Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2)

by Patrick Hodges

  “Rahne, step away from him,” Elzor said.

  Rahne, along with several of the soldiers standing in a half-circle around Elzor, took several paces back. Within seconds, the rotund man was standing on his own.

  Somehow sensing his doom, Sekker dropped to his knees. “Please, My Lord! Spare me! I will give you all I –”

  Elzor gave Elzaria a knowing nod. Strands of blue lightning shot from her hands, striking Sekker full in the chest. His body shuddered and his arms twitched as his strangulated scream abruptly cut off. His eyes rolled back in their sockets as he lifted his head skyward, no doubt pleading to Arantha for mercy.

  But Arantha held no power here. Elzor did.

  Elzor's eyes shifted to Rahne, whose jaw dropped open as Sekker's hair, skin, and clothes began to blacken and char. Smoke drifted up from the collar of his tunic, and his hair even caught fire. But no more screams came.

  Elzaria retracted her hands, and the lightning disappeared. A cruel smile played over her face as she stepped forward to admire her handiwork.

  As they watched, the lifeless husk that had once been Sekker toppled face-first into the grass. Smoke rose from his body up to the clear blue sky, and the foul stench of death rose with it.

  Elzor looked appreciatively at Elzaria, who met his gaze with a hollow smile. “I do so love watching you work, sister.”

  She gave the slightest of head bows. “A pleasure, my liege.”

  “Take a few men into town,” he instructed her. “Have the locals supply us with enough food for every Elzorath. If they object …” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “Understood, my liege.” She bowed again and strode back to her merych, waving over a contingent of soldiers to accompany her. Within moments, they were galloping down the road on their way to Larth.

  Elzor turned to see Rahne, looking ashen as he continued to stare at Sekker's smoking corpse. He half-expected the boy to vomit at the pungent smell of death, but he did not. Of course, if Sekker had been telling the truth, Rahne hadn't eaten in almost a day.

  As he stared, his mind flashed back to his own youth. He and Elzaria were only fourteen when they escaped from Mogran, thanks entirely to the Stone they had found. His first thought was to march straight to the home of Viceroy Callis and make him pay for all the torments they endured there, but doing so would have been suicide. Elzaria was powerful but untrained, and though he had some fighting skills, they were pitiful compared to those of the militia. So he joined their ranks, as it was the best way for him to not only develop his skills, but to take care of Elzaria. Each trainer he was assigned to zeroed in on him, determined to break his will at every turn. Every pounding his body took only fueled his drive to overcome, to improve.

  By the age of seventeen, he'd become skilled in swordsmanship, archery, and hand-to-hand combat. He'd also earned the respect of his peers, none of whom had any idea that the sister he provided for and had sequestered from the rest of the population would soon become the most powerful weapon on Elystra.

  Looking at Rahne now, Elzor saw a lot of himself. Rahne was tall, with a typical fisherman's build: strong arms, leathery skin, and a salty attitude appropriate for those who spent much of their lives at sea.

  Elzor approached Rahne, finally standing shoulder to shoulder with him. “Is this the first time you've seen a man die?” He indicated Sekker's body.

  “Not in such a manner,” Rahne replied in a hushed tone. “My Lord,” he quickly added.

  “Do you deny he had it coming?”

  “Not at all. I just wish I could have been the one to do it.”

  A smirk curled at the edge of Elzor's mouth, but he quashed it immediately. “You are free to go, Rahne.” He turned to rejoin his men, but he'd only gone a few steps when the boy's next words stopped him in his tracks.

  “Take me with you.”

  Elzor's smile returned.

  Chapter Six

  Mizar, the High Mage of Darad, wept bitter tears as he pulled Deegan into a hug, holding him close. The realization that this could be the last time he might ever see his father alive had hit him like a cudgel to the face.

  He could hardly believe it had only been two days since returning to the home of the man who'd raised him. All his life, he'd thought his ability to communicate with Arantha through visions, not to mention his power to control the elements, had been a divine gift. Out of thousands of Daradian boys to stand on the Nexus of Arantha in the last century, only he had been granted the powers worthy of the title of High Mage. For forty years, he'd considered this bestowal the highest honor a loyal Daradian subject could achieve, and serving King Armak and his son Aridor had been both fulfilling and worthy of his efforts.

