by Hondo Jinx
Growling, he yanked and scratched, thumped and pried—and the stone came free and fell to the ground at his feet. Where the stone had been, a large hole gaped, burning bright orange against the dark wall like the fiery eye of an angry god.
Who—or what—was behind this wall?
“Come,” the voice said, stronger now, “come and gaze upon my glory—your glory, our glory.”
Parus leaned his face into the hole and gasped.
In a secret room behind the wall, an empty suit of shining black plate mail stood, gripping a flaming sword in its mailed fist.
“Mooret,” Parus breathed, and filled with new strength, he set to demolishing the wall.
15
Come Back, Come Back
High atop the eyrie, Thelia watched with an aching heart as her husband rode off atop his dour warhorse, Granite. Dan looked magnificent. His cloak fluttered from his broad shoulders, and the bronze crown glinted dully upon his head.
Ula rode beside him on the painted mare. Behind them rolled the war wagon and the mobile Fist of Fury, followed by several supply wagons and the column of mounted soldiers.
Thelia watched, buffeted by frigid winds, until Dan and the others disappeared into the west.
Then she was alone. Alone and filled with sorrow.
But I will not cry, she thought, taking a deep breath of the cold air. I am the True Matriarch, and I must be strong.
How many times had she told herself this same thing since leaving Fire Ridge? How many times had she faked strength, courage, and composure?
Countless times.
Since leaving home—no, even earlier… since marrying Dan and receiving the spark of Ahneena’s departing life force—Thelia had been confused, conflicted, and terrified.
But she could not share these feelings. Confessing her weaknesses would have eroded the faith of her people, first in her and then in themselves. So she had borne up as best she could beneath the weight of her own fears and shortcomings, struggling not only to lead her people and hide her feelings, but also to understand herself.
That had often been the hardest part.
Life as Thelia of Fire Ridge had been blissfully simple. A life of singing and dancing and cavorting. A life lived in the moment. A life of mirth and play.
She had been happily unaware of so many things—including her own limitations.
Now, however, she was spared no such indignity. No day passed—no morning, noon, or night, in fact—without Thelia feeling a pang of embarrassment. She had been a cheerful little idiot completely unaware of her own idiocy, and it shamed her now to consider how Dan and her sister-wives must have viewed her.
And yet wasn’t that the most shameful and confounding piece of the entire puzzle?
For it seemed to Thelia that Dan and his wives had liked her more as Thelia the Happy Fool than they did as Thelia the True Matriarch.
That was a painful thing to consider. A very painful thing.
But now, more pain. Worse pain.
Her heart ached to see Dan leave. And yet she knew that he was doing the right thing, the brave thing. Always so brave and strong, her husband. Brave, strong, and loving, despite his hard exterior.
She loved him with all the fire in her heart.
Did Dan know that?
It had been very difficult to impress upon Dan just how much she loved him because of their strange start. She had been struck dumb with surprise and wonder when her grandmother Ahneena had offered her to Dan—to Dan, of all people—and she had been flabbergasted again when Dan had accepted. Dan Marshall of the Free, the most handsome and heroic man she had ever met, the same man who had saved her from the clutches of Roderick’s Raiders and returned her to Fire Ridge, was to be her husband!
But then, during the ceremony, Ahneena had invoked matriarchal immolation, changing Thelia, changing everything.
The next few days had been a surreal nightmare, wherein she had drifted like smoke, shifting and uncertain even of who she was until Dan had claimed her, igniting the gift magic and filling her with flames.
Since then, things between them had been confusing, frustrating, and at times horrifying. Suddenly, she was a stranger to her husband, sister-wives, and even herself. But she tried her hardest to be a good wife and a good leader to her people.
Sometimes, it was difficult to be both at the same time.
Her first loyalty would always be to Dan, whom she loved, with whom she had joined in marriage—a rare institution among red elves—and from whose affections she had received the gift magic that had transformed her. But she would never forsake her people. Dan might come first, but she would always fight for those who needed her, too.
So yes, her start with Dan had been rocky, and it had been difficult for her to impress her feelings on her new husband, who above and beyond these challenges had several other wives to consider and who had been in a constant state of conflict since the day they had met.
She had told him that she loved him, of course, and shown him countless times with her smiles, her eyes, and her body, giving herself to him in every way a woman could give herself to a man.
But Dan had married Thelia of Fire Ridge, not Thelia the True Matriarch, and regardless of all she had said and done, regardless of his words and actions, Dan still didn’t trust her. Not entirely. She could feel him holding back.
She got along well enough with her sister-wives, but they, too, held Thelia at a distance, viewing her with varying degrees of suspicion.
Especially Holly.
So Thelia had been so lonely. Terribly, terribly lonely.
Oh, cruel irony!
She now ruled over twelve thousand red elves, twelve thousand men, women, and children who would give their lives for her. And yet within her own home, among Dan’s other wives, she was excruciatingly isolated.
