Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2)

by Patrick Hodges

  A drop of rain hit Kelia's head, and she pulled up the cowl of her robe to shield herself from every drop that followed. Another flash of lightning lit up the darkening sky, much closer than before, and a booming crack of thunder immediately followed.

  She straightened her spine, raising her voice to be heard over the gusty wind blowing through the Plateau. “Ixtrayu,” she said in her most forceful tone, “the day we have dreaded for eight centuries is upon us. But it is not just an army of men who stand on our threshold, seeking to destroy what we have built. It is one of our own. A lightning-Wielder, the daughter of our beloved Proda, has returned, not as our sister, but as an instrument of destruction.

  “She returns to the land of her ancestors, possessed of formidable power and a heart tinged with darkness. If we do not stop her, and the men accompanying her, then all this …” Kelia swept her arms in a wide gesture, encompassing the Plateau, the River Ix, and the entire Ixtrayu territory, “… has been for naught.”

  Kelia felt a terrible anger rising inside her. It both exhilarated and horrified her. She held her hands above her head, shooting a short but powerful burst of fire into the sky, fizzling the raindrops above them into so much steam. “I will not let that happen. I refuse to let the name Ixtrayu be extinguished, buried beneath the sands of history. I will fight, to the death if necessary, to defend what we have created! Are you with me, my sisters?”

  As one, the huntresses raised their bows above their heads and let out a roar. Their faces coalesced into determined expressions as they stomped their feet on the ground. Even Nyla took up the cheer, chasing Kelia's fireball into the atmosphere with one of her own.

  “I'm with you too,” said a mature voice from behind the line of huntresses.

  Everyone in the crowd turned to let Susarra pass through, her walking stick leaving shallow indentations in the softened earth. Kelia tried to keep her face implacable as her political adversary strolled up to her. The fact that the former Councilor was armed with a bow and a quiver of arrows did not escape her notice.

  “How did you get past the barrier?” Kelia asked, then realized the foolishness of the question.

  Susarra harrumphed. “I may be old, but I'm no fool. You really think a piece of wood can keep me in? The only reason I made no attempt to leave before now was because I did not wish to.”

  “If you've come to evacuate, Susarra, you're too late.”

  “Evacuate?” Susarra shook her head. “I was a huntress once, if you recall. It was I who taught Ilora and Runa everything they know. I have come to fight.”

  Kelia did not respond as she searched Susarra's portly face for any sign of subterfuge, but detected none. “If this is some trick, so help me –”

  “It is not,” Susarra replied with a calmness Kelia found both comforting and disturbing. “I have failed my family, my sisters, and Arantha. I, therefore, offer the only thing I have left to give—my life, in defense of our home.”

  Kelia's mind raced. What Susarra had done to Vaxi was unforgivable. But somewhere in her mind, a mind twisted by grief and ambition, she'd remained true to the tribe.

  For many years, Kelia had looked up to Susarra, who'd showered her with love the day she and Ilora were bonded. Staring into her companion's mother's face now, she saw no hatred, no bitterness. Only resolve.

  “You will join the contingent at the southern entrance.” Kelia gestured at a tall, muscular huntress standing nearby. “You will take your orders from Ebina. Is that clear?”

  Susarra smiled and bowed her head. “Yes, Protectress.”

  “Take your posts, my sisters. May Arantha protect us all.”

  * * *

  The storm hit in earnest. Standing on the upper Plateau, scanning the distant forest for signs of disturbance, Kelia offered a silent prayer that her vision had been wrong, that the enemy wasn't at their doorstep, that a battle to the death wasn't imminent. But she knew better. That the attack would coincide with the first huge storm of the season was but a quirk of fate, a happenstance that would hopefully favor the Ixtrayu. They had the high ground, and there was no way either Proda's daughter or the men with her could approach the Plateau without being seen.

  Of course, she had no way of knowing how big their opposition was. They were but three dozen huntresses and Wielders, against potentially hundreds, perhaps thousands of men bent on annihilating them.

  Satisfied that nothing was amiss for the moment, Kelia rapidly crossed to the southern face of the Plateau, joining Nyla. “Any sign of trouble?”

  “No, mama,” Nyla said. “If they're smart, they've taken shelter from the rain.” She smirked. “And if they're really smart, they'll run back from where they came.”

  “They're men, duma,” Kelia joked, “so that's unlikely.”

  Nyla laughed, returning her focus to the southern plains.

  “Remember, Nyla, many of these men will be armed with bows. They will no doubt attempt to pick off any target they see. It will fall to you to use your air-Wielding as a barrier.”

  “I understand, Mama.”

  “If you see a chance to strike back at our enemies, you take it.”

  Her daughter's face hardened into a stony mask. “I will.”

