Shadow’s Wrath (Demon Generals Book 1)

by Gia Tsiknas

  “As you wish, Huntress.” Hanaq bowed low and melted into the darkness.

  “Wait!” Machi stage whispered. “The signal.”

  “Worry not.” Hanaq’s chuckle reverberated around her. “When you wish for it, I will know.”

  Machi shook her head and followed Lua into the crawl space. She crawled for only a couple feet before the tunnel opened into a cavern. It was spacious enough to hold a few people and a week’s worth of supplies. Piles of swords, bows, firearms and spears crowded the room. Small hollowed out alcoves held stacks of arrows and gunpowder barrels made up the far wall.

  “They brought your stuff here when the Gamekeeper was done with it. She uses this place as a private storeroom cause no one comes here without her key.” Lua trotted to the wooden wall that covered the entry of the cave. With a bit of fumbling she grabbed a wrapped bundle and brought it back.

  Machi unwrapped the bundle. Most of her knives were here, as well as her clawed knuckles wrapped in her Hunter tunic and cloak. It was the standard kit for a Hunter of her rank. Machi frowned. Her dark-steel sword was missing, so was Brizna’s twin blades.

  “That thieving—”

  “What is it?” Lua was glancing at the door.

  “Missing my swords. I need to get them back.”

  Lua stared at her. “We’re in a room filled with swords. Why can’t you grab another?”

  “My swords are different.” Machi drew on her Hunter’s mantle and stowed her weaponry. “And I’m getting them back.”

  Lua shivered, looking at the shadowed figure before her.

  Machi glanced around the hovel one last time. The metal and wood weaponry beckoned to her. She looked at the girl. “Can you find out where the Castor is staying?”

  “Who?”

  “The old woman with the feathered cape. Can you find her?” Lua flinched then stared at the ground. She nodded.

  “Then scat.” As she scampered away Machi looked around the hovel. She bit her lip as the rattle of keys sounded outside the door.

  “Now would be a great time for that distraction, Hanaq.” Machi mumbled.

  The door stopped moving.

  A scream ripped though the door, as did an inhuman snarl. A wet thump and it was quiet.

  Machi’s heart thud in her ears. She couldn’t take her eyes from the door.

  Another scream, this time farther away, and then shouts. Machi backed up until she hit the wall. Woodenly she forced herself to look away from the door and start climbing through the bolt hole.

  The screams grew louder as she stepped out of the tunnel. Men and women were scrambling for weapons.

  In the chaos Machi rushed forward, ignored in the panic as she sprinted into the camp. Hundreds of tents were strewn haphazard around a central fireplace. The lack of precision made it difficult to navigate let alone find the one she needed. Machi grabbed a slave rounding the corner. The woman held a child’s wrist.

  “Where’s the visitors,” Machi snarled.

  Mutely the woman pointed to a large tent near the wooden shed. Machi let her go. The slave scooped up the child and sprinted out of sight.

  The Castor’s tent flap hung open, and Machi dove inside, pulling it shut behind her. She didn’t have much time.

  Furs littered the floor, a chest at the foot of a pallet in the far corner was the only wooden storage. Machi strode over and cut its well-oiled straps with a knife. She pulled the heavy lid open just as a cry sounded from outside the tent flap.

  “Come on out, girl.” The Castor’s voice was husky.

  Machi scrambled through the chest.

  They had to be here. They had to.

  “You won’t find them. Those precious swords of yours are belted to my waist.”

  Machi’s anger flared, screaming in her veins for blood. She turned to the tent flap.

  “Come take them, like the Hunter you claim to be.” Machi heard a thud and Lua’s cry. “Or would you rather lose the swords, and your little mouse.”

  You do not need that girl. The whisper rumbled through the tent.

  Lua’s cry sounded again and Machi tensed, undecided.

  “She’s only a child. Let her go.”

  “Come out, and we’ll see.” The Castor hissed. Machi stepped through the doorway. The woman stood in front of the tent. A handful of Crusaders stood to her back at attention. Lua hung between two of them, bruised and limp as if she didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

  Rage filled her and the whisper came with a memory.

  Only ask, and I will give you their heads in a line.

