by Keri Salyers
“Indeed. Right now, we are simply waiting for nature to take its course.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’ve run out of questions except for how long these monstrosities live.”
I stopped cold and had to force my feet to continue to move, lest I reach over and slug the smug bastard right in his perfect teeth. “You have one of my Harbingers—alive—and are keeping it prisoner till its life runs out? Ugh, and you called me dark….”
“Would you rather we had simply killed it?”
“Pretty sure that death is better than torture, no matter where one hails from,” I replied. “After this is over, I am taking it with me. I don’t care how it happens but you will see it done.” I’d think about what I would be doing with an inhuman bloodsucking killer afterwards. Maybe I could fly it out to the country, let it run free…? Yeah right.
A few turns later had me loathing this place more than I already did—how many corridors, floors and hallways did one need, honestly? I was beginning to think we were being baited, seeing how long we’d continued to trail it like fools. The floating ball was emitting a sound like humming -did floating balls hum?—then it darted off and went through a random door. Literally through it. When we approached, the door came open and we entered.
I never had the opportunity to wander Osiril, let alone its castle, and far be it for me to judge on one’s architecture, but I highly doubted that this was part of the original design. The room was heavily shadowed with a vaulted ceiling. The walls were not visible even with the fire pit stationed in what I assumed was the center of the room. Flames stirred oddly in its copper basin; the sparks catching in an air current and spiraling up. So busy was I trying to focus on those stirring flashes that when the fire suddenly whooshed up, it startled me. Letting down my mental barriers just a bit, I attempted to sample the brand of magic. This wasn’t Pelthocian. This wasn’t Sarkkrai (they did not possess latent magic skills in the slightest). This was nothing like I had ever felt before.
I met a hard impenetrable force like no other. Not even Ianarius had barriers this strong; it was like butting up against an iron wall. The fire whirled and reformed itself outside the pit, becoming vaguely humanoid. The fire being laughed and the sound washed over us with power that only a mage-trained mind could feel.
But I was not about to be bullied by some fire sprite or whatever that was! Especially not while on a temporary vacation with a lofty mission on the horizon that I was becoming more and more eager to be done with. The being took a deep breath and the energies of the room swept in. This was no fire sprite. “My name is Invyrchal. Perhaps you have heard of me?”
It took me a moment to realize that the being was speaking human English. Shit….
~*~*~*~
CHAPTER 4
I swallowed, throat dry. “What are you and what do you want with me?”
“When you are ready, I will ask you what I am and you will tell me.” The fire being called Invyrchal scattered in a flurry of embers and appeared closer to us, its arms held out in a welcoming gesture. “Now, are you ready to see what I have to show you? I’ve taken a lot of steps to prepare. Quite exciting. Oh and Master Nalach, you must come too since you will be heavily involved, I’m sure.”
“What are you going on about?” Ianarius asked, sleep-deprivation finally having gotten to him. “Come where? Tell us who you are and how you got in here. Make it fast.”
Or else. I heard the threat even though he didn’t say it out loud. The Pelthocian was overly confident. We had no idea who or what this being was. The only thing we knew for sure was that it was very powerful.
The fire being’s arms dropped to its side, the fire burning brighter for a moment. In another flurry, he was suddenly between the pair of us. The heat pushed us away. I was getting nervous. N-not that I couldn’t handle myself. “I heard there was some concern with the happenings in Rakmorath, with the Sarkkrai?”
I looked at the mage. Maybe we could get some answers, if a certain person didn’t mess this up. “Yeah. The Pelthocians worry the Sarkkrai are preparing to wage war once more.”
“A wise concern. The Sarkkrai are bloodthirsty and nothing will ever alter that.”
“Are they? Preparing for war, I mean?”
“….maybe,” the fire being said, covering its mouth as if to mask a smile. “Why not just ask them?”
“It’s not as if they can send a diplomat. And the blasted Zarhsha can’t divine—”
“Zofeya,” Ianarius said sharply, halting my words. “You say too much.”
