, clean and quiet.

  I knelt beside the rabbit and tied its legs with a bowline before slinging the weight over my shoulder, turning back toward camp.

  It wasn’t much of a stew – just one rabbit and a few onions – but it beat waterfowl. And I was tired of feathers in my teeth.

  Pylin forest wasn’t an easy place to navigate. The woods here were dense, and the ground a tangle of roots and hidden dips. Most travelers stuck to the main roads farther north with wide, worn paths which had just enough clearance for horses and wagons. Down here, the trail was narrow and unforgiving.

  Traveling on foot suited me better. A horse would only slow the trip in this terrain. Too many narrow passes, too many things to trip on. Besides, there was no need for one. Not the way I moved.

  The air shifted slightly, and I stopped.

  First came the sound, then movement followed. Faint at first, nearly buried beneath the rustling canopy and crackle of dry leaves. Then came the rhythm: hooves striking earth with a steady and deliberate beat. The sound of leather creaking and metal shifting.

  Riders.

  Unusual this deep in the forest. Especially at that speed.

  Crouching beside a cluster of mossy stones, I waited. The sound grew clearer. It was the sound of more than one rider moving in formation. They were forcing their way through the brush, horses high-stepping over thick aboveground roots. One of them cursed as they passed, voice low and clipped.

  The route they followed ran no more than twenty paces downhill from my location. Curiosity edged out caution. I drifted toward the slope’s edge, slipping between tree trunks and twisted limbs. Crouching, I studied their formation.

  There were flashes of movement between trees – they moved fast. Too fast for anyone who knew this forest. Too loud and too careless, occasionally clipping branches while they rode. Whoever they were, they weren’t familiar with the area.

  I decided to keep up, matching their pace from the higher ground. Running parallel to their formation, my feet barely made a sound as I stayed out of sight. The rabbit dangling from the rope thudded lightly against my back with each step. This shirt was going to be stained with blood by sundown.

  Using Wind Casting, the air parted in front of me, carrying me quicker through the forest, weaving between trees in near silence.

  Once they passed through a clearing, I got a better look. Nine riders, with one riding a few paces ahead of the others.

  Whatever they were chasing, I was about to find out.

  The riders moved through a clearing, cloaks shifting like shadows amongst the trees.

  That’s when I saw her.

  While the others wore full cloaks, she stood out with her short black shirt. She made no attempt to blend in. Her fiery hair caught the light like a beacon in a sea of green. Her face tensed every time she glanced back over her shoulder. She looked young, early twenties, maybe. A small dagger hung at her waist, but it was the way she rode that caught my attention.

  There was desperation in it. She wasn’t riding with them.

  She was trying to outrun them.

  Now that they had broken free from the dense forest, they were closing in.

  Staying above them and keeping to the higher ground, no one had noticed me. Not with their attention completely focused on their pursuit.

  I considered dropping the rabbit to keep my hands free, but held on. I hadn’t tracked it this far just to waste it.

  She was losing ground. No matter how hard she pushed, they were closing in.

  The group's frontrunner, an older man, raised a hand.

  A lightning strike ripped through the trees, crackling with violent energy. It struck the horse low and hard, a crack of light and force. The effect was immediate. The beast screamed once before it bucked and crumpled mid-stride, dragging the girl down with it.

  She recovered quickly, but instead of reaching for her only weapon, she raised both hands, palms open in front of her.

  The others closed in with measured steps, forming a half-moon around her as they dismounted one by one. They aimed their crossbows at her, every shot lined up, but still they held.

  They weren’t here to kill her. They wanted her alive.

  This was no ordinary group. Instincts told me that some of them were Casters, though I couldn’t yet tell which.

  A group of eight with at least one Caster Variant could spell trouble for her, especially if more of them could cast.

  Yet, even though they outnumbered her, and she stood there unarmed, they still moved with caution.

  The reason was simple: she was a Caster herself.

  She swept her gaze across the clearing, still catching her breath from the fall. Dirt streaked her face and clung to her clothes. Desperation shone in her eyes, but beneath it, she calculated. Watching and measuring. Picking out the one most likely to strike first.

  She looked like someone who had just broken free from captivity. These weren’t strangers. They were the ones sent to retrieve what they had lost.

  Their prisoner.

  I should’ve kept moving. That was the plan. No stopping, no getting involved. But I recognized that look. I’d worn it myself, once.

  Regret settled in before I could shake it off. There’d never been a plan to interfere. But then again… why was I even here?

  I looked back at the girl. Her hands were still held out in front of her.

  This wasn’t the stance of a Fire Caster. Fire required momentum and force. Their forward strikes required a closed fist, but she kept her palms open.