  But now, because of Deegan's confession, he knew the truth. His Wielding had not come from Arantha but from his mother, Areca of the Ixtrayu. Since hearing this revelation, his entire outlook on his abilities, his role as High Mage—blag, his entire life—had changed forever.

  “Son,” Deegan whispered as they parted, still clutching each other's arms. His mouth hung open as if there were a million words fighting their way to the surface, but nothing came out.

  “I will be fine, father,” Mizar said. “I am grateful you have unburdened your soul. Should I not find it in my power to return before you journey to the Great Veil, you may go knowing that, as you have your entire life, you have followed your heart.” He turned to his cousin, a tall, dark-haired man with tanned skin standing nearby. “Kimur, I am grateful to you for accommodating us on such short notice. I trust the coins I left will be sufficient to replace the merych we're forced to take.”

  Kimur shook his head, his dark hair swept back by the slight breeze. “More than sufficient, cousin.” He flashed a roguish smile.

  A stifled sob from a few yards away caught Mizar's attention. Kimur's wife Mareta had engulfed Vaxi in a farewell hug of her own, planting a loving kiss on the young huntress's cheek. Thanks to Sen's healing and Mareta's maternal ministrations, Vaxi had now recovered from her injuries enough to make the journey from Ghaldyn province to the capital city of Dar.

  “Thank you,” he heard Vaxi say as she returned the plump woman's hug. “For everything.”

  Mareta disengaged herself, smoothing the wrinkles from the loose-fitting white tunic Vaxi now wore over her kova-leather huntress outfit and straightening the huxa-wood bow she had slung over her shoulder. With the changing of the seasons upon them, cooler temperatures and even rain were expected in the coming days. Warmth, however, was not the tunic's only purpose; it also served to hide the Ixtrayu clothes she wore underneath. “Did you pack all the food I gave you?” she asked, sniffling.

  “Yes.” Vaxi gestured at the bags draped over the saddles of the merychs awaiting them. Sen, Mizar's eighteen-year-old apprentice, held all three merychs' reins in his hands, watching her and Mizar's farewells. “If I packed any more, I'd need another merych to carry my additional weight.”

  Mareta laughed, sniffling again. She placed a hand on Vaxi's cheek. “May Arantha grant you safe journeys, dear child. Wherever your path may lead you, know that you are always welcome here.”

  Vaxi nodded, smiling and giving Mareta's shoulder a squeeze.

  “I'm sorry about your chava,” Mareta added. “But Hilly's a good merych. Take care of her, and she'll take care of you.”

  Vaxi's face scrunched up briefly, and she sniffed. Her chava, Tig, had died during her pursuit by the Vandans, a fate she would have shared had Mizar and Sen not been there to save her. “I promise I will care for her as if she were my own,” Vaxi said. She then nodded in farewell to Kimur and Deegan, and made her way toward the merychs.

  As Mizar watched, Sen wordlessly handed Hilly's reins to Vaxi, who mounted the brindle merych with ease. Sen cast his glance at Mizar, awaiting their departure with a pained expression.

  “I must be off,” Mizar said to his family. “It is a two-day ride back to Dar, and we must leave now if we are to reach Thage by nightfall.”

  “Safe trav
els, my son.” Deegan hugged him once again. “May Arantha guide you, and the rest of us, through these dark times.”

  After embracing Kimur and Mareta, Mizar mounted his merych, giving one final look back as they cantered down the path to the main road. A sudden fear twisted his gut, making him wonder whether the “dark times” Deegan spoke of were even worse than he'd let on, and if he would ever walk upon the green fields of Ghaldyn province again.

  * * *

  Not much was said during the first two hours of the journey. Sen chose to ride by himself, about fifty yards ahead of Vaxi and Mizar. The boy appeared to be so lost in his own thoughts, he didn't even look back once during that time.