Invyrchal chuckled, snaking its way over to the mage to loop a flaming arm companionably over his shoulder. The heat must have been unbearable, yet the mage stoically refused to move, refused to allow the creature to make him move. “Oh come now, Ianarius Nalach, Master Mage of Osiril, what makes you think I don’t know….everything?” He appeared beside me. “You wish to know what the Sarkkrai are planning. I can show you. This will be so much fun!”
The fire that made up its body burned brighter, painfully so. I had to shield my eyes and then had to back away when the heat began to sear. There was a flash and suddenly I was no longer hot. Actually I was rather cool. Wind buffeted me and when I opened my eyes I didn’t see the room or the fire being or even Osiril, I saw clear skies darkening with the onset of dusk, distant mountains and a whole lot of empty air a mile over the green fields below.
I felt a pop at my side and a sharp sense of panic that was not my own. Energy cascaded in and as gravity took over, I saw Ianarius’ free-fall halt. His inky eyes were large as plates and even as I plummeted, I could see his chest heave. The wind chilled my back, was moving too fast to pull into my tiny lungs. The mage was getting farther and farther from me, held in place by a levitation spell. What had happened, I wondered as the air screamed past me. That fire being, had he cast a teleportation spell? On this magnitude? I hadn’t felt a thing other than the overwhelming heat. I couldn’t even react. Did a creature that powerful really and truly live in Lehiras?
Aggravating! A snub! Did that… thing… know who I was? Well, I would show him. Deep breath, I expanded my senses. Ianarius above me became clear and sharp despite the growing distance. My wings drew out and spread. The wind caught beneath them as I righted myself. In a powerful downward sweep, my plummet became a gentle drop. Once stabilized, I wasted no time in winging back up.
The mage’s breathing was calming, but he was eyeing me like he expected I was behind the sudden shift. That, or perhaps that my intent would be something other than benevolent now that he was forced to remember who and what I really was. In his state of fatigue, his mental shields were leaking emotion and it was De-li-cious. Looking at him, I couldn’t help but ponder his ability to sustain a levitation spell while trying to keep my teeth from snapping him in two. A handsome man probably tasted pretty handsome, I thought with a feisty tail flick.
Ugh! Too much time in “human” form had me thinking, unlike the villainous tyrant I was supposed to be! Handsome? Pelthocians weren’t handsome, they were petty, aggravating, fickle… they made friends with Zarhsha for cripes sake! Just because the wind whipped his robe back to outline details such as a small belted waist and lengthy strong legs in plain black pants did not mean a thing. I dropped my eyes lest they betray me and had a look at other things—such as where the heck we were.
One thing was for sure, this was not Pelthocia.
Ianarius, queued in to my bewilderment, followed my gaze. Rakmorath was an ugly place. Dry, broken and arid. Reminded me of Arizona. Kidding, kidding. There was a… settlement… to the south. I recognized the harsh lines of the lookout posts, the military placement of the buildings, the fluttering pennants atop the high wooden walls. I’d call it a village or town but these were Sarkkrai, not Pelthocian, there would be little going on there that would qualify it for either of those terms. I saw fires and slag pits but this wasn’t a defensive outpost, which put it far enough into Rakmorath that the Sarkkrai did
n’t worry at all for an attack. “Looks like our diplomatic mission was chosen for us…” I looked back at the mage. “You ready?”
“I can’t help but feel this is a set-up.”
“It probably is,” I conceded. “Don’t do anything stupid, mage.”
He didn’t reply to that but he didn’t need to. His lips were twisted in a sneer. There was no love-loss between Pelthocians and Sarkkrai; to think there would ever be lasting peace was pure fantasy. Well… I would try this diplomatically, if the mage screwed it up then at least my conscious would be clean. Hopefully when the Sarkkrai skin him alive, they won’t get any on my nice boots. “Get on.” His eyes slid back to me with only a slight lessening of disgust. “Do you want to remind them that you are a mage? Don’t be an idiot.”