  Machi ground her teeth. Her blood was acid, searing through her in a torrent of rage. The Crusaders shifted, and the Castor narrowed her eyes.

  “Don’t hesitate, Huntress,” Hanaq crooned in Machi’s ear. “Teach them to fear a true Hunter.”

  Lua lifted her head, her eyes wide. Had she heard? The Crusaders glanced around, searching for the source of the voice. The Castor looked puzzled. Brizna’s swords were in her hand.

  “Return those to me and get out of my sight.” Machi’s anger came out in a growl of challenge.

  In answer the Castor raised her hand and an icy blast of wind pushed at Machi. Machi sprang forward, the wind buffeting around her useless. Red mist coated her hands, shaping claws. The Castor’s eyes widened. Machi’s speed was unreal, and unexpected. She tore through leather brocade, drawing blood.

  Lua screamed.

  The Crusaders fled, dumping her. Machi’s whole being fixated on reigning in her anger. The Castor pulled a knife but the dull metal slid off the mist now surrounding Machi’s body.

  “Who set me up?” The words were barely audible, and the Castor paled. Machi dug her fingers deep into the woman’s shoulder and she screamed.

  “I,” She gasped, whimpering as the blood ran down her useless arm. “I can’t say.”

  Machi dug deeper, whispers becoming a growing frenzy as the blood ran free. She brought her hands to the woman’s throat. The Castor choked, her face turned purple as Machi squeezed.

  “Please.” Lua wrapped herself around Machi’s arm, tears streaming down her face. “Please let her go.”

  Machi jerked her arm, shoving Lua aside.

  The Caster gasped for breath in the moments’ respite.

  “Broker.” The woman cried. “Dark-skinned, braids…”

  Eri.

  A glow fixated around the Castor’s forehead, and the smell of burned meat filled the clearing. She screamed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t say more. Please!”

  Her hair caught fire, and Machi leapt to her feet, backing away as the flames engulfed the woman’s head. She screamed, slapping at her face. Machi’s anger ebbed away as she stared at the woman, horror replacing her rage.

  The Castor fell still, and the flames died as if hit with a bucket of water.

  Machi slowly inched forward and snagged the swords from the woman’s side, where she had dropped them in her frenzied attempt to put out the flames. Her stomach rolled as she stared at the woman’s blackened and oozing face.

  I didn’t even know her name…

  Soft whimpering drew Machi’s gaze to Lua, beaten and sprawled in front of the tent. Her heart felt heavy and the last of her rage ebbed away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHAME

  Machi felt eyes watching her. They studied her every move as she wandered the abandoned camp. She grabbed a pack left from a nearby tent, filling it with various items and tried not to think. It didn’t take long. The camp was mid feast with supplies strewn haphazardly in their merry-making. Now they lay bereft and abandoned. Machi tried to shield herself with her rage, but she was empty.

  She couldn’t name the emotion that ate at her soul.

  She didn’t want to.

  Machi saddled a horse and filled the bags with her newfound supplies. The bonfire still burned high, tables of food and pitchers of beer littered the surrounding ground. Machi pulled her cloak closer, she needed to escape, to get out before an
yone came back. She mounted her horse and drove her heels into its sides, trying to flee those eyes.

  The night was bright with the full moon, making it easier to navigate the broad stretch of forest that lay before her. Mystwood they called it.

  The forest feared by the plains folk, filled with thick, towering trees choked out light early in the day. It was rumored to be the home of demons and fair-folk, or was it fair-folk demons? Machi shook her head. She had grown up near the forest and never had she seen anything more exotic than a Poacher.

  The horse’s breathing grew labored and pulled Machi from her stupor. She led the beast off the path, hiding them in the brush. With a grunt of exhaustion she unsaddled and tended the creature. With that done she used the saddle blanket as a cover and dreamed.

  ***

  They had made it; they had escaped.

  It was dawn. The first rays of the day, of freedom, showered them both as they watched the sunrise. Brizna grasped her hand. Machi leaned away from him and glared at the floor, but she did not pull away. A slow blush crept over Machi’s face, but Brizna could not make out colors yet in the pre-dawn light.

