“How could this happen?” the nobleman whispered, breaking his stunned silence.

“Perhaps a splinter of de Molay’s faith touched it,” the monk shook his head, “if a demon can lead a man astray…”

The nobleman gasped as a ring of fire erupted from the circle. He spun around, patting his clothes, which were beginning to smoke. “What, you said that we had nothing to fear-”

The apparition did not turn around. “You have nothing to fear from me. I might have shriven you, if you had possessed the faith to ask.” The men began to scream as the flames began to lap at their flesh. “My former master is the one you pledge fealty to now. And he did not care to lose my service.”

The angel, awash with a light white and terrible in its brightness, walked away from the pyre.

BREIA'S DIAMOND by Cat Collins

Cat Collins began writing at the turn of the century. She lives in the beautiful north of New Zealand with her husband and the youngest of their three sons. “Breia’s Diamond” is her first short story. Her first novel, Sleeping Dragons, was published in November 2005, and two further books in the series await the “right” publisher.

BREIA GROANED and squeezed her eyes shut. Her mouth tasted like the inside of her boots. She rubbed a throbbing temple and groped beside her for the tumbler of water. Her sword slid away from her questing hand, knocked from its always-ready position to clatter to the floorboards. The sound of shattering glass signified the tumbler’s fate. She cursed, her tongue thick and clumsy in her dry mouth. A gentle snore beside her had her eyes open in a heartbeat. Squinting in the early light, she turned and focused on her companion.

Tagrin. She sighed in relief. Fellow mercenary and occasional, second-choice bedmate. At least he was clean. She tried to recall the events of last evening but was quite unable. No matter. If the previous occasions were anything to go by, he had been adequate-but not memorable. She leaned across his muscular chest and stole his waterflask. He grunted and opened a dark eye.

“No more. I’m done with you. You turn me inside out.”

She scowled and kneed him in the ribs on her way out of the blankets. “I wasn’t inviting you. You’re hardly Terrano.” She drained his flask, then tossed it at him.

“That’s harsh, Breia, truly harsh.” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I admit I am a great disappointment to my mother. The sun doesn’t shine out of my arse. Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining.”

Breia dressed quickly. “In truth, Tag, I don’t remember. You may have been magnificent.” Buckling her sword belt, she glanced through the dingy window and cursed. “I’m late.”

“For what?” Tagrin pulled up the coarse blankets and folded his arms over his chest. His bottom jaw jutted, and his close-set eyes gave him the appearance of a powerful ape that Breia had once seen in a merchant’s caravan.

“Terrano. I’m riding with him today. We drew targets in adjoining towns.”

Tagrin rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Lucky you. Be sure to wear your eye-shields. If he bends over, you’ll go blind.”

Breia snorted. “It’s business, Tag, don’t be bitter. You know how it goes-places to be, people to kill.” She picked up her mantle and stood before the door. “Where’re you headed today?”

“ Crevice Pass. ” Tagrin sat up and scratched his chest, grimacing at the light that fell across his face. “After breakfast. By Carrannah’s Tits, my gut needs food.”

Oily nausea in her own stomach had Breia nodding in agreement. She pulled her fingers through her hair and wove it into its usual short braid. “See you on our return, then. Give my love to the rest of the lads.”

“I thought you already had,” Tagrin muttered.

“Not all of them, Tag,” she said sweetly. “Only you, because you don’t keep me awake too long.” She blew him a smacking kiss and dodged the pillow he threw at her. Chuckling, she descended the narrow staircase and followed her nose to the inn’s breakfast table.

Hot ham and egg scramble packed into a rye trencher seemed the perfect antidote to her hangover. She tossed two coppers to the pimply serving girl. Exiting the shabby inn, she blinked at the glare of winter sun on the whitewashed walls that lined the street. Her head still ached, and probably would all morning. She sighed, bit into her breakfast, and turned west, heading uptown.

The sun warmed her back as she strode toward her rendezvous with Terrano. She smiled around a mouthful of buttery eggs, recalling Tagrin’s scornful remark. That the sun shone from Terrano’s arse was not true. She knew that for fact, having bedded him on many occasions.

The squat shabbiness of their current quarters glowered at her from the shadow of the tall tower it hunkered beneath. Two horses stood tethered outside the structure. Breia’s cheeks heated. Both mounts were ready, bedrolls and bags attached behind the saddles, their breath misting in the cool air.

“Damn,” she muttered, patting Ashen’s warm rump in passing. The gray whickered and rolled an eye at her. Terrano leaned in the doorway holding a steaming mug in one hand and his gauntlets in the other. He sipped the hot brew, his brows raised over eyes the color of a deep lake in summer.

“Glad you could make it.” He tapped the leather gloves against his thigh, his gaze steady and appraising. Breia chewed her cheek and turned toward the gray gelding, checking the animal’s girth straps. Cinched and ready. She dropped the saddle flap and rubbed the animal’s neck.

“Thanks,” she said diffidently. “I, uh…sorry I’m late.”

Terrano drained the mug in long swallows and tossed the dregs at his feet. He wiped his mouth and shrugged. “We should go.” His eyes glinted. Devilry, or irritation? The man was so damned hard to read. “So. Did you have fun?” He set the mug down and pulled on his gauntlets, his steady blue gaze now intent on his preparations.

“I did, thanks. You?” Memory of the previous evening filtered back. Breia’s skin goose-bumped. Tagrin’s blighted Jem-Jem Juice. The fiery orange liquor had fogged her brain, leadened her limbs, and lent seduction to her tongue. Terrano had declined her advances. He always did when she was drunk. Angry, she had stalked away, arm in arm with Tagrin, wearing her tattered dignity as a shield against Terrano’s rejection.

He grinned suddenly, the usual lopsided grin that brought a sunrise to his face. “It was a quiet evening, Bree. Always is when you take yourself somewhere else.” She watched his hands while he fastened his travel cloak. Her head ached in dull throbs. Terrano mounted his tall roan and sat waiting. She hauled herself aboard Ashen, still not meeting Terrano’s eyes.

Terrano clicked his tongue. The roan sidled past Breia and broke into a canter. She sighed and kicked Ashen to a disgruntled trot, watching Terrano’s straight back. She caught up with him just before he reached the Necromancer’s tower. He glanced up at the tall structure, then at her. His horse snorted when he pulled it to a stop.

“Do you know what it is?” His gaze rested atop the tower. One hand shaded his eyes.

Breia reined in and shook her head. “He’s taking his time to build it, whatever he means to use it for. The foundations alone seemed to take forever to put down.”

A faint furrow appeared between Terrano’s brows. “Strange. There’s nothing inside, you know. No floors, no stairs, nothing.”

Breia stared at the odd tower. Two doors, one at the bottom, one at the very top. Between the two doors, one massive window the height of several men, crisscrossed with iron bars. She shrugged. “Mages are strange men, and Necromancers the strangest of them. Pays well, though, eh?” She grinned. “He can be as odd as he likes if he keeps the coin coming.”