  Wind Casters used their open palms to cast, but she wasn’t one of them either. To strike, they first drew in air, compressing it before unleashing it outward. She hadn’t moved like that.

  Water was unlikely as well. That affinity wasn’t suited for combat, at least not directly. Most couldn’t generate enough pressure to cause real harm without a source nearby.

  There were exceptions, of course – like me. But that took raw talent or specialized training. Neither of which I saw in her.

  Which left only one conclusion:

  A Variant. Rare by nature. Their casting, unlike the more common elemental forms, were often lethal and volatile.

  Just like the Lightning Variant that had dropped her horse. His power was quick and unpredictable. Definitely the quickest form of casting there was.

  The charge had been focused, with the single intent to bring her down. It dropped the horse instantly, yet there she was still standing… a bolt strong enough to kill a full-grown beast should’ve left her unconscious from the shock alone.

  The first to speak was the burly woman from the pursuing group, and the only other woman on the field. Broad-shouldered and well-endowed, she looked to be in her forties, with streaks of gray cutting through her dark braid. There was a steadiness in how she carried herself, like someone used to giving orders. She didn’t just carry authority; she wore it like a badge.

  “Celeste,” she called out, voice low and sharp, carrying just enough across the clearing to make sure it was heard. “Give it up already. “I’m tired of chasing your skinny ass through these damned woods.” She stepped forward as she spoke, advancing with confidence and without hesitation, like someone who didn’t see a threat, just another chore. “You’re bleeding, limping, and outnumbered. Put up a fight, and I’ll haul you out by your hair when it’s all over.”

  She went on, “For fucks sake, you killed Kaelen and Davos. Sure made a damned mess back there.”

  The girl didn’t even flinch.

  “Fuck Kaelen. And fuck Davos.”

  Then she turned, locking eyes with the Lightning Caster.

  “And fuck that pig too,” she said, spitting in his direction.

  The words hit harder than steel. Kaelen and Davos were dead, and it was because of her.

  I felt the tension shift, heavier now, like the air charged before a storm. Especially between her and Lightning Caster. There was something unspoken there, something sharp and bitter that had nothing to do with orders or objectives. This wasn’t just a chase anymore.

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  It was personal.

  As they closed in around her, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was they truly wanted. Capturing her alive made sense, at least on the surface. But there was more to it than that. She wasn’t just a fugitive. The way they moved, measured and deliberate, careful not to kill her, suggested she was worth more than a simple runaway ever should be.

  They stood quietly at an impasse. Neither side willing to make the first move. The fiery girl and her would-be captors simply studied each other, evaluating the next best approach.

  And from the way she squared her shoulders, from the weight in her voice and the look in her eye, it was clear she had no intention of surrendering. She’d die here before she let them take her.

  She tried to keep everyone in front of her as she slowly edged backward, but the circle only widened. Slow and deliberate.

  Lightning Casters burned through a tremendous amount of power. But given his age and the control he showed, it was doubtful he struggled with the same limits most did. Even so, too many wasted shots would take their toll eventually.

  While they held their stalemate, I began moving closer. Sliding the rabbit from my shoulder, I tied the dead animal to the tree I’d been perched in. Jumping down, I quietly sprinted low to a thicker trunk closer to the group.

  The men with swords kept one hand extended to their side, a poor attempt to disguise the real Casters among them by mimicking a ready stance.

  The true threats were obvious: the original thunderhead and the big-chested woman. One of the sword-bearers looked to be a Water Caster, but splashing water around here wouldn’t do him no good.

  Even so, two Variants in a group of eight weren’t odds I’d call favorable.

  The woman leading this band of misfits gripped her sword in one hand, the other aimed directly at Celeste. The way she held it, fingers steady, wrist slightly angled, spoke of an Ice Variant. Ice Casters channeled energy through their fingertips, while Lightning Variants kept their hands pronated, letting the current run from the back of the arm down the radius bone for faster conduction.

  In a duel between Casters, every second mattered.

  The Lightning Variant spoke.

  “Look, you little bitch, you’re coming with us. I’ll drag you by your hair if I have to, or knock out a few teeth as payment for Davos.”

  “Jacque, I won’t have her toothless. Those don’t grow back,” the large woman said curtly.

  Jacque looked ready to fire back, but thought better of it and stayed silent. It was plain as day she escaped and they needed her unharmed. If she was a Variant, that would explain why they were so eager to get her back. It was clear that these were traffickers and they likely had a buyer lined up who would pay a fortune for her.

  Without a word or warning, the woman thrust her hand forward, firing three icicles towards Celeste’s leg.

  Her aim to incapacitate failed as Celeste sprang backwards and answered with her own attack. Both hands snapped outward and from the center of each palm, a bright burst of light streaked toward Jacque, and the other toward the bowman flanking her.