They looked as if they had been expecting me. There was a flurry of motion; even from my distance I could hear their shouted orders. Those not posted at the walls, moved quickly to a flat clearing and formed ranks, half on one side half on the other. Nice to see they still thought highly of me after all these years.
Ten years ago, to the Sarkkrai, I was a King. Sarkkrai only respect power and power is only given to males, therefore they addressed me as male and given a rank that to them was almost on par with their Warlord. Not to say the females are mistreated within their society. One might be predisposed to think that way since down-to-one the Sarkkrai were barbarians but that wasn’t quite right. It was more like a twisted neglect on their part. The females are shut away—away from the males and out of the way in general, but they are given whatever they need. To them, females are property owned by their mates or by their father until they are of age. They were not technically mistreated since you do not break another man’s property unless you want that man to break you in return but the females had no voice whatsoever within the clan.
“It looks like they are inviting us down.”
“This doesn’t seem wise.”
“Is Pelthocia’s MVP scared of a few Sarkkrai? Don’t worry, I will make sure the big bad destroyers don’t mistake you for lunch vittles.” I grinned toothily over my shoulder at him.
“I am not scar—what’s an MVP?”
Folding back my wings, I angled down. The closer we got, the better I could make out the expressions upon the faces of the destroyers. Note that Sarkkrai do not call their warriors “warriors”; they are called destroyers because warriors wage war whereas destroyers, well… you get the idea. As a whole, they are a large race. They grow quickly, gaining adulthood around 12 or 13, and are physically the most impressive of any two-legged being I have ever laid eyes upon. Six foot is average height for the males, many boast six-five or six-eight and nary will you find one under two hundred pounds in weight. Their skin is an odd gray-green color, varying from swamp mud to dying grass; their backs and along their shoulders the skin is a mottled darker shade. Destroyers practically live in their armor.
This was a disciplined group—more so than normal Sarkkrai standards, which were already fairly high—and put me on alert. Why would such a group be out here, acting like they were waiting for my arrival? I came down as lightly as someone my size could (ahem), my wings tossing up bits of dust that the Sarkkrai didn’t even blink at. Their dark eyes however focused on my passenger and the entire mien of the gathering turned from military discipline to barely contained mob. The destroyers did not so much as move from their positions but I could feel the collective draw of bated breath.
One of the Sarkkrai had detached himself from the rest and approached. He addressed me but his blacker-than-black eyes were on Ianarius. “My King, you grace us with your presence.” It took me a moment to process the language; it had been ten years, after all. His heavy brow was angled down in respect of me despite having no more than glanced my way. “You have brought… a Pelthocian…”
“He is an emissary of the Pelthocian King and under my protection,” I said, translating as literally as possible so that there would be no mistaking. I was not sure how reasonable it would be to revert to my lesser form. The reminder of whom they were dealing with would better serve to keep them in check. Giving a sharp flap of my wings as punctuation, I drew the Sarkkrai’s eyes. “You look as if you were waiting for me.”
“We were, my King.”
“How did you know I was coming?”
The destroyer just smiled his unpleasant smile.
I heard footsteps behind me, the crunch of heavy plated boots on the barren soil. The stride was slow, confident; I knew that stride and suddenly I was afraid to turn. Afraid? I truly was—not here, not now. I had not come back to Lehiras to see him. The jangle of chain and creak of leather preceded him; the destroyers were now at complete attention. I could feel the tension from Ianarius ratchet up tenfold.
“You have returned….” Ve’Sath said, his voice caressing me, sliding over me, making me shiver like a fingernail down my spine. I couldn’t turn, couldn’t face him. The crunch of his boots stepped beside me and I felt a gloved hand touch my side, gliding forward as he walked. Then the hand was on my wing, then my shoulder. No one but the Warlord was so comfortable with my immensity and no one but the Warlord could make me feel like the smaller being. Breathing out, I forced my energy into my second form. I shrunk down and when I opened my eyes, Ve’Sath stood over me with his lowered lids and slight smile.
