No Man's Land

by C D Beaudin

  Ethiah gasps. “You’re a—”

  “Say it, and I’ll cut your throat.”

  Aradon lunges at him, grabbing his collar.

  Eldowyn will ask him about that later. “Aradon, let him go!”

  “Don’t threaten her.”

  The man smirks. “Oh, so you’re who she was talking about.” He nods. “You have the makings of a king.”

  Aradon lets him go. “What?”

  Elvian gets himself out of the grasp of Kera’s brother. “I’m probably not what you expected.”

  Aradon steps back, wavering. Ethiah puts her hand on his arm, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “What are you talking about? Who are you?”

  The man smiles, and in the next second his eyes shine the Besged white. When they fade, Aradon’s horror-stricken.

  “You’re a Besged?” He looks at Saine. “Is this a friend of yours?”

  Saine shakes his head, awestruck.

  Aradon looks back at Elvian. “Answer my question. Who are you?”

  The man is taller than Aradon, squarer, and more muscular. But he has his eyes and hair. A kingly face.

  The man smiles. “Idies Elvian. The first and last king of Nomarah.”

  And then something Eldowyn never saw coming.

  Aradon the Bowman, Slayer, faints.

  Chapter Nineteen

  More dreams. More nightmares. Karak tosses and turns in his sleep, but this time he doesn’t dream of when he said yes. He dreams of when another said yes.

  Even though he’d been up high from the ground level, he could still hear sounds from below. A knock at the door had surprised him. He wasn’t used to knocks. Or people. Putting his cup down, he’d descended the steep, spiral stairway to the base of the tower. Opening the door, Karak had stared blankly at the woman in front of him. Blue skin. He’d nodded to himself. All right.

  “I’m Olaria.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “I was drawn here.”

  Karak had looked around them, wondering if someone was watching, if Revera was hiding somewhere. At sixteen, she was in a tricking phase, always joking with him.

  “Did Revera put you up to this?”

  “Who’s Revera?” Her genuine confusion calmed but didn’t remove his caution. The hungry, lustful gazes of the Tarken, however, made him grab her wrist and pull her in, shutting the door behind him.

  “So, you were drawn here, huh?”

  “Yes. In my dreams.”

  “I’m sure you weren’t happy about that. Kahzacore’s reputation is…questionable.”

  “Oh, is that what you call it?”

  He’d chuckled, face upward as they made their way up the stairs. “Good a word as any.”

  “I was terrified, but I knew I had to come.”

  “Do you know why?” Do you know why your skin is blue, for example?

  “No, but I’m sure I’ll know once it happens.”

  “So you came to the land people most fear based on a dream and you have no idea why you had the dream or what your purpose is here?” His brow had lifted. “Okay.”

  “I’m not insane.”

  “I was thinking problematic, but insane is a good word,” he’d said as he opened the door to the main room, not waiting until Olaria entered first. Against whatever her culture was, most likely. Grabbing his cup, he’d sipped the wine as he studied her, the blue girl looking around the black room.

  “This is amazing.”

  “Most just scream.”

  She’d looked at him, fearful for a moment. But she never asked him why he said that. Probably a good thing.

  “So this is Marduth. The stories don’t compare.”

  “Not what you expected?”

  “I might have been expecting a volcano filled with lava.”

  Karak had smirked. “Gotham drank the volcano dry. It’s just a mountain now.”

  Olaria had stared at him.

  “How are you so comfortable here?”

  She’d shrugged. “Anything’s better than home.”

  “Let me rephrase. How are you so comfortable with me?”

  Her lips had pursed. “Maybe you’re the reason I was drawn here.”

  His eyes had narrowed. “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Asgoreth.”

  “Why is your skin blue?”

  “I was born in a Pool of Light.”

  “I assume from the dark patch in your soul that your life hasn’t turned out so well.”

  “My mother was killed, and I was ridiculed, cast out. Being blue isn’t exactly a blessing.”

  He’d nodded. “I can see that.” An eyebrow quirked to the ceiling. “Interesting.”

  “What?”

