by Nesa Miller
The ice-blue eyes came up, meeting his. “I haven’t decided.”
He cocked a blond brow. “You know, High Lady or not, Queen Alatariel would be forced to dole out severe punishment to anyone who brought harm to a citizen of Nunnehi.”
She smirked at the idea. “I believe she would have to catch me first.”
“Are you not familiar with the speed of an elf?” He struggled not to smile.
“Are you not familiar with the powers of a fully transformed Krymerian?”
“Is there one in the area? I’d love to see that,” he said, a lopsided grin on his face.
“Ha. Funny man.” She slipped the dirk into her boot. “You obviously have a lot to learn.” Etain pushed away from the tree, but he grabbed her by the arm. “Let go, Taurnil. I just wanted to see what she looked like.” She looked again. “Personally, I don’t see it.”
“See what?”
“What turned his head.”
He felt the tremor run through her. “She didn't turn his head. Well, not like you think anyway. The girl has no shame.”
“And, apparently, neither does Dar, sporting her scarf during the tournament.” She pulled free from his grasp.
“E.” He softened his voice and blocked her path. “He wasn't sporting her scarf. She threw it over him as the games began. The man was put on the spot.”
“You were there?”
“I wasn’t. Rana sent a few of us novices on a training mission, so I missed it.” Taurnil laughed. “But I have it on good authority that her attentions were unwarranted.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “What? Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” She sighed. “It's just…” With a shrug, she opened her eyes, bright with tears. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but you remind me so much of Dar. The color of your eyes, the silly grin, even the way you laugh.”
He stared at her.
“What?”
“How can I look like the High Lord?” Taurnil distinctly remembered him having brown hair and blue eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Etain stared back at him. “Are you serious? Blonde hair, gold eyes-”
“I do, yes.”
She knitted her brows, looking at him as though he’d lost his mind. “Well, so does…” Raising her brows, her face lit up. “Oh, wait…” She covered her mouth with her hand, laughing.
Taurnil shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m sorry, Taurnil.” She continued laughing. “It’s not you.”
“Would you like to tell me what is?” Seeing her this way made it difficult for him to be angry.
“When was the last time you saw Dar?”
He thought about it and shrugged. “It’s been a while.”
“So, you didn’t see him the last time we were here?”
Taurnil uncrossed his arms, shaking his head. “No. Like I said, I was away. You know, I wish you’d stop laughing. ”
“I’m not laughing at you, T. It’s me.” She took a breath. “You know why we were here last time, right?” He nodded. “Well, Dar now has blonde hair…and gold eyes. Except for the ears, the resemblance between you two is remarkable.”
Again, he stared at her. “I look like my cousin?” The stunned look on her face made him laugh.
“Cousin?” Realization dawned. “Oh my god. You’re Alatariel's son.”
Taurnil exhibited an impressive courtly bow. “At your service, milady.”
“Hmmm.” Etain circled around the elf, tapping a finger against her chin. “How extraordinary. It explains a lot.”
“Explains what, cousin?” He turned to keep her in his sights.
“Never mind.” She brushed off the comment with the wave of a hand. “She said Dar doesn’t know.”
His shoulders slumped. “No, and mother won’t allow me to approach him. I’ve read everything that’s been written about the man. By the stars, I feel as though I know him already.” He leaned against the trunk of the tree, a dreamy look in his eyes.
“Perhaps we’ve met for a reason, dear cousin.” Her eyes narrowed in a conspiratorial way. “I think Dar would be glad to meet you. He values family over everything.”
Down the road, Zysha suddenly shivered and happened to look up the lane. Seeing Taurnil, she lifted her hand in greeting, but he was too preoccupied with his companion to notice. Zysha poked one of her assistants and asked if he knew the woman who kept the young prince distracted. The small elf saw them only from the back but recognized the two.
“Oh, that would be the Lady Etain.”
She pursed her lips, looking as though she had tasted something sour. “Lady Etain? Who is that?”
“You don’t know?” He was shocked by her ignorance.