I can’t help it—monsters are attracted to monsters and Ve’Sath was practically leader of them all. I can’t quite explain to you why, most humans would probably not appreciate what I saw in this Sarkkrai. First off, tusks trump fangs any day of the week. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise until you’ve had both. Sarkkrai technically do have both; their canines are more elongated than a human’s and their lower tusks jut out from their lips. Ve’Sath had been Warlord for more than a dozen years and one did not hold that position for long if one was not worthy. In a society where strength is a measure of a man, he had personally killed all his rivals, had triumphed over all competition. It wasn’t just his skills in warfare that kept him in the position; it was the frighteningly intelligent calculating mind he possessed.`
His dark eyes drank me in from head to toe, my unusual style of clothing not fazing him in the slightest. When he got to my boots, his eyes slid to the mage and though his small smile remained, the ruthless invidiousness that was commonplace froze his eyes into chunks of black ice. Ve’Sath, as I had said, was a very intelligent man; he knew exactly who Ianarius was. “My King, you’ve been keeping strange company. Have these last ten years changed you so much?”
It was a light comment but I was very familiar with how his thought patterns worked—if he spoke, it was never meant to be taken without utmost seriousness. “I…” I had to clear my thoughts, my mouth suddenly dry. “I had not expected you to be here, Warlord.”
“I am sure you did not,” he replied. “But you know these are my lands,” Ve’Sath took my hand in his giant gloved one and pulled me after him, “and what I say is law here.” His black eyes went back to Ianarius.
A signal I hadn’t picked up on went through the ranks of destroyers and they surged forward. Ve’Sath pulled me close. I could stop them—I should stop them—but instead I found myself just standing there. The warmth, the strength, of him infused me and drew me in.
Ianarius was not considered Pelthocia’s top mage for no reason—he was on defense immediately with a shield. The weapons of the Sarkkrai bounced off and he retaliated with a sweeping spell that whipped the legs out from under his attackers. He was not going to go down without a fight but even I recognized non-lethal spells. Did he really think we still had a chance at diplomacy here?
For being under overwhelming odds, the mage held his own. I was impressed and it was that odious fact that brought me back to who I really was—I am not one to swoon over muscular arms and tight leather, well, not always. “Warlord, stop this. Stop them before they kill him.”
Ve’Sath chuckled, never a good thing. “Are you not enjoying the show?”
He sighed, gesturing for them to stop attempting to bludgeon the mage to death. The destroyers pulled Ian to his knees and taking their swords, they stabbed them into the ground around him, caging him in a ring of harsh metal. They didn’t try too hard to miss him. The Sarkkrai then backed away—why, you ask? Because someone had told them about the weaknesses of magi. Manufactured and unnatural materials block a mage’s ability to channel energy; no doubt Ianarius and his ilk prefer to not be around such. Little doubt the mage would have preferred to have been just about anywhere rather than be pinned to his knees by scorched steel.
I could see his face now and his expression was not of a man just beaten to within an inch of his life—he looked livid but maybe that was just a cover. He’d done a good job protecting his face, only sustaining a cut near his right temple. The Sarkkrai who had spoken to me earlier stepped in, something in his hand. “Open your mouth, scum. It matters little to me how—or where—this metal enters you, but enter it will.”
I thought he would bulk but the mage complied, willing to bide his time. Placing the scrap of metal on the man’s tongue, the destroyer then tied a bit of cloth around his mouth. It was a degree of smart that I hadn’t expected. These ten years had changed them but who was it that had been trading secrets? My Harbingers, perhaps? No, they worked with the Sarkkrai but they wouldn’t have run recon without my direction.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked Ve’Sath.
“You say that like you would expect otherwise,” came the silky reply. “Your protectiveness over such a weak creature disturbs me. I do not forget a face, especially one of my enemies. We have learned ways to deal with the Pelthocian magi. This is merely a formality.” The Warlord gestured. “I know who this is and were I not curious as to why I find him in my lands, I’d have skinned and de-boned his flesh before he could utter his cursed magic.”