  They stood in silence as the minutes passed and the sun started peeking over the rolling hills of the lowlands. Machi looked toward her old village and waited. If she wished hard enough, maybe she could wake. She’d jump up from bed in her two-room cottage and run to her parent’s loft. She would tell them how she had dreamt of their murder and bandits. And they would comfort her and hug her. Her mom would make her favorite corncake breakfast and papa would take her fishing by the Falls and tell her funny stories.

  “I can see, Machi.” Brizna traced her gaze into the distance. He shifted his sights to the left, farther north toward the Mystwood forest then glanced to Machi’s face. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Come on.”

  Machi nodded and allowed Brizna to tug her away. She looked at their intertwined hands with a distant expression

  ***

  Her chest ached as she woke from her dream; woke from the hope she had as a child. Why had she dreamed now? She preferred the nightmares. At least they woke her in anger, in purpose. But this…

  Lua.

  Machi’s chest ached again. If she hadn’t insisted to find the Castor Lua wouldn’t have been hurt.

  Never let your rage blind you, Brizna had said.

  Machi closed her eyes. It’s not my fault.

  If that girl was strong, she would escape too. She would run away and find a life outside the Gamekeeper’s control. It wasn’t Machi’s fault things turned out this way.

  But is that really true?

  She hadn’t know Lua would be found and beaten.

  What else would happen to a disobedient slave?

  How else could she find out who had betrayed her?

  Then why did you leave her there, broken and unconscious?

  Emotion filled her, and she tried to shove it aside. It was too foreign. No, that was a lie. She knew, but she didn’t want to remember it. It's not my fault.

  Visions of her past plagued her. The soft touch of her mother. The heavy insistence to keep quiet, hidden. To live in that mistrustful village, surrounded by grasslands and rivers and never speak about their home in the mountains. Never mention the truth. Until she had.

  No! Machi stoked the embers of her rage, building it high to block her memories. It’s not my fault. It’s his fault. The Gray Demon’s fault.

  She forced her aching muscles to move and searched the saddlebags. Stiffly she pulled out a change of clothes and started dressing. Focusing on every movement with grave attention. She pulled on a leather jacket, long-sleeved and tight-fitting. The leather was stained dark. A collared shirt under her jacket fell to her thighs. She slid on two metal fitted gloves with no fingers, Brizna’s ring hidden. Her breeches were the same leather as her shirt and trailed the ground. She wore high quality boots and a knife pouch filled with deadly projectiles hidden in a false pocket. Brizna’s swords were wrapped and stored on her saddle. She folded and wrapped her hunter garb, stowing it deep in her saddle bag, away from prying eyes.

  “So you are well, huntress.” Machi swung to face Hanaq, dagger in hand. He was as unknowable as ever, showing little wear from the night.

  “You made it out.” Her voice was dead. Even the weight of his gaze did little to stir her blood.

  “Prey cannot hold me, as they cannot hold you, huntress.”

  Machi nodded and turned, shifting through her packs. A breakfast of hard tack and bread was all she could afford. She was still too near the camp to risk the smoke.

  She fed stolen oats to the horse, a dark brown mare with white legs she named Socks, and mounted. Hanaq came to the side of her mount, reins in hand. She glanced at him, his golden eyes, deadly grace, and hung her head.

  “Will you come with me?”

  Hanaq’s smile broke the austere look he usually wore on his face. “Where you go, I follow, huntress.”

  They rode southwest. Machi was determined to get as much distance as possible between herself and the chaos she had left. The sun was high in the sky as clouds rolled in and a light rain fell around them. She grumbled but kept moving hoping to reach a town before it was too late. As they continued along the road, the light drizzle became a heavy downpour. The rain clouds blocked out the sun as if night had fallen. The trees couldn’t bear the downpour, letting small rivers of water run along their canopy of leaves and soaking any shelter they found. As they trudged on, looking for a reprieve from the rain Machi spotted a temple of sevens. The elaborate carving of seven winged spirits was around the doorway. Horned, grotesque beasts were in combat with the seven, depicting an ancient struggle of dominance.

  “Looks like that will be our best bet to wait out the rain.” Machi sighed.