  Hearing Vaxi tell the story of the brutal circumstances that led to the Ixtrayu's formation, Mizar couldn't fault them for their suspicious, isolationist ways. Though his own mother had had no place for him in her life, at least he'd been raised by a good father and a loving family. Sen, however, had not; he'd grown up in a home where he was systematically abused and belittled by his father as punishment for his mother's abandonment. When Sen learned that he, too, was born to an Ixtrayu mother, he'd taken it badly. In the past two days, he'd barely spoken at all.

  Mizar let out a heavy sigh. Despite being two years removed from the hostile environment Sen grew up in, it was clear his apprentice hadn't yet purged the demons of his traumatic childhood from his memory. Maybe he never would.

  Vaxi cleared her throat. She, too, was watching Sen's back. “Mizar?” she asked tentatively, then quickly added, “Um, High Mage?”

  Mizar chuckled. “ 'High Mage' is my title, and etiquette decrees you address me as such when we are within the walls of Castle Randar. However, outside those walls, I prefer that my friends call me by my given name.”

  “You consider me a friend?”

  “Well, you're certainly not my enemy. And given how much conversing we've done since you woke up, I'm not sure 'acquaintance' fits either.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Would you prefer I address you as 'Huntress'?”

  Her face reddened, and she smiled. “No, 'Vaxi' is fine.”

  “Vaxi it is.”

  Her face became serious. “Is Sen angry with me?”

  Mizar looked forward. Sen hadn't turned around or had his merych break stride, so if he'd heard his name mentioned, he hadn't reacted. “I don't believe so.”

  “Are you sure? I've tried several times to properly thank him for healing me and to apologize for striking him, but whenever I come near, he just walks away.” Her face fell, and Mizar could tell how much Sen's avoidance hurt her.

  “He's a good lad,” Mizar said. “Prior to becoming my apprentice, he had a disturbingly rough life.” He went on to relay the details Sen had only recently told him about his upbringing.

  “May I ask you something?” Mizar asked.

  “Of course.”

  He fixed Vaxi with a questioning stare. “Why do the Ixtrayu give up their male offspring?”

  Instead of responding, Vaxi absently ran her fingers through Hilly's long, silvery mane.

  When no answer came, Mizar added, “Do you even know why?”

  She nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I asked my grandmother once. She told me that if men were allowed to remain within the tribe, once they grew up they would stop taking orders from women.” She finally met his gaze. “She went on two Sojourns, you see; once to Darad and once to Imar. She told me the men she met were exactly as she expected: crass, arrogant, and inflexible. She said 'sons always end up like their fathers'. I think most of the tribe feels the same way.”

  Mizar's brow crinkled into a frown. “So it's not just about staying hidden for the Ixtrayu. It's about the rulers of your tribe maintaining control.”

  Vaxi whipped her head around, giving him an icy scowl. “I've heard stories that in the kingdoms of men, women are not allowed to lead. They're not permitted to learn how to fight, or even how to read or write. Would you have me believe everything is different now?” She turned away with an angry huff.

  Mizar bit his tongue. She did have a valid point. Even in Darad, in his opinion the most civilized of the countries of Elystra, women were still considered lesser beings. There were no female soldiers or guards, and even Aridor's wife, Queen Belena, had very little power in matters of state other than as her husband's trusted adviser.

  “I will admit that, for the most part, the rights afforded women are not equal to those of men. However, it would seem that the Ixtrayu have low opinions of all those not of their tribe, regardless of their titles, their lands … or their lack thereof.” He paused, waiting for Vaxi to look his way again. “There are many evil men in this world, yes. You had the misfortune to encounter some of them. But despite what you may think, women are not slaves. Outside the borders of Vanda, anyway.”

  She let out a few quick breaths as she placed her left hand over the spot in her side where a Vandan arrow had pierced it. “I only have your word for that,” she muttered.

  Mizar rolled his eyes, perturbed by this girl's naiveté and stubbornness. “Vaxi, this is the very first time you've ventured beyond the confines of your territory, is it not?”

  She nodded.

  “Did you not see how much Kimur and Mareta love each other? Did Mareta seem in any way unhappy with her life?”

  After a long pause, Vaxi shook her head.