“Would I be asking if I knew?” Exasperated, she placed her hands on her ample hips.
He snorted a laugh. “VonNeshta. High Lady Etain VonNeshta. The High Lord’s wife.” Satisfied with her paled reaction, he left her with her mouth hanging open.
26
Unholy Hearts
Dar and his Blades watched and waited. The elves shared a meal of bread and cheese, passing the fare around. Dar’s mouth watered from the smell of roasting deer, but his appetite would not be satisfied with cooked fare tonight, no matter how rare the meat. Tonight would be a feast of hearts, warm and bloody, in their final rhythmic beats of life.
One of the men approached Dar, a bottle in hand. “Pardons, High Lord.” Dar turned to see eyes dark as the night. “Will you share a nip or two of grog with an old friend before we go off on our little adventure?”
“I don’t drink just any grog, elf,” he said, his gaze returning to the Bok camp.
The elf’s smile revealed a row of perfect white teeth as he settled against the tree next to Dar. “Insults, is it? That’s a fine way to start a reunion.” He pushed back silver strands of hair that had strayed from their bindings.
“This isn’t a reunion.” Dar looked at the man. “What insult?”
His smile turned into a frown as he worked the cork from the bottle, holding it close to the ground to muffle any sound. “How long have we known each other, High Lord?” The cork came free with a soft pop. Both men darted a glance toward the camp. Apparently, the sound was not loud enough to carry over the sounds of men at work.
Dar blew out a breath and kept his voice low. “We’re not here to play games, Túrë.”
“I disagree, High Lord.” Túrë’s smile returned. “War is the greatest game there is to play.”
Dar grunted a deep-throated chuckle. “That’s not what you said the last time I saw you.”
“Oh? And what did I say the last time you saw me…High Lord?” He swiped a sleeve over the mouth of the bottle.
“As I recall, you said love was the greatest game.”
Túrë offered the bottle to Dar who, after a second glance, accepted, sniffing the contents before taking a deep draw.
“Then your memory fails you, High Lord. Love is the greatest game played from a female perspective. For men, it is war.”
Dar wiped his mouth and handed the bottle back to the elf. “How is Elisandre?”
“She is quite well. Thank you for asking, High Lord.”
“Shut up with the ‘High Lord’, elf.” He nodded to the bottle. “How is it you come by Krymerian grog?”
He enjoyed a drink and chuckled. “As I recall, it was a wedding present.”
Dar lifted his brows. “You’ve kept it all this time?”
“I knew we’d meet again, Hi…er…Dar.” He chuckled again, passing the grog. “Too bad our reunion is not under happier circumstances.”
“Aye.”
“Let’s drink to your recent change in marital status. I hope to meet the lady one day.”
“Just don’t get yourself killed in the next few days and perhaps you will.” Dar lifted the bottle and took a drink.
Túrë’s laugh rum
bled through his chest. “The same goes for you... High Lord.”
The two sat in silence for a time, sharing the grog. As the evening darkened, quiet descended over the encampment, telling them the time had come. The men got to their feet.
“Would you do me the honor, Dar?” Túrë simply asked.
He understood, no explanation required. “Aye, Túrë, but it is I who am honored.” They watched as the first group of Blades moved out. Dar lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “Do not be alarmed should you-”
Túrë touched his shoulder. “There is no need, milord. I have your back.”
The mud-smeared assassins slipped into the camp, weaving around the officers’ tents, minds fixed on the first part of their task to incapacitate the night watch. Dar and Túrë held back, the High Lord tuning into the sounds of his men. To his left, he picked up the scrape of booted feet and the whisk of a sharp blade sliding into warm flesh. The wind carried the sharp scent of death, confirming the goal had been met. Dar and Túrë headed in silence toward the eastern sector, their eyes fixed on their next target. On his own, Linq slipped between them.
Sion and his fellow Black Blade, Riko, swept around to the western side of the dense forest. Timing and speed would prove as valuable as their black blades. They stopped long enough to apply a fresh layer of mud over their faces and uniforms. Sion added an extra layer to his blond hair.