  Very interesting. “Nothing.” He taken another sip of his drink. “I like your hair. Very white.”

  She’d blushed dark blue. “Thank you.”

  Oh, this girl has no idea what’s about to hit her, he’d thought… “So you’re an elf?”

  “Yes, but I grew up in a human village. I’m not sure if being born in an elven village would have helped, though. Elves aren’t as kind as everyone thinks they are.”

  Karak had bitten his tongue to keep from laughing. “Oh, I know. Trust me.”

  “Is it odd that I do?”

  You’re so stupid. “We’ll have to find out.”

  She’d smiled, and he knew he had her. Glancing in the corner, he could see Revera lurking, the shadows covering her perfectly. Her eyes had glowed blue as her lips moved. He could hear the spell, he’d had to learn how to hear her silent words, so he wouldn’t wake up in the morning with no hair or black blood—that hadn’t been funny the first time she’d done it. The second time he’d locked her in the floor for two weeks. She’d gotten over it quickly but learned a few new tricks to retaliate. Eventually he’d just given up, but never stopped watching his back.

  Olaria’s white eyes were illuminated for only a second, and her soul shifted. While the dark spot remained, there was red all over. Love. He’d smirked, drawing her into his grasp. “My love, my Blue One, I have waited so long for you.”

  She’d smiled, eyes enchanted with him. “And I you.” She’d kissed him, a touch he hadn’t felt since the First Age. There weren’t a lot of girls stupid enough to travel to Kahzacore.

  He’d pulled away. “As much as I want to do this, I must ask you something first.”

  “Anything.”

  Anything. I can’t believe I’m wasting “anything” on this. He taken a breath. “In the Fourth Age, a girl will come to you. She will threaten to kill you. You kill her first.” He’d clutched her hands in his and kissed her knuckles. “I’d die if anything happened to you, Blue One.”

  She’d smiled. “Yes. Anything for you.” She leaned in to kiss him, and for a moment he’d actually wanted to. A pretty girl wanting to kiss him willingly? That didn’t happen to men like him.

  But then he’d glanced at Revera, and knew it wasn’t willingly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  His fist hit her skull and she’d collapsed like a wheat stalk under a rock. He’d looked up from the limp body as Revera emerged from the shadows, a smirk on her face.

  “How amusing is this for you?”

  Her brow had quirked. “Very.” She’d glanced down at the body. “Tell one of your men to take her to Kuzakai. She can make her way home from there.”

  “You trust my men?”

  “Not at all.” She’d taken his cup from him and drunk the wine.

  “You’re not eighteen.” He’d grabbed the cup from her.

  “This isn’t Altare.” She’d grabbed it back.

  “Fair point.” He’d wrestled the cup from her once again. “But this is still mine.”

  She’d rolled her eyes.

  Karak awakens from the memory, finding himself in Marduth, in his room. He knows he should feel guilty, but he doesn’t, nor does he c
are. Olaria was stupid to trust him but Revera took it one step further with her magic and she was lost in him.

  He’d told her to kill Awyn. Not in so many words. And he should care about that too, but again, he doesn’t. It’s an empty feeling. A cold, calm emptiness that can protect him from emotions. A shield against what could destroy the unrelenting soldier inside him, because he needs that soldier now. Just because Revera took away Calen doesn’t mean he can’t feel where he used to be. Since the First Age ended, he has gone by Karak but has felt like Calen, talked like Calen, dreamed like Calen. Now when he has a nightmare, he only sweats and wakes up. But no fear, no sorrow, and no guilt come along with the physical reaction. His body lives but his soul is dead. Empty.

  But Karak has always liked emptiness.

  Sitting on the edge of his bed, he decides to do something he should have done long ago.

  Roaming the halls for the first time in months, Awyn is jumpy in the silent darkness, the drapes shut and not a soul to be seen. It’s comforting, in a way, but every shadow could be a Dalorin, and every movement could be someone trying to kill her.

