In constant awareness of Wareeshta’s lurking presence, she paused every few paces, glancing back over her shoulder.
She was still alone.
The large, oak-panelled door greeted her. Throwing one last cautious glance, she hesitated before inserting the key. Shut away from her aids, and the continuous sound of clashing blades, she sighed with relief on hearing the heavy door close behind her. However, she was still reeling at Kara’s suspicions, when she had ordered the Valkyrie to increase their training.
“How dare you make enquiries!” she had snapped, before taking her leave of them. And, to make matters worse, she had sensed Wareeshta’s reluctance to make use of her “gift”. It was all beginning to wear thin on her patience. As loyal as they were, there were times she was repelled by her aids—and their company was not always sought.
Still, they have their uses, she reminded herself, until such time their services would be no longer required. But Wareeshta’s gift had been her ally. Without it, she would not have her soldiers. Just a few more, she thought; then she would be prepared. Perhaps she would keep Wareeshta after all… when the real prize came into her possession. If forced to choose… the young, female Dhampir would be her favourite.
Cast out from society for being “different”, Wareeshta had had nowhere to go after the death of her father. Knowing her lineage would follow her throughout her timeless life, the young Dhampir had no option, but to leave the home she had once called, Romania.
It was when their paths crossed, she had found Wareeshta lost and broken with brain fever, caused by the sudden loss of all she once knew. She had felt sorry for the poor creature, taking her into her care. It was through close observation, of the unusual, young woman, she eventually discovered her remarkable “gift”. For saving her life, and sanity, Wareeshta vowed to serve her mistress in any way she desired. But she had detected a goodness, lurking inside the Dhampir—no doubt inherited from her mother. It concerned her.
And then there was the Valkyrie. Kara was unique, in her own way, in that her skills were next to none. Nothing phased her. When looking into her pale, grey eyes, she saw resentment, and a fearlessness that was disturbing in a narcissistic way.
She was aware the Valkyrie was becoming increasingly difficult to control—feeding on her anger. Despite it, Kara trained her soldiers well, dominating them from the start. Some, however, were immune to her charge. The behaviour of two, in particular, irked her, rousing her suspicions; she felt their eyes watching her every move. Time, she sensed, was running out, offering her no alternative, but to reveal her intentions to her personal aids. The mere notion of sharing it with Kara frustrated her. She had been aware of the Valkyrie’s attempts to take the Warlock’s amulet from him, noting the scar on the palm of her hand. At least she had given up on that. However, the Valkyrie soon became distracted by the younger ones, her arrogance, driving her insatiable appetite towards them. Already, another three had to be replaced in a short space of time, forcing Wareeshta to venture out into the suspicious world of mortals. It was now becoming a laborious task, finding young men.
Her spacious chamber opened out, welcoming her back into its sumptuous surroundings. Decorated with mementos of her wide and varied travels, there were those who remarked upon them as “trophies” rather than souvenirs—she, shrugging off such descriptions as insults.
Her most cherished item was the first to greet her. Carved from rare, golden-threaded wood, the ornate stand housed a large circular mirror, made from the finest bronze. Cast with a central square of decorated archaistic motifs and raised nodes, it hung with perfect precision, to match her height.
She came across it in the Realm of Saó, after taking the castle of Odani, much to the annoyance of Asai. He had claimed it to be from—what he had called—his ancestor’s Ming Dynasty. From the instant her eyes fell upon its uniqueness, she claimed it as her own. It soon became her loyal and dependable companion—never lying about her beauty. But in the honesty of its constant presence, it also reminded her of her weakness.
She moved slowly towards its highly polished surface with dread. The subtle signs of ageing were there for her to see; however, noticeable to none, but herself.
‘One more should suffice, before we leave,’ she told her mirrored image. ‘And she will be the last.’
Stepping away, she paused, then looked towards the large, gothic window. Rays of strong sunlight streamed in, brightening the room. With the nearing of summer, she could feel the warmth of the stone walls generating their heat. She welcomed it, and the silence from beyond her window, telling her they had ceased training, for the time being.