The Bok sentries quickly succumbed to their blades without raising an alarm. While Riko disposed of the bodies, Sion took over sentry duty, his finely-tipped ears listening to the sounds of his brother Blades as they moved from tent to tent, moving deeper into the encampment. He surveyed the immediate area. Seeing only the shadows cast by the campfires, he stepped behind a nearby tree to relieve himself. Within moments, he heard an unfamiliar voice boom from the darkness.
“Where the hell are all the sentries? I swear by the devil himself, I’ll tear out your black hearts myself and shove them down your worthless throats.”
“By the stars,” Sion muttered, fastening his breeches. As he stepped from the dark sanctuary of the tree, he untied the leather strip holding his hair in a tail down his back, covering his ears. “Here, sir.” He recognized the man as a Bok officer by the shiny signets displayed across his chest.
The officer blustered at his sudden appearance. “You worthless shit. Where’s the other one?”
Sion nodded toward the forest. “Personal business.”
“Sentries have no personal business. Piss in your own time, not mine.” He cocked his head and eyed the elf from head to toe. “I don’t know you.” He came closer and pulled on the elf’s collar. “This isn’t Bok issue.” The man sniffed. “You smell funny.” The officer stepped back, a hand on the hilt of his sword.
Sion nearly laughed at the irony. Nothing smelled worse than the stink of evil rolling off the man. The elf shifted and straightened his black jacket. “I come from the north, past the mountains.” Sion pointed in the general direction. “My brother and I joined up during the march south.” It was not too far from the truth.
“The north… That explains it. You should be shoveling shit, not standing as sentries.” His tone conveyed his disgust. “I’ll have a word with the commander.” He looked over his shoulder toward the trees and drew his sword. “The man must be a bloody whale if it takes him this long to piss. Let’s go find this brother of yours.”
Sion’s first instinct was to reach for his blade, but with the Bok’s sword waving in his face, he fought the urge. Once away from the camp, he would be in a better position to grab the dagger in his belt. The elf turned, but an odor stronger than any the Bok could emit, something between a aged carrion and raw sewage, made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He looked over his shoulder and his heart stopped, knowing his impersonation of a Bok sentry had come to an abrupt end.
Another officer stood with the first, accompanied by a dark green, long-faced goblin, also dressed in an officer’s uniform. Sion knew his kind. Although tall and slim, they were deceptively strong and as ruthless in a fight as the smell they carried. If he hoped to get out of this alive, Sion would have to make the first move and be quick about it.
The lieutenant laughed. “Shall we leave our friend to his dinner and go find his dessert?”
“Leave the elf’s weapons untouched, Fregus,” the other called out. “I’ll add them to my collection.” He laughed and glanced at his fellow officer. A frozen, blank stare met his gaze. The mouth moved, but only blood oozed from between the lips. The lieutenant crashed, face-first, into the dirt.
Riko stood in his place, blood dripping off his black blade. “I hear dessert is a killer.” His sword came up, but the officer jumped back, fumbling for his own blade, drawing it just in time to save his neck.
The yellow eyes of the Tengu goblin impaled Sion with a malevolent stare. The elf matched the glare, hoping to trap him in an elven trance. Gradually, inch by inch, Sion slid one foot back toward the darkness of the forest, then the other, hoping for a quick escape.
In time, his efforts proved fruitful. The tree behind him appeared out of the corner of his eye. He blinked. The momentary break proved his undoing. The goblin sneered, drool dripping from the deadly slit of a mouth. Yellow eyes glittered with heinous intent as the goblin made his move, spinning a double-bladed sword…one end serrated, the other honed to a finely curved edge. Without another thought, Sion slammed a shoulder into the goblin before the blade could take his head.
Sion spun around the trunk of the tree, reaching for the blade on his back as he moved. Coming full circle, he slashed down and nicked the right shoulder of the goblin. Fregus grunted, making a grab for the blade but missed. Sion had to work fast while he had the advantage. Swinging his blade down, he twisted his wrist and cut up, separating the goblin’s head from its body. The head bounced off the trunk, spewing acidic yellow blood. Sion ducked behind the tree to avoid being saturated by the foul-smelling stuff.