Now, with Dan, Nadia, Ula, and Zamora gone, Thelia would be more alone than ever. Because the only other wives remaining with her were Bannon’s widows, whom she barely knew, and Holly, who…
How did Holly feel about her, really?
That was a mystery.
Holly was an enigma whose purple eyes revealed more than did her well-thought-out words.
Why couldn’t things be simpler?
She was the True Matriarch now, but part of her remained the carefree girl who cared only for pleasure. How nice it would be to just fuck all the time. And truth be told, she could live her life that way if she so desired.
Thelia could shirk her matriarchal duties, lock herself away in the bed chamber, and welcome Dan and the sister-wives anytime one or all of them wanted to get off. She could be their dirty little fuck slave. Period. She would love that life, honestly, but it hurt to know that it would also please Dan and the other wives if she ever decided to give up being the True Matriarch for being the True Concubine.
She wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t. Even if she wanted to.
And yes, sometimes that was exactly what she desired.
She had become the True Matriarch, but Thelia of Fire still lingered, revealing herself in quick, hot lusts and an enduring urge to be dominated, used, and broken. Now she was both women, part queen, part nymphomaniac. An increasingly powerful monarch whose only weakness was the slick and swollen sex always throbbing like a second heart between her legs.
Much like Illandria herself, she thought, and remembered the terrifying moment when the wicked, blue beauty had appeared in the final scene of the tapestry.
Where was Illandria? What was she she doing? Was she watching them? And, if so, to what end? What did the succubus queen want of them—and specifically, of Dan?
These questions filled Thelia with foreboding and kept her awake at night, while she would lie in the darkness beside her sleeping spouses and listen to Petronia out in the hall, calling lusty invitations to Dan like some perverse night bird.
Whatever the case and regardless of her fears, insecurities, and burning desires, Thelia couldn’t just surrender to her carnal lusts an
d become the fuck toy of Dan and his wives.
Her people needed her.
So life would likely not grow easier anytime soon. She would have to bear up under the suffering. For her family and her people, until she managed to unite those factions.
She was buoyed up by the past, the sense of others within her, the long unbroken line of matriarchs stretching back into antiquity. She was also bolstered by the future, the promise to her people, the purpose for which she had been reborn. She, Thelia of Fire Ridge, had become the True Matriarch.
Honestly, it was still difficult for her to accept the title and actually believe in her own transformation.
But she had to act the part, no matter what. On her shoulders weighed not only the fate of her people, those brave souls who had sacrificed so much to accompany her across the Wildervast, but also the elves of Flame Valley and beyond… all red elves everywhere.
Which is why, even when she had been terribly afraid and confused and filled with doubt, she had acted as boldly as possible. And why, truth be told, she was still standing here atop this windy tower after her husband had already disappeared.
She had to be strong. Had to lead and protect her people. She had to gather power.
A larger reservoir of flames burned within her with each passing day. She could release larger blasts more frequently, at greater distance, and with higher accuracy and heightened control.
She had been teaching apprentices, fledgling fire mages whose power likewise swelled with each rising of the sun.
And she had the incredible ring of spell holding, which given her four wizard spells, each of which she could use once per day.
When Dan had given her the ring, she had identified two of the spells—levitation and animate corpses—immediately. But then she had noticed Holly’s expression and guarded her own facial features, feigning ignorance concerning the other two spells.
Because Holly’s expression had been more than cautious. It had been frightened—and, Thelia realized, dangerous.
The remaining two spells were powerful. So powerful that they would have enflamed Holly’s fear, perhaps even to the point of making her genuinely dangerous.
For although Thelia loved Holly and wanted very much to live in harmony, she could not, in all honesty, trust her grey elf sister-wife.
Holly was too guarded, too watchful, and too proud. And her people were too wounded and angry about ancient history.
So Thelia had kept the ring’s remaining spells a secret. After all, these spells made Thelia very powerful, and that power would terrify Holly.
With long sight, she could use her mind to see what was happening within a known or obvious location, regardless of distance. She could hear nothing but could observe a location as vividly as if she were standing in that place.
Secretly, she had already tested the spell three times. First, she viewed to the ruins of Fire Ridge. Then she observed this very tower, checking to see if, against all odds, the eagles had returned. Finally—and it shamed her to remember this usage of the spell—she had spied on Holly the night the grey elves had visited.
What, exactly, she had feared she might see, she had never really known, but ultimately, she had spied only loving embraces and what appeared to be idle chatter between siblings. These scenes had eased Thelia’s anxieties.
For a time, at least.
She hadn’t dared to experiment with the remaining spell. No, not yet—but she would soon. Perhaps even today. It would be less risky to attempt such a fantastic spell with Dan and most of the sister-wives out of the fortress and Holly absorbed in her prayers.
She just needed to avoid the eyes of Freckles and Nadia’s urchins—and, of course, to build the courage necessary to attempt such a powerful spell.
You will find the courage. Because you are strong. You must be strong for your people. The dead, the living, and the unborn.
In the meantime, Thelia would attempt to increase her power—and the safety of her people—in another, crucial way.