She observed the Moorish-style, ebonized wooden table, standing alone beneath the window. When the light shone in, it highlighted the tortoiseshell, mother-of-pearl, and bone inlay of its surface. Inlaid spindle legs, with open arabesque, window panels, supported its raised bordered top, containing a central carved drawer with pure gold handles. She knew, by a single glance, whether her aids had been curious to its contents; lucky for them, it had remained untouched.
Passing her four-poster bed, she moved with ease towards the long, burgundy drapes that covered one wall in its entirety.
“They retain the heat in this dismal place,” had been her reply, when Wareeshta once admired their lavish beauty.
‘Part!’ she commanded. Her order was plain, and effortless. The heavy drapes glided apart with grace and elegance, revealing a large, arched ebony door, its latch, having seen centuries of wear.
‘Unlock!’ came her second command. She watched as the key turned itself. ‘Open!’
The Sorceress stepped back as the panelled door reached out, letting her in to the hidden room it concealed. The dim, white glow, emanating from within, drew her into its centre. Small in size, the secret chamber was walled with black, wooden panels of unknown figures carved into their centre. They were of no interest to her; it was the item nestled on a pillar, made from red, lacquered wood, which held her attention, its perfect sphere dominating the chamber, allowing her to see with true sight: the crystalline orb of vision.
She approached it with keen interest. No more than the size of a man’s head, she could see into its core with clarity.
It had been a gift—one she acquired from an Orbist. She had been told of a magician who created magic to the requirements of his client. Hidden away—in the far reaches of Ockram, in the southern hemisphere—she had sought him out. The raggedy little man, haughty in his bearings, was somewhat eccentric, choosing to live alone in the forbidden red caves of Alucard. The hazardous journey had taken her five months, by horse.
She recalled the curious meeting: his long, white hair fell to the ground, almost covering the filthy rags on his tiny frame. At times, he carried its length upon his thin arm with every thought-out movement. It had been the strength to his power, having never been cut. His skin was grey, for the want of daylight, and when he spoke, his sunken mouth babbled words she found difficult, at first, to understand. Yet, for all his oddities, he warmed her heart with his toothless smile. She had visited him many times in his isolated little world, until he provided her with what she needed, along with the orb. In return, she gave him a gold ring inlaid with fine rubies. But it was the gentle kiss she had placed on his forehead, before departing, that became his greatest treasure.
‘Show me!’ she commanded, her eyes narrowing as the light surged, displaying an image of the Warlock.
As long as the orb glowed, he could not escape. It was the one thing holding him captive, behind the invisible shield. There was no way above, or around its force. She had contemplated ridding him of it, giving him free movement of the citadel, with constant supervision—naturally, a bribe to entice information from him. But her instincts dictated otherwise, when she thought of Kara.
‘What to do with you…’ she said, raising her joined hands to her mouth, as she mused over him. She tapped the tips of her slender fingers together, watching him lounge over the literary wor
ks she had left him. She continued to stare, pondering on a solution, when a shard of light caught the corner of her eye. Drawing her attention away from him, she lowered her hands, focusing on the tiny light escaping between one of the panels. Her inquisitive mind pulled her closer, questioning why she had not noticed it before—trying to recall when she last looked upon it.
A year? she thought. Perhaps longer?
Reaching for the two panels, masquerading as doors, she slowly opened them.
Her eyes widened with excitement as she looked upon the object, hanging from the place she had left it—the precious stone within its centre, now sparkling with increased intensity. She noted its colour had changed, to an obvious shade of pale-yellow; and how it exuded an intoxicating energy.
Lifting its heavy gold chain, the amulet swung like a pendulum, mesmerising her. She felt the heat from its energy wrap itself around her fingers, enveloping her hand, gradually spreading upwards. But for all its beauty, it was not “the one” she truly sought, adding to her frustrations. She frowned, pursing her lips, before marching back to the orb.