  Minutes stretched on interminably as the rain soaked the huntresses' tunics to their very skins. Kelia's robe became so heavy that she had no choice but to remove it, shivering in the chill wind.

  She cast a glance westward, straining her eyes, hoping to see the magnificent outline of the Talon streaking toward them, but saw only the vague shimmer of the sun hiding behind the dense bank of clouds covering the horizon.

  A game. The most important game in all of Creation will be decided here, on this remote patch of land. The fate of Elystra, of Earth, of countless others depends on us.

  A tiny flame engulfed the palms of her hands, which was quickly extinguished as she clenched them into fists.

  To her right, Yarji pointed and screamed, “I see something!”

  Through the drizzling rain, a half-mile distant, they came. Twenty men, riding their merychs like every demon in the Fire Realms was giving chase, thundered into view. Their chests and heads were covered in armor, and each man wielded a fearsome-looking longsword.

  It had begun.

  Arantha protect us.

  “Zarina!” Kelia called, drawing the young Wielder's gaze. “You know what to do.”

  The chava-keeper faced the oncoming horde of merychs. She placed her hands against her temples, staring unblinking as she reached out with her mind.

  The merychs' reactions were nearly instantaneous. Several of them stopped dead, causing many of their riders to pitch forward and topple to the ground. Others stood on their hind legs, bucking the soldiers from their backs, while the remainder veered off in different directions, ignoring the riders' commands and kicks.

  Twelve men, momentarily dazed from their fall, recovered both their wits and their swords. Grim-faced and determined, they resumed their advance on the Plateau; a brisk stride at first, then a full-on sprint, screaming battle cries as they brandished their blades above their heads.

  “Yarji!” Kelia yelled. “Send our guests a greeting.”

  The fair-haired water-Wielder smirked and held her hands out in front of her. Her arms moved with practiced ease, her palms surgical instruments as she manifested her powers.

  Kelia mimicked Yarji's gestures, and together, a large mass of water lifted from the River Ix. With a thrust of their hands, the two women transformed the hovering liquid into superhot steam. In unison, they panned their hands to the right, wrapping the mist like a deadly blanket over the charging soldiers, who were now only fifty yards distant.

  The riders' armor, which covered their chests, torsos and arms, were designed to protect them from conventional things like arrows or even bladed weapons. However, they proved a detriment in the face of the Wielders' fury; not only did the scalding-hot steam burn the exposed skin of their faces, forearms and shins, but it heated the machin
ite armor to a temperature that would sear the cloth of their tunics underneath it, as well as the skin beneath that.

  Several fell to the ground, their legs thrashing and twitching as they covered their faces with their hands. A few others, strong enough to endure the pain and remain standing, tugged at the clasps that held their armor together. Through sheer force of will, they managed to shed the armor, letting it fall to the muddy earth.

  By this time, the steam had dissipated into the atmosphere. Kelia and Yarji were unable to maintain it against the pelting rain and the wind. But it had done its job. Within moments of the soldiers sloughing off their armor, Ebina gave the huntresses the order to fire. Several dozen arrows ripped through the air as they flew en masse toward their targets. The merych-less riders, still reeling from the previous attack, fell to the muddy ground. Within seconds, the only movements displayed were spasmodic twitches from the few still drawing in their final breaths.

  The remaining attackers, having regained control of their mounts, rode away to report their comrades' fates to whomever commanded them. “Shall I stop them, Protectress?” Zarina called.

  “Save your energy, Zarina,” Kelia said. “The night is young.”

  A great cheer arose from the huntresses below. Yarji, Zarina, and even Nyla sported relieved smiles as well. They'd managed to stop the first wave with zero Ixtrayu casualties. In fact, the enemy hadn't even come close.

  Kelia, however, remained reserved. For the first time in their long history, lives had ended by Ixtrayu hands.

  And it was only beginning.

  She tore her gaze away from the fallen men, who now all lay unmoving in the mud, arrows protruding from many of their bodies. The rain, mercifully, seemed to be easing up, and the setting sun had shaken free of cloud cover, bathing the Plateau in its rays. Kelia shaded her eyes as she gazed westward, but no sign of the Talon emerged.

  “Wait here, duma,” Kelia said before crossing the upper plateau until she'd reached the northern face. Several huntresses acknowledged her but remained vigilant, hands clenched around their bows.

  “What happened, Protectress?” asked Gruta, a young, light-skinned huntress with a prominent nose and short, light brown hair. “Did we repel the invaders?”

  “Yes,” Kelia replied, not meeting her gaze. “Any sign of attack from this end?”

  “No. It's been quiet so far. No movement except for the waves of holm grain and the leaves of the forest trees.”

  Kelia nodded. “That will soon change.”