  “Your people do indeed have much to fear from men, child,” he said, “but do not believe for one moment that all men resemble the very, very few your people have made contact with over the centuries. While it's true women are not considered equals, they are not slaves either. Our women are our wives, our mothers, our sisters, our daughters. We love them the same as we do the male members of our family.”

  “You love them the same,” Vaxi retorted, “but they are not equal.”

  Mizar chuffed out a breath. This conversation could conceivably go on for hours, and they would likely make no progress. “Can I at least convince you that our society, or at least a portion of it, is not nearly as bad as you've been led to believe?”

  She met his gaze unblinking. “Arantha has put me on the same path as you for a reason. I don't know what that reason is, but …” She paused. “I will reserve my judgment for when I have seen more of this world.”

  Mizar nodded. “That's all I ask. And if I may be so bold, your grandmother is wrong; not all sons turn out like their fathers.” He gestured at Sen. “I would wager all the coin in Castle Randar's coffers that whoever Sen's mother is—and I suspect you know who she is—he takes after her in almost every way. Regardless of the circumstances, I daresay he would have been better off being raised by her. He most certainly would have preferred it.”

  Vaxi, once again, remained silent. He wondered if, given enough time, he could break through a lifetime of conditioning and open her eyes.

  As morning turned to afternoon, Mizar painted for Vaxi the political picture of the continent. It turned out she knew much about the geography, the industry, and the people of each of the six designated countries, but quickly discovered that the Ixtrayu's knowledge of the current political climate was quite out of date; not surprising, since the cessation of the Sojourns precluded any Ixtrayu from gaining any further knowledge.

  With the takeover of Agrus by Elzor, Mizar explained, it was imperative he and Sen resume their translation of the prophecies penned by Merdeen the Sage immediately upon their return. Almost a century before, the third High Mage of Darad had correctly envisioned the existence and influence of the Ixtrayu upon an unsuspecting Elystra. Mizar reasoned there had to be more locked within the scrolls chronicling Merdeen's thoughts—inconveniently written in ancient Elystran—that could shed some light on what Elzor's ultimate goals could be. He had his suspicions about what those goals were, given the gravity of his own visions involving Elzaria and two other, as yet unknown, female Wielders. Even with Vaxi's contributions, there were still too many pieces of the puzzle missing.

  The city of Thage lay just past the marked b
order between Ghaldyn province and the slightly smaller region of Shardyn. Much like Mizar's home province, Shardyn was a land of sprawling farms and ranches, and Thage, home to over ten thousand Daradians, was the center of commerce.

  Mizar and Vaxi drew their merychs up to Sen as they crested a high hill and beheld the busy streets of Thage below. It had been many years since Mizar had been to Thage. Spread out in a pattern of concentric rings, the buildings increased in size and sturdiness the further inward they went. The regional governor's home stood in the center hub. The offices and homes of lesser officials and bureaucrats comprised the first ring. The second and busiest ring by far was comprised of the markets, where goods meeting every conceivable want or need could be bought or bartered for. The outermost ring consisted of the homes of the majority of Thage's citizenry.

  Sen didn't react as Mizar pulled up alongside him. Finally, for the first time since their brief stop earlier in the day to eat and answer nature's call, he met Mizar's gaze. “What is the plan, Master?” he asked.

  Mizar reached into his black High Mage cloak and withdrew a small pouch. Selecting three silver coins from within, he handed them to Sen. “There is an inn on the western side of the third ring called the King's Rest. The owner and I are acquainted. This should cover the boarding cost for the three of us as well as our merychs. There is also a very nice dining area for guests. Get three plates of whatever they're serving today, and we'll meet you there.”

  “Yes, Master,” Sen said. He didn't seem as emotionally distraught as before, but he still wouldn't look at Vaxi. Mizar made it a priority to have a chat with the boy about his state of mind at the first opportunity. The work that lay ahead of them was of supreme importance, and he needed all of his apprentice's concentration. That would not happen with a black cloud hovering over him. “Where will you be?”

  Mizar cast a quick glance at Vaxi before answering. “We have an errand to run. We won't be long.”