‘I will force it from you, Warlock!’ she raged, gritting her teeth. ‘You will tell me where the Shenn is, or so help me I shall—’
‘My Lady?’
The sound of Wareeshta’s wary voice alerted her. Aware the Dhampir would be waiting—perhaps listening—she quickly returned the amulet to its hiding place—and away from prying eyes. Leaving her secret behind, she promptly re-entered her chamber.
‘Come, Wareeshta!’
The Dhampir set foot into her mistress’s domain with a sense of discomfort. She noticed the Sorceress appeared restless, refusing to engage in eye contact with her. Wareeshta stole a discreet glance around the chamber, before speaking.
‘I have found two more, my Lady,’ she said. ‘But they are not as young as the others. At least it will be their saving grace from—’
‘Where is she?’ the Sorceress snapped, expecting Kara to be close behind.
Wareeshta’s lack of response betrayed the Valkyrie.
‘This is impossible!’ she cried, turning away. ‘I have had enough! Kara tries my patience!’
Wareeshta’s mouth gaped at the sudden outburst, having just witnessed her mistress’s rare display of emotion. It was evident she could not bear the Valkyrie’s presence much longer. She shared in her sentiments. But it would not be easy to rid them of Kara’s unwanted company.
Born of royal blood, Kara hailed from the far Norse-lands—beyond the ruling of Urquille. She had been a product of close inbreeding, so as not to taint the royal lineage. But with every passing generation of close ties, came great risks. Some of her ancestors had been subject to insanity, leading to periods of unknown turmoil. It was unfortunate for the female—born of a sister and brother—when the signs began to emerge as she grew into her own. She possessed an evil within, displaying a brutality, shunned by all, even their greatest warriors. It was when she came of age, she discovered the realms of men, enjoying their much sought after company, much to the disdain of her parents; she had risked breaking the royal line. Banished from mingling with “mere mortals”, Kara retaliated and ran away, leaving behind the mutilated corpses of her mother and father, without a shred of remorse.
She then fell into the company of a malicious old woman named, Pökk—said to be Loki in disguise. Scarred by hate and mistrust of mankind, Pökk lured Kara with promises of great powers. The old woman bestowed her with the gift of flight, by providing her with a magnificent pair of white wings. Her weapon—a lance, fashioned from a single, thick piece of Obsidian glass—gave her the added strength of three men.
As time wore on, Kara grew uneasy in Pökk’s company. The old woman became demanding and violent, inflicting her powers on the Valkyrie she had created. It had been her intent to embroil her captive into a plot of revenge. But Kara refused to do her bidding, plunging the old woman into a distorted rage, revealing her true identity—Loki.
He demanded she fight alongside him—against their Gods—to claim the throne of Aesir, as his own. She recoiled from such an impossible task, refusing to give in to his wants and needs. And so, for her rejection, he chained her to a tree, leaving her to rot, where she remained alone—starved of company and food, for days.
The Sorceress recalled how she and Wareeshta came upon Kara’s lifeless body—slumped in the freezing depths of winter. Thinking her dead, they took it upon themselves to bury the “wretched thing”. But there had been a hint of life still left in the Valkyrie. A slight ruffle of feathers in one of her wings had told them she was alive. Where her captor had disappeared to, they never knew; he had simply vanished, leaving no trace behind.
Kara recovered with remarkable speed and, in a short space of time, her true potential began to emerge. As the Valkyrie’s new strength grew, it soon became clear, she, too, would prove useful to her needs: Wareeshta would provide her with soldiers, while a willing Kara trained them. It could not have been more perfect.
It all seemed to go according to plan, when an unsettling feeling began to seep in, forcing her to watch the Valkyrie through cautious eyes. Kara’s interest in the young, male Dhampir gave her cause for concern, noting how, occasionally, one would go missing—then another. And so, she had Wareeshta spy on her comings and goings. It did not take long for her to discover the cause of their disappearance.