She stepped to the stone railing of the narrow walkway that encircled the high eyrie. Behind her yawned one of the gigantic openings that had once permitted the coming and going of the giant eagles.
Before her, the valley, an achingly beautiful quilt of fields and forests stitched with sparkling streams and dotted with shimmering lakes, stretched away to the towering mountains. An epic panorama, perfect for an epic reunion.
Calling upon the memories of matriarchs long dead, Thelia gripped the railing in both hands, threw back her head, and released a long, loud, high-pitched scream into the void.
This was not the scream of a woman but the primal screech of an eagle.
The scream came from her depths and beyond, rising out of the distant past to tear the open air. This was an ancient call, long forgotten to her people, who had lost the loyalty of the giant eagles. Now, for the first time in millennia, the scream shot across the valley and echoed off the great stone face of the mountains.
Thelia’s screech lasted for several seconds. She flooded it with emotion—and with her will. It was a hailing of old friends, an invitation—and a command.
Come back, the scream said. Come back home and serve us again.
Guards along the walls would be staring up at her, she knew, but she didn’t even cast a glance in their direction.
No—her eyes were locked on the dark specks that had lifted from the distant mountain peaks and which were growing in size as they drew nearer.
Eagles—and not just any eagles… giant eagles! —were racing this way, chased by their massive shadows, which zipped along the valley floor.
Yes!
Excitement roared up within her. Her plan was working. The giant eagles were answering the ancient call!
She stood with her arms spread wide, her black gown fluttering around her as the eagles cried out in response, drawing nearer and more distinct. There were six of them, six beautiful birds of prey with deep brown feathers streaked in slashes of white and tan. They rushed toward her, propelled by the beating of their huge wings, which stretched twenty feet across.
Yes, she thought. Come back, my gorgeous eagles. Come back.
These birds were creatures of legend. And now they were coming home.
The first and largest eagle swooped upward, beat its wings briefly, and landed atop the railing ten feet away.
Thelia’s heart thrilled.
The massive eagle bobbed up and down excitedly, then stepped back and forth from one foot to the other, eyeing her with intense yellow eyes and clacking its huge beak, the bright orange color of which matched the powerful orange feet that gripped the stone railing.
“Welcome home, old friend,” Thelia said.
The eagle tilted its head, regarding her suspiciously and flexing its feet and scratching its talons loudly against the stone.
The other birds circled the tower, studying her with intense curiosity each time they whooshed past, clearly waiting to see what the first eagle, likely their leader, would do.
For a second, Thelia could only stare at the beautiful creature in awe and disbelief. Taking in his size and obvious strength, it was easy to imagine the days of yore, when giant eagles carried armored red-elf heroes into combat.
This bird radiated power and ferocity. This was no tamed thing. This was a noble predator, the lord of the skies, death from above. Its yellow eyes shone with keen intelligence—and wariness, as if this bird, like Holly, like Dan, like Thelia herself, could not quite believe that she was the True Matriarch.
And yet this was the moment, she knew, that she would put those doubts to rest.
Her fire magic and fire prophetess moments had already won over twelve thousand red elves and would on their own win over many more. But once word spread that she had called the giant eagles back to the eyrie, red elves would rush this way as fast as they could travel. Because on this point, the old prophecies were clear. The reunion of the True Matriarch and the great eagles would signal the next great mom
ent in red elf history… the Homecoming.
So as she called to this regal beast, she also called to her people, far and wide, the scattered many lost in the world beyond.
Come back. Come home.
“You have returned to me,” she said, reaching out to the great bird. “Now, together, we will—”
The eagle screamed, and its massive head lunged at her outstretched hand. The huge, curved beak snapped shut with a bony clack mere inches from her fingertips.
Thelia cried out and stumbled backwards.
The eagle hunched into itself and glared at her with unbridled menace.
Thelia froze in place, paralyzed with terror. For an instant, she expected the great beak to tear her open from throat to crotch.
But the eagle sprang out of its crouch and lifted into the air. The huge creature gave one more screech—a cry of warning, perhaps—and joined the other birds, which whipped away across the valley, racing off toward the mountains from which Thelia had so foolishly summoned them.
Inside of Thelia, something crumbled. Again, she would not let herself cry, but she certainly felt like crying. She felt like sobbing, like calling the whole charade off, forgetting fire magic and matriarchy and going back to being the bubbly simpleton she’d been before Ahneena had cursed her with gift magic.
Because that’s what her grandmother’s gift had been: a curse. This new life and its responsibilities had been foisted upon Thelia, incinerating her happiness and leaving her alone and powerless, doubted by everyone… and doubted by no one more so than by herself.
She watched the eagles disappear into the jagged peaks. Then she gave a heavy sigh and leaned forward, letting her head rest upon the cold stone of the railing.
If only the bird had torn her open. He could have ended her struggle and confusion and loneliness in one snap of his powerful beak.
But no. He had left her here, lost within her own home, alone among her own people.