The Rifts of Psyche by Kyle West (i love reading .txt) 📕

and charged. Even as Kiani readied his own spear, Lucian sprang into action, reaching for the Orb of Binding without thinking. It obeyed him instantly, maybe due to his decisiveness. He streamed two tethers and drew their weapons into each of his open hands.

Both looked his way. Cleon’s chest heaved with anger, while Lord Kiani stared coldly.

“Never stand between a man and his prey, Lucian,” Mage-Lord Kiani said. “Or you might find yourself the new target.”

Lucian felt a pushing at his Psionic ward, and he instantly increased its strength to match the attack. But it was only a distraction. Lord Kiani attempted to draw his spear back with Binding, though that tug was weak compared to Lucian’s own tether. There was no way the Mage-Lord could get the spear back. Not unless Lucian allowed it, or the Orb of Binding failed him.

The Mage-Lord’s face reddened as he realized his predicament. Nonetheless, Lord Kiani streamed harder, not wanting to be shown up.

At last, he relented, and a dangerous smile spread across his face. “I guess her Majesty wasn’t lying when she said you were the best Binder in the Worlds.”

“I wasn’t.”

All turned to focus on that melodic voice. The queen glided forward, today wearing a violet dress and cape, with a laced bodice with an opening that left little to the imagination.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Kiani said, giving a graceful bow. “You honor us with your presence.”

“And you are attempting to honor me by . . . killing each other? How manly.”

Lord Kiani gave an embarrassed cough. “Err . . . no, your Majesty. Merely practicing our forms. Rifters against Darans, as it were.”

“Indeed?” Her droll voice told Lucian that she doubted that very much. “Well, if you were truly practicing, don’t stop on my account.”

Lord Kiani cleared his throat, turning back to face Cleon and arching an eyebrow.

“I think I’m spent,” Cleon said. “I’m not your dancing monkey.” At the Queen’s intense stare, Cleon added sarcastically, “Your Majesty.”

“What about you?” she asked, looking at Lucian. “Were you a part of this impromptu tournament? It wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, it could be quite diverting.”

“I wasn’t, your Majesty.” Lucian said. He didn’t like acknowledging her as Queen, but Cleon had done it. If Cleon could play along, then so could he. Then again, his tone communicated in no terms was he going to put on a show for her. And from the Queen’s icy stare, she fully got the message.

“Very well,” the Queen said, all but giving an exasperated sigh.

She left them there, her face pale as she retreated belowdecks.

Once she was gone, Serah whistled. “Damn. The balls on you.”

“That was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

“You bet your ass it was.”

Lucian sighed. “Well, she doesn’t deserve any better. A tournament? Has she lost her mind?”

“That rejection was almost enough for me to feel bad for her,” Serah said. “Almost.”

She and Lucian were no longer the focus of attention. Instead, most were on the starboard side of the Zephyr, looking north across the cracked badlands at a brown mountain range to the north. A great dust was rising at the foot of those mountains.

Lucian ran to that side, placing his hands on the railing with Serah right behind him. The wind was blowing harder now, enough for the wooden hull to creak under the increased force.

“What is that?” Lucian asked.

“That would be our doom if we don’t shift course,” Cleon said, coming to join them. “Not much for the Binders to grab onto out here.”

Another five minutes passed, and the wind had picked up even more, enough to make the great hull of the Zephyr sway uncomfortably. Lucian had trouble keeping his feet, and the turbulence almost made him feel like he was trying to waterwalk. Particles of sand stung his face, though the bulk of the storm was minutes away. As insane as the thought was, he wondered if the Sorceress-Queen had conjured this storm because he had pissed her off.

“Doesn’t look good,” Serah said. “The ship needs to find shelter, and fast.”

The crew was scurrying about, following the orders barked by Captain Rawley. The sails, which were usually furled, were let loose and they filled with wind from the north. The ship veered south, but Lucian knew there was no way they could escape the storm entirely.

“Better get belowdecks,” Serah said. “Won’t take much of a gust to send you flying.”

Lucian imagined she was right. Before he took shelter, he noticed many of the sailors were donning metal boots, which he imagined would help them remain rooted in place, though it greatly slowed their movement on the deck. By now, though, most were in position to brace for impact.

Lucian watched the oncoming storm one last time, no more than a hundred meters distant. It was advancing fast. He and Serah ducked belowdecks, the last of the non-sailors, right before the wall of wind pummeled the Zephyr’s starboard side.

42

Lucian lost his footing and flew into the air, crashing against the wooden wall. He was tossed about the heaving corridor, only to be thrown down a staircase leading to the crew cabins.

Lucian found his feet, finding himself alone in darkness. He streamed a light sphere, the aura pushing back the shadows.

“Serah?”

His voice was barely audible above the din of wind outside. Shouts emanated from belowdecks as the ship heaved to and fro. The deck was angled, as if the ship were going down sideways.

He had to find Serah and the others. If this ship was crashing, then they needed to save themselves.

He clawed his way up the deck, tethering himself to a door frame at the top of the stairs. Lucian surged forward, just in time to see the double doors of the Queen’s cabin burst open with Psionic force. The Queen herself emerged, staying rooted to the deck with a Gravitonic stream. She cast him a short glance before climbing the stairs and going out into the storm. What in the Worlds was she doing?

Lucian followed, but not easily. He