Tucking his nose into the crook of his elbow, he stepped out, walked around to the severed head, and hacked off a pointed, dark green ear. He turned in time to see Riko gut the remaining officer where he stood.
“By the bloody stars,” Sion exclaimed, grateful to see the dark-haired elf.
“Aye, they be bloody tonight.” Riko cleaned his blade on the fallen officer’s uniform. “What is that stench!”
Sion grinned. “The only thing that stinks worse than a Tengu goblin is a dead Tengu goblin. You had me worried.”
“Sorry for that, brother.” Riko slapped him on the back. “These officers don’t travel alone. I had my hands full, relieving others of their duties. Nice work on the goblin.”
Sion picked up the severed ear, making sure it no longer bled, placing it in his belt. “We should find the High Lord. He needs to know about this one. There could be more.”
Dar separated from Túrë and slipped into an officer’s tent. Safe from detection, he tapped into his demon, just enough to increase in size and extend his talons. Looming over the sleeping officer, he smothered the face with one hand and cut through the flesh below the ribcage. Wide eyes stared up in disbelief as Dar slid a hand through the incision into the chest and yanked out the still beating heart. He held it up so the man could see it before he died. The blood pumped black and thick as oil, bathing his hand with its warm stickiness. He brought the delicacy to his lips.
“Your sacrifice gives me what I need to defeat your kind.” His demon fangs ripped into the muscle, blood dribbling between his lips and down his chin. Guttural grunts of satisfaction rumbled in his throat as he devoured his enemy.
His own blood felt like fire in his veins, filling him with a wild insatiable thirst. He slashed through the tent, seeing the camp through the red eyes of the demon within. The pulse of so many hearts beat a deafening tattoo, each with its own unique rhythm, all united in an erotic symphony, arousing Dar’s bloodlust. He breathed in the night air and loosed the bloodgates.
He lost count of throats slit
by blade or talons, but kept track of the hearts – five, to be exact. Three for the family he lost so many years ago, one for his father, and one for his Etain. Inside the tent of his latest victim, shouts of alarm cut through his bloodlust.
Túrë’s head popped in through a slit. “High Lord,” he said in a sharp whisper, “it is time.”
Dar forced the demon to retreat. “Aye,” he replied, his voice ragged. The remains of the final heart slipped from his hand, hitting the dirt with a soft thud. He swiped the blood from his lips. Another shout, this time much closer, set his feet in motion. He ducked through the slit from where Túrë had disappeared. Arrows whizzed past them as they made a mad dash into the trees. The Krymerian and the elf stopped briefly, each hidden behind a birch. Dar motioned to Túrë. The elf tipped his head and disappeared into the night, then Dar slipped away unseen.
At the redeployment point between the Bok camp and Castle Laugharne, the covert group gathered around the High Lord. To see his men covered in as much blood as he eased his conscience to some degree, knowing he was not alone in the bloodlust. Dar was especially aware of an absent Linq. “You have done well tonight. There is honor in killing those who have no honor. Those animals would murder every elf, Alamir, and human in their path. Be proud your efforts have bought our side at least part of a day, if not more, to prepare for battle.” He waved his hand, opening a portal. “This will take you directly to Laugharne. Clean up, eat, and get some rest. We have a full day tomorrow.”
His Blades on their way, Dar closed the portal and breathed in the cool night air, noting a faint scent of rain. With a slow exhale, he pushed the hair from his face with blood-covered hands and looked at the gathering clouds.
Whatever it takes, a chuisle.
When swift footsteps came his way, he sighed, squared his shoulders, and summoned the demon again. Whatever pursued him would find a nasty surprise in their path. A movement from the dark of the forest saw his talons extend. He spread his legs and with knees bent, raised his hand overhead, ready to strike. The instant the figure burst out of the trees, Dar lashed out with his deadly talons…down with the right, up with the left. He felt the warm breath of the being whoosh into his face. His talons missed, his target having fallen on his backside.