  Jacque dodged quickly enough, but the bowman was too slow. The beam struck him square in the groin with a sickening, wet crack. He let out a high, strangled cry, something between a gasp and a whimper, as his knees buckled beneath him. The poor bastard collapsed, hands cupping the ruin of what used to be there, his face contorted in shock and pain. Blood poured between his fingers in a dark, pulsing stream, pooling quickly in the dirt below. He writhed once, then went still. Only the faint hitch of breath coming out in short, shallow bursts.

  An Ardor Variant. That’s what she was.

  Ardor Casters were rare, so rare that you could go a lifetime without meeting one. Their casting expelled energy so concentrated and fierce it shone to the naked eye. By condensing that energy into a smaller point, they could drive their shots with piercing, explosive force.

  The second bowman loosed his arrow with a sharp twang of the string. It whistled through the air and struck her in the back of the thigh with a dull, meaty thud, punching clean through muscle. A burst of pain twisted her features as her leg gave out beneath her, and she dropped to one knee, breath hissing between her teeth. Blood ran hot down her calf, already soaking into the dirt, but she didn’t scream.

  Jacque hurled another bolt of lightning, but she flattened herself to the ground in time, the current crackling past where her head had been. Without hesitation, she snapped the fletching off the shaft and pulled the arrow clean through her leg.

  Blood streamed from the wound.

  At first, I was stunned at the speed and grit it took to do that without so much as a flinch. But then it struck me and her value just skyrocketed.

  The rest of the group surged forward and that was my cue. I’d heard enough to know exactly what was happening.

  And whose side I was on.

  Drawing on the Wind, I slipped forward in near silence, closing the distance between a crossbowman with his back turned. In one swift motion, I drove my bastard sword clean through his neck. His eyes went wide, but it was already over. With a faint shudder, he slid off the blade and crumpled to the floor.

  Most Wind Casters relied on their hands to channel air around them. I was a bit different. I molded the wind around my own body, moving quickly and quietly without a sound.

  As the bowman fell, a sudden flash flared to my left. A blinding bolt of light struck a charging swordsman, punching through his abdomen with such force it hollowed out his chest. He hit the ground face-first, dead before he could even cry out.

  The power behind that shot wasn’t just raw – it was desperate. It takes a great deal of force to tear a hole clean through a man like that. Too much energy.

  Celeste stood panting, each breath dragging raggedly through her chest as the last pulse of light faded from her palm. Sweat clung to her skin, matting strands of hair to her temples, but she didn’t wipe it away. Her eyes swept the clearing still facing the opposite direction.

  By now, the enemy had realized they were no longer alone.

  I had arrived. Uninvited and unwelcome.

  They hesitated, torn between finishing her or turning on me.

  I didn’t wait for them to decide. My eyes locked on a swordsman standing just right of the big woman, and I moved.

  “Now, who the fuck are you?” the woman growled, her voice low and rough like gravel scraping against stone. She fixed me with a glare that promised violence.

  She didn’t wait long for an answer. Snapping her wrist, she loosed three icicles in rapid succession, each one a lethal spike of frozen air. I twisted out of their path as they nearly grazed my cheek.

  Ice was dangerous, but not as fast as lightning.

  The real threat was the Lightning Caster. But for now, he was locked on Celeste. I saw it in his stance that his choice was made. Rather than deal with me, he lifted his hand and fired an electrical charge straight at her.

  Jacque assumed I hadn’t cast a thing. It was an easy mistake since few could manipulate wind the way I could. He’d convinced himself I’m no Mystic and not the bigger threat.

  That assumption would cost him.

  I drove my blade through my next target’s neck, the steel parting flesh and sinew with a wet, slicing sound. His body gave a single jolt before crumpling like a sack of dried barley. The head hit the ground a breath later, eyes wide and unseeing. I stepped past the pooling blood without pause, already hunting the next.

  Jacque’s strike landed true. Lightning tore through Celeste, hurling her to the ground. Her body convulsed violently, muscles jerking as the charge gripped her. For a hearbeat, I thought she might not survive it. Yet, against all odds, she began to rise. Shaking, straining against the current ripping through her.

  Jacque didn’t relent. As he stepped closer, he continued to hold the electrical charge between them, feeding her a constant stream of energy that crackled through the air.

  With their prize twitching on the ground, I decided it was time to end this quickly. My hand extended toward the large woman, who was too busy barking orders to notice the shift in my aim.

  I loosed a single, jagged shard of ice straight at her head. It screamed through the air. She tried to lean away, but her reaction came too late.

  The icicle struck her jaw with a sound like stone shattering. Bone splintered, flesh split open. Her head jerked sideways with the force of it, the bottom half of her face hanging grotesquely, her jaw swinging loose by veined cords of tendon and muscle.

  She stumbled back.

  Her eyes, once furious, filled with shock. She reached up, blood pouring through her fingers as she tried to hold her face together. She dropped to one knee, choking on a gurgle as she tried to speak, maybe even give a command.

  Yet, nothing comprehensible came out. With a rush forward and a swing of my sword, I finished the job and took off her head.

  Jacque cut off his assault on the girl and turned his focus back to me.

  The other two were already on the move, closer than he was, and closing the gap fast. But when the ice tore through their leader’s jaw, they hesitated. One skidded to a halt, eyes locked on the twitching body of the woman who moments ago was shouting commands like nothing could touch her. The other slowed mid-step, sword wavering. For a breath, neither advanced. The fight drained from their posture for a moment.

  I didn’t wait.

  I pressed forward, wind wrapping tight around my limbs, driving me forward in a sudden burst. My momentum surged, the ground blurring beneath my feet as I closed the distance.

  The closer one lunged to catch my attack. I caught his blade with mine, steel ringing against steel. Using the force of the clash, I twisted with it and spun into a tight arc. Mid-spin, I shifted my grip, releasing my left hand and letting my right guide the blade as I pivot into the second attacker who had just arrived. There was no pause. With one smooth movement, I delivered my strike.

  The second swordsman was a beat too slow. He gripped his longsword with both hands, but my blade sliced into his left knuckle before he could fully react – severing fingers and sending his weapon clattering to the ground. His yell barely left his throat before I ended him with another hand-sized icicle, driven straight into his face.

  His body dropped.

  I stood alone with Jacque to my back and the last swordsman in front of me. This one hesitated, his eyes were locked on mine, weighing the risk. He didn’t charge. He was smart… or scared. Either way, the tension hung heavy.

  I didn’t focus on him for long as Jacque was just yards behind me, and I could feel his presence pressing closer. It wouldn’t be long before he struck.

  I braced myself, and then I heard it. The sharp, crackling sound of his attack building, about to be thrown my way. He was drawing power, and a split second before the hum of the charge attack sounded, I pushed myself out of the way.

  Dropping my bastard sword, I twisted my body and pushed my hands outwards in front of me. A rush of wind exploded beneath me, launching me backward through the air.

  At that exact moment, Jacques’ charge tore past where I’d just been and slammed straight into the last swordsman. The bolt hit him clean between the neck and abdomen. He’d been gripping his sword in both hands, ready to swing. But the force drove the weapon back into him, the edge carving a deep gash across his own shoulder before it was flung from his grasp.

  A strangled sound caught in his throat.

  The arid stench of scorched flesh hit the air, thick and immediate. His mouth opened in a silent scream, lips peeling back from his teeth, eyes wide with confusion that bled into horror. He stumbled, clutching at the ruin of his chest as if he could somehow hold it together.

  Where the armor gave way at the collar, blistered skin curled in like old parchment, exposing raw sinew and the pale gleam of bone. The blast flayed through him as if his body were made of paper.

  He swayed, then dropped sideways. Dead before he hit the ground.

  As I tumbled through the air in a backward somersault, I finally hit the ground hard - landing square on my ass.

  No time to shake off the dizziness.

  I forced myself up to my feet, heart pounding. Jacques already closing in. I may have flown ten yards back, but he didn’t hesitate. Not even after frying his last ally. If anything, it only made him more desperate.

  Before I could decide whether to strike or dodge, a flash of light tore through the air.

  It punched clean through Jacques’ abdomen. A hole the size of a Luschian gold coin gaped on the left side of his gut, the edges charred and smoking. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Just stared down at the ruin in his gut as if it belonged to someone else.

  His mouth opened slightly, a breath catching somewhere between a gasp and a groan. His sword slipped from his grip, thudding on the dirt floor. Eyes wide, unfocused, he swayed on his feet.

  Then the pain caught up to him.

  While he staggered and turned, trying to face back towards Celeste, I moved. I gathered wind once more, felt it coil around my legs like a spring, and launched myself forward with my fist aimed directly at his head.

  The punch sounded like an explosion went off when it made contact with the back of his head.

  The force of the blow launched him forward. As he hits the ground, his hair ignited. Flames licked at his scalp in a sudden blaze. Jacque’s gurgled cries echoed through the forest as his whole head became engulfed. The smell of burning flesh hung thick in the cool autumn air.

  He twitched once. Twice. Then stilled.

  Silence settled in.

  Jacque was dead.

  And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that killing him just opened a door I wouldn’t be able to close.