  She recalled her vision, the nightmarish images of the lightning-Wielder setting the forest and croplands ablaze, a fire that engulfed many of her sisters. She sighed, relieved in the knowledge that if nothing else, they'd at least thwarted that possible future. No innocent Ixtrayu would die needlessly today.

  This thought had no sooner passed through Kelia's mind than she heard the soft scrape of footsteps ascending the stairs to the upper plateau entered her ears. She turned to see a figure come into view, and a rock dropped into her stomach as she identified the new arrival.

  “Sarja?” Anger and terror coalescing in her chest, Kelia strode over to the young huntress. “What are you doing here? I ordered you to evacuate with the others!”

  Sarja's eyes widened, her body tensing at Kelia's stern frown. For a moment, Kelia thought Sarja would bolt back down the stairs, but she remained frozen in place.

  “Well?” Kelia grabbed Sarja by the shoulders, spinning her around until they faced each other. “Speak, girl! How could you disobey me?”

  Sarja's breath hitched, coming in shallow rasps. She averted her eyes, which Kelia noticed had the beginnings of tears in them. “I-I'm sorry, Protectress.”

  Incensed, Kelia grabbed the young girl by the chin, forcing her eyes forward again. “I don't want an apology! I want an explanation!”

  A lone tear fell down Sarja's cheek. “I … I couldn't leave, Protectress. I couldn't leave her.”

  Kelia released the young huntress, who again turned away, staring at Nyla's distant form on the other side of the Plateau.

  “You foolish girl,” Kelia whispered. “I sent you away so you would live. As your mother would want. As Nyla would want. I … I can't keep you safe here. You know that, don't you?”

  “I don't want to be safe!” Sarja cried. “I love her! I would rather die at her side than live the rest of my life without her!”

  All the anger drained from Kelia's body, and she swept the young huntress into her arms. Young love, she thought. There's no fighting its power, its innocence, or its utter stupidity.

  “Go then,” Kelia said into Sarja's ear. “Be with her.”

  Sarja stared, dumbfounded, at Kelia for several long moments. Then she smiled, nodded, and sprinted toward the southern edge of the plateau. Kelia watched as the young girl's lithe form receded into the distance, as it embraced her only daughter, and grimaced.

  Another glance to the west. No Talon.

  “Protectress!” came Gruta's voice.

  As she watched, the forest disgorged a large company of men. Dozens of them, erupting from the forest like flames from a volcano. Some ran down the dirt path abutting the River Ix, while others slithered through the chest-high fields of holm-grain. Just like the first wave of attackers, these soldiers carried longswords. However, these men were making their approach on foot. At their rate of advance, they would reach the village's northern entrance within ten minutes.

  A scream from the other end of the Plateau drew Kelia's attention. Nyla was waving her arms frantically while Sarja pointed. Another wave of attackers was approaching from the south. They were boxed in.

  Kelia waved back at her daughter, in whom she had complete confidence. Nyla's powers, while still raw, were a level of magnitude greater than her own. Kelia had no doubt Nyla would become the most powerful Protectress in history, even more powerful than Soraya.

  If they survived this onslaught.

  If.

  Kelia cleared these thoughts from her mind, focusing on the power within her own grasp. She felt the familiar tingle pass through her body, through her arms, into her hands as she faced the approaching army. Like a swarm of harvester bees they came, to destroy what rightfully belonged to the Ixtrayu.

  Next to her, Gruta and several other huntresses nocked arrows into their bows, ready to let them fly the moment their enemies came within range. Any second now.

  The wind, which seemed to have died a quick death along with the rain, carried the faint sound of screams across the Plateau.

  Female screams.

  No.

  Anger boiled in Kelia's veins as she raised her hands, her fingers curled like the claws of a nemza cat's. With a primal cry, she let the full force of her fire-Wielding power loose upon their would-be destroyers.

  Her heart thudded in her chest as, like an orange carpet of death, her fire struck the Ixtrayu croplands. Within moments, the nearest fields of grain, the riverfruit vines, and the juva-berry bushes were set ablaze. A full season of toil rendered useless. It would take a year, and untold hours by the tribe's two plant-Wielders, to make their land fertile again, assuming they even could. Assuming a year from now, the Ixtrayu still existed.

  Kelia thrust her hands forward, using both her air- and fire-Wielding in tandem, pushing the flames, fanning them, spreading them faster than they would on their own in the damp air. Her lungs heaved with every breath as she kept pushing, exercising her will over the fire until they reached the edge of her influence.

  Her elemental attack had come so quickly, many of the men had died, their bodies turned into burning torches, before they'd even had a chance to cry out. Kelia didn't know how many she'd just killed. Dozens, definitely. Hundreds, possibly. The few that survived to break through the flaming croplands had fallen to the huntresses' arrows.

  Gasping for breath in the thickened air, she once again used her air-Wielding to keep the curtain of