  Sweat clinging to her brow, her movements are stiff and on-edge, unsure and quiet as she makes her way down the corridor, the familiarity of the palace gone now, only a building with nightmarish memories. A pounding howl hits against a window, making her scream, falling to the floor. She crawls to the wall, terrified. Eyes wide and heart full of fear, part of her wants to see what it was, and the other part wants to drown it as any enemy. Any threat is worth killing. Even herself.

  She closes her eyes, clutching herself. It’s just the wind. It’s just the wind. Just the wind. Wind. Just wind. Awyn rocks, only vaguely aware of it. Her body is slick with sweat, the world feeling like she’s in a volcano, surrounded by lava. It’s too hot. Too hot. Hot.

  Opening her eyes, her vision warps as she stares down the long, dark, empty hallway. She shakes her head, but the warping continues. Her stomach ails, her mind fuzzes as she stares down the hall, watching as figures begin to appear.

  Tamon, his sword over her chest ready to plunge it into her. Haywen, his body on hers, taking what little dignity Tamon hadn’t stolen from her. Her chest tightens as Atta swings his sword at her, as Revera kills her mother, and Tamon kills her father.

  She watches the eyes of the first being she ever murdered, the elf from Arleaand. She screams when they all start charging at her, scrambling to her feet and dashing down the hallway. Her bare feet pound against the cold marble floor, her heart feeling as if it will beat out of her chest. Voices fill her head, she trips, stumbling face first onto the floor.

  Something grabs her. Someone. She screams, squirming, fighting. “No, no!” She grasps the floor, clawing to free herself. She kicks, but the person flips her over, and she stares into the familiar blue eyes.

  “Karak?”

  He smiles. “Awyn.”

  She used to smile. But right now, fear clutches her. That wasn’t his smile. Karak’s smile is dead but still has a hint of lost emotion. This one is just dead.

  Her hand caresses her belt and finds her blade. Clutching it, she tries to control her breathing as her fear grows.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I missed you.”

  “Did you? Then why haven’t you been to see me in six months?”

  “I just saw you.”

  “Dreams don’t count.”

  “You know they do.” He kisses her, but she jabs her knife into the side of his arm.

  He groans, falling off her.

  Scrambling to her feet, she holds the bloody knife on him.

  “You’re not my hope anymore. I don’t have any.”

  The Last Lieutenant clutches his arm, blood seeping through his fingers. Standing, his eyes are narrowed and his gait lethal. “That hurt.”

  “Stay away from me,” Awyn warns.

  His head tilts. “I may not have any use for you either, now that anything good about me is gone.” She keeps the knife on him as he tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I don’t need you to awaken my emotions because I no longer can or want to. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.”

  Tears well in her eyes. “I don’t know what fun feels like anymore.”

  “That’s so sad.” He smirks, looking down at the blade. “Are you going to move that? You can’t kill me with it.”

  “No, but I can hurt you.”

  “Do you want to hurt me?”

  Awyn’s hands shake. “Just another loose end.”

  He’s going to kill me. They’re all going to kill me. “Don’t kill me!” She clutches the sides of her head, the voices so many and so loud. “Ah, be quiet!” Kill you. He’s going to kill you. Karak is going to kill you. Aradon will suffocate you. Adriel will push you off your balcony. Kepp will stab you in the chest. “Shut up!” Awyn screams, her feet roaming mindlessly. “Get out of my head!”

  “Awyn—”

  “No!” She points the knife at him desperately. She gasps at the purple eyes staring back at her. “Stay away from me, Zyadar. Stay away.” Zyadar steps toward her, and she screams. “Stay away!” Awyn swipes the blade at him, but he easily grabs it from her.

  “Awyn!” He clutches her shoulders. “Enough, Awyn.”

  “Why do you care?” She stares into the purple eyes. “Why do you care?”

  Zyadar shakes his head. “You’re not supposed to be insane.”

  “What am I supposed to be then?” she yells.

  The purple eyes fade, and she sees Karak once again, his dead eyes, his blank face. He actually looks like he’s thinking. Who is she to him? Who is she? And she hears a new voice. His. His thoughts.

  “Revera erased Calen. She eliminated him.”

  “I thought I’d bring him back for you.” The voice makes Awyn’s skin crawl. It isn’t Karak’s.