She remembered the Valkyrie’s savage reaction when she had warned her against her antics. It was then her true character surfaced. Kara then began pursuing Wareeshta, pleading with her to change her “like the others” so she could be as powerful as them. But the Dhampir refused, throwing Kara into a crazed frenzy, spewing threats of retaliation.
The Valkyrie became more arrogant and disagreeable, threatening to leave. Something had to be done; she could not unleash the unpredictable creature into a world she had intended on taking for herself. Then Kara’s hostile behaviour became bold, threatening her plans further— when she asked Wareeshta to escape with her. The Dhampir declined, avoiding any explanation for going. But Kara’s persistence eventually dragged the hidden truth from her, making Wareeshta to confess, to her imprisonment: any notion of leaving was unthinkable.
“I am, and always shall be, bonded to her,” she had overheard Wareeshta tell the Valkyrie.
“Willingly?” Kara had mocked the silent Wareeshta, in return. “It seems not! You fool! Unlike you, I will be slave to no-one.”
But Kara, in her haste to leave, had failed to see the fate awaiting her.
It was at that moment, she then knew, she had to take matters into her own hands, forcing her to intervene in the threatening conversation between her aids.
It happened with such speed, the Valkyrie had no knowledge of the change that had taken place… until she attempted to flee.
“Leave then!” she had urged the Valkyrie. “I challenge you to!”
She recalled the smirk on Kara’s face, as the Valkyrie stood grasping the weapon she had named “Obsidian” in her hand, before her attempted departure. Then she and Wareeshta watched, when the Valkyrie recoiled, crying from the pain being inflicted on her, with every forced step as she tried to leave.
She had relished in knowing—the more Kara fought against her—the more the crushing pain would grip her insides. If the Valkyrie had persisted, it would have taken a matter of seconds for her to collapse, before falling into a fatal coma. She had seen it many times; none more so, than with Reece. In the beginning, he could not accept his bonding, making countless attempts to escape, his stubbornness, taking him to the edge of death. And eager to stop him, Kara became the willing volunteer, engaging with him in countless fights—Reece, taking the wrath of her sword every time.
Disrupted from her thoughts, the Sorceress was forced to abandon them, hearing Wareeshta’s movements about her chamber. The Dhampir paused when their eyes met.
‘What are you doing here, Wareeshta?’
‘I have brought you—’
‘Yes, of
course! I remember. You know what to do.’ The Sorceress regarded the open door of her chamber. ‘Where is she?’
‘She is… with Tam,’ Wareeshta replied, observing the irritated look gradually appear, on her mistress’s face. ‘But do not fear, my Lady, he is a worthy opponent against her strength.’
‘For now,’ the Sorceress grunted, her mood turning to one of annoyance. ‘No! I cannot and will not lose another to her. I swear she does it, not for her own pleasure, but to try my
patience. I must congratulate her,’ she added sarcastically. ‘If I do not act now, she will surely dispatch him. Tam has the qualities of a leader. I need him. I need them all… especially now.’
‘Shall I look for—’
‘Do it!’ she snapped. ‘The time has come… to inform you of my plans.’
Warreshta stood to attention, sensing something was about to happen. Her curiosities were recently awakened, due to their prolonged stay in the one place. She was sure it was connected to the captives below; their presence was clearly of some importance.
‘Go!’ she shouted.
The Dhampir spun round, about to exit…
‘And, Wareeshta!’
‘Yes, my Lady,’ she replied, turning again—eager to please.
The Sorceress sauntered towards her with menace. Staring into the Dhampir’s deep-brown eyes, she loomed forward with intent, her tone now flat and calm when she spoke.
‘I fear nothing!’
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘I risk it all,’ Oran began, closing his eyes—reluctant to show his fears.
‘Then take it,’ Reece urged, sensing his concern. ‘You have my confidence.’
‘Do I?’
‘I assure you of it.’ His attempt to smile at the Warlock proved difficult.
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