Page 36 of Fate Promised

Triska let out a startled cry and took a step forward. Was Juri all right? She couldn’t see through the grass.

Fergal grabbed her arm as the harpy’s death cry rang out over the meadow. When Juri stood and shook out his arms, she sagged in relief.

Wincing, the other man stood and twisted to peer at his back. His cloak hung in blood-soaked tatters. He raised his hand, and a bit of purple magic gathered at his fingertips.

“No, no,” Fergal shouted. “You’ll probably catch yourself on fire judging how badly your spell work is. Come over here, I’ll help you.”

The man turned, revealing his face for the first time. He had a proud brow, straight eyebrows, and odd, light-colored eyes that appeared to glow from where she stood. He was handsome in an imposing way. Even with the horrible fashion choices, if they’d been in the tavern and he’d walked in, Chessa would have made a beeline for him.

Triska flicked her gaze to the vulk beside him. Not that vulk walked into taverns all that often, but if Juri had, he was the one who’d capture her attention.

Juri and the man joined her and Fergal, and as Fergal waved his hand over the man’s back, he asked, “Who are you? And who trained you?” He added, “Absolutely appalling magic work. I’ve seen better in first-year students.”

The man’s eyes flashed, and he raised his chin a fraction. “Insulting me ends in death for many, old man.” He rolled his shoulders as his wounds knitted together. “But since you’re helping me, I’ll spare you this time.”

Fergal hooted. “Oh, what are you going to do? Flash your sparks at me? Your spells are barely strong enough to give me a nosebleed.” He thumped Juri on the back. “Besides, I have protection.”

One of Juri’s lips crept up his eyetooth. “What’s your name?”

“Koschei.” The sea dragon tromped over to them, yowling, and butted the man in the side, almost toppling him. “And this is Arrow.”

Koschei held up his hands and rotated them, studying his palms. “My magic has been bound for thousands of years. Today is the first time I could use a fraction of it.” He glanced at Fergal. “As you saw, I’m still bound. I can’t truly use it.”

Juri had gone still. “Koschei the Deathless?”

Koschei glanced at Juri, then away, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “I’ve been called that name, yes.” An odd expression flashed across Juri’s face. What did he know about Koschei?

The man held his cloak out taut, studying the tatters. “I don’t suppose you know how to fix this, too?”

Fergal rolled his eyes, and the fabric knitted back together with a wave of his hand.

“Rare for harpies to attack in such a small group,” Juri said.

“You know harpies. They like having men serve their needs.” His gaze flicked over Juri. “Well, perhaps you don’t. I told them I bow to no one, especially not ugly viragos who smell of rotting flesh.” He shrugged. “They didn’t like that response. I’d forgotten how vain they are, but then again, the harpies and you three are the first visitors I’ve had in many, many years.”

He tossed his restored cloak over his shoulder in a flourish and looked them over. When his gaze reached Triska, a brow lifted a fraction, and he studied her a bit longer than the others. “I’ve introduced myself. Must I wait for your master of ceremonies to arrive and announce who you are?”

Juri shot her a look, his lip farther up his eyetooth, then introduced everyone.

Koschei waved his hand. “Welcome to the vanishing isle. Once here, you can’t leave.”

13

Juri’s hackles rose, and a growl ripped from deep in his chest. “What do you mean you can’t leave?”

Koschei shrugged. “This is a prison. A beautiful one, but a prison, nevertheless. You can’t portal in or out, and the mist keeps any ships at bay.” He eyed them. “Well, usually. Perhaps the magic keeping the isle shrouded is slipping.”

Juri looked around at the murky fog curling around the edges of the meadow, enveloping everything in mist. With the harpies dead, bird calls filled the air, and the stench of brimstone, the scent etched onto the skin of those from the underworld, floated away. The light from the suns wasn’t quite reaching the ground, but it was still up there. This was a realm unto itself. It wasn’t the dark, sunless Peklo or Ulterra.

Fergal raised his hand, and while magic ignited in his palm, nothing else happened. He frowned. “There is a barrier here preventing portals.” He shook his head. “No matter, once I fix my ship, we’ll be able to leave.”

Koschei tossed his head. “Good luck.”

“Why was this island created to imprison you?” Juri asked.

Koschei went still. “That is none of your concern.”

Juri bared his teeth. This was why the vulk didn’t spend much time with magicwielders. They were absolutely impossible.

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