  “Crozacar.”

  “This is temporary. I have Calen shackled, but if you defy Revera’s plan, then you defy me, and I’ll give him back to you. I’ll terminate Karak, and you’ll go back to being the weak man you once were.”

  She feels his fear.

  “No. Please.”

  “Then stop looking for the doomed.” Crozacar’s warning lingers as Awyn steps out of Karak’s mind, watching as a wave of vulnerability washes over the immortal soldier, but disappears quickly.

  He looks at her, eyes hard. “Listen to my thoughts again, and I’ll kill you.” He turns, walking away, a dark figure in the hall.

  “Why not kill me now? You’d be doing me a favor.”

  He looks back at her, but his feet keep moving. “I don’t do favors.”

  And he disappears around the corner.

  Awyn takes a breath, looking at the bloody knife on the floor. She should do it. She should just end it now. Closing her eyes, she leaves the knife there and walks away.

  Not today. She may not be brave anymore, but she can try. Not give up. She swallows, brushing a drape aside, looking out over the sleeping city.

  I can keep trying.

  The doubt is strong.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I don’t understand,” Adriel starts. “Why is he like that?”

  “When beings are resurrected, their soul doesn’t return with them. But with Dalorin, their soul is returned to them,” Ethiah explains. She looks back at Idies, who’s been tied to the table, guards posted on him, not that either would hold him back if he wanted to escape. She looks back at the others. “Sauriel has her soul. Idies doesn’t.”

  “Idies.” Eldowyn shakes his head. “I can’t believe it’s him.”

  “It’s not.” Ethiah shrugs. “At least not wholly.”

  “Aradon can’t be taking this well,” Brega ponders, hands clasped in front of her, dainty and only slightly fragile since her ordeal in Kahzacore. “Does Idies have a claim to the crown?”

  “He’s dead,” Neodyn states. “He doesn’t have a claim to anything.”

  “I’m Master.” Sidah’s command is
unmistakable. “I decide who gets the crown in the absence of a priest.” He gestures to Idies. “That man is not a king. At least not anymore.”

  Adriel stares at him, a dreamy look in her gaze. “He was one of the greatest kings to walk on Ardon and now he’s a violent undead.” She looks at them. “How has our world turned so upside-down?”

  “Should I not have brought him here?” Kera wonders.

  “Who told you to?”

  She bites her lip, as if unsure whether or not to say. But hesitantly, she answers, “Raea.”

  The elven siblings stiffen.

  “She was in disguise as an elf maiden. She changed her appearance. We didn’t find out until after Hagard found her.”

  Eldowyn looks at Hagard. “You were at the Kawa?”

  The drunk dwarf’s eyes are slits. “Alfie needed ta be treated.”

  “He died,” Kera explains.

  “Ya don’t need ta bring it up every five seconds!” Hagard yells, throwing his flask at the wall, liquor spilling over the floor.

  Ethiah stares at him, the group stares at him.

  The dwarf huffs and storms off.

  “He hasn’t stopped drinking.”

  They all look at Sauriel, who sharpens a carved-out blade, the beautiful design definitely that of Radian. She sits at the table, across from Idies, who’s staring at the table too calmly, sending unease throughout Ethiah’s body.

  “Who’s this Alfie?” Eldowyn asks.

  Sauriel shrugs. “A Meran hunter. Hagard had grown attached to him, I guess.” She throws a blade in the air and catches it. “I’ve had a long couple of weeks, being resurrected and all.” She stands. “I’m heading to bed.” Her eyes flit to Eldowyn. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

  He nods, and they leave.

  Ethiah turns her attention to Idies. “Why did you agree to come here?”

  “I’m supposed to help Aradon. I don’t know how, that white-eyed lady wasn’t clear.”

  “Did she look well?” Ethiah asks, anxious to know if her mentor is healing.

  “Everything looked a bit gray to me, I’ve been wandering the Isle for thousands of years. Even now, I can barely see color.”

  “Do you remember what it was like?” Brega asks, probably so she knows what her family is enduring. “The Isle?”