  “That is not a place for us.” Hanaq’s voice was hard. “We will find shelter elsewhere.”

  Machi’s anger festered as she brooded over her only option for shelter. “There is nowhere else. We have been riding for hours and this is the only building we have seen.”

  “This is a place of life, we take life. We are not welcome in such places. Perhaps farther on, we can find a cave or alcove?” He kept glancing at the building, his expression tense and wary as if there was something he feared. Machi shook off her musings.

  “Then sleep in the rain.” She turned her horse towards the building. “I am tired of being wet. Come with me or not.”

  She spurred the horse forward. Machi grumbled under her breath, annoyed that the other Hunter was so superstitious. True, the temple had once housed worshipers and perhaps it had once been holy. But no longer. The building was partly collapsed. It was a testament of a forgotten cult.

  She flinched as she drew closer to the building. Part of her tensed to flee, to continue through the storm, despite the need for shelter. The flickers of a campfire as she drew closer to the dilapidated building warned her of company. Her skin itched as she drew closer, and a swell of panic almost overtook her. She paused, Could they be Poachers? Hunters? Crusaders?

  Come.

  The voice was so familiar, so persuasive, that she felt compelled to follow. She pushed back the rotting door. A different voice, one of a young man, filled the air. His words were melodic, filled with a rhythm adopted by bards. The man had just begun a story-song.

  He painted a picture of a war, a struggle of the heavens. Creatures of nightmare fought and died as a chosen people drove them back time and again.

  Machi moved forward woodenly. She knew this story.

  As she drew closer to the bard, she saw a banked fire. On an upturned bench the bard sat, chanting his story, augmenting sentences with the delicate pluck of a lap harp. Only one other sat by the fire, gaze fixed on the bard. A small child in a dark cloak, her face shrouded and her chestnut hair falling around her neck, sat on an upturned pew.

  The plucking of the harp stopped, and the bard turned to Machi. “Ah, another weary traveler. Come, we have light and warmth and foo
d to share.”

  She nodded and led her horse in from the rain. She felt skittish, cornered, but shook it off. Why should she fear a young bard and a child? Bards were weaponless. But every time she saw the child, sitting with her knees drawn up, Machi’s chest ached.

  “Continue.” Called the girl-child in a soft voice. It rang clear as a bell.

  Machi frowned as she unsaddled her horse. Had she met this girl before?

  “Of course, dear one.” The bard spoke with an odd amount of reverence for the small girl. “But why not let our guest settle? A story is to be shared.”

  The girl smiled and turned, her soft fawn cloak rippling as she moved. Her hood remained fastened up, only revealing a small cherry mouth set in perfect ivory skin. The girl’s long chestnut locks reminded Machi of a cascade of autumn leaves.

  “Yes, be at ease, wanderer. Share in our bounty.”

  The girl motioned to a pot nestled in coals. A tantalizing smell seeped from it.

  Machi shifted. Why did this seem like more than a trade of stories? She looked into the cooking pot. Savory travelers’ stew filled it, thickened with barley and root vegetables. Machi scooped some into her bowl and dropped in shredded jerky. An honest trade.

  Machi glanced to the entrance, but Hanaq had not followed. With a sigh she sat and tried to push him from her mind. Once she settled back she noticed the bard was looking at her. She tucked into her stew. It was wonderful after a cold, sodden day in the saddle.

  The bard settled back on his bench. He breathed in, letting it go as a soft breeze while his fingers painted a wistful melody; a setting for his words to reside.

  Once again his soft voice nurtured a world of war and loss; of a chosen people fallen to Abaddon’s seven generals.

  Machi drew up her hood. Her entire body on alert. Something wasn’t right. Should she stay? Her horse would take time to mount, or she could kill them and that would end anything they planned. Her blood stirred, urging her to action.

  But to kill a bard and a child…

  The bard continued, unaware of the inward struggle of his companion. He sang of an elder, one who still worshiped Raboni, as she led her people with love and courage. Her descendants were said to be dragons themselves, blessed from her loyalty and strength. She fought the generals and threw them into the shadows with their hateful master. And thus the kingdom of Drakia was born, high in the northern mountains.