The Ringmaster's Revenge

The Ringmaster's Revenge: Phase Twelve

Phase Twelve

Aviraz

Taking his time hopping back to Twilight, Aviraz tried to ignore the weight of Fate’s sword upon his back.  But the very feel of it, bumping against him between shadows, was haunting.  He’d only ever used one weapon and it was that which hung at his side.  The black blade.  Once it had been an ordinary sword, back when it had tasted Badru’s blood, but with Shadowmynn fabric wrapped around it, the blade had become a weapon of unending possibilities.  At will, Aviraz could transform it, making a spike for goring, a saw to slice through bone, or a club to break them.  In service of Lycoris, it had become less of a tool and more of an extension of the shade, who’d used it to craft more pain than any creature in the realm.

As the palace loomed on the horizon, Aviraz changed direction so as to appear in the corridor outside the great hall where a gang of Motteh Doo idled, chatting gruffly about the spoilt food they’d eaten and casting blame on the runt of the pack who was not around to defend himself. 

“I tell you, that mutt is about as bright as the crack in a Shadowmynn’s nether part,” one growled.  The howling laughs of his mates turned into high pitched yelps as they leapt away from the shade, who had suddenly appeared at the center of their ring.  “Yaaaart!  Yaaaart!  Yaaart!” they cried, before regaining their composure and hurrying back, looking embarrassed.  Only one dog had failed to run and only because Aviraz was standing on his tail.  It was the jokester but he wasn’t nearly so jovial, now.  A low growl escaped his throat and the shade removed his boot.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t see you there, Winston.”

The Motteh Doo ignored him, instead calling to one of the dogs still quaking in the corner, “Go.  Tell Prince Lycoris his animal is back,” then snapping at the shade’s fading ankle.

The two had never really liked each other, as they’d come from different worlds and had little but current residence in common.  Winston, like all of his kind, had come from Erebtophet to serve the archduke, Covet, and had little respect for the more secretive species of Sequents, the Shadowmynn.  And ever since Aviraz and the Motteh Doo had been pitted against each other in battle, solely for the amusement of their masters, they had been enemies.  Winston had had the advantage of fighting in a pack, of which four were killed, while the shade had stood alone, but still he’d lost.  A fact which stung like a thorn in the paw.

Staring straight ahead, Aviraz waited for the mutt to return which he did all too soon with the message, “The prince wishes to see you in his quarters, at once.  And if you ever pull a stunt like that again, we’ll rip your face off.”

His bravado was wasted on Aviraz who shrugged and stalked off toward his master’s chamber.  Steadily, he was losing his nerve.  It was bad enough that his head pounded at the very idea of disobeying Lycoris but, as he walked, fear and fire began to creep through him.  “This will be the death of me,” he whispered, as if to Fate.  “Even if I don’t burst into flames on the way, lifting a weapon to him will surely kill me.  He is my master.  He cannot die.  He is strong.  Too strong.”

When he arrived at the prince’s door, startling the Motteh Doo on guard, he had already decided not to go through with the assassination.  He would just hand over the weapon and suffer the punishment, hoping it would be less severe then that of attempted murder.  Already his headache was abating.  Aviraz announced himself and entered the room to find Lycoris still in bed.  Mahina slept half on top of him and half beside him with her soft silvery hair draped over his chest.  The sound of the door closing brought her around.  Her wide innocent eyes blinked in the drowsy way Aviraz could still remember waking up to each morning and, though it sent an ache through him, his face remained placid.  Sensing his presence beside the bed she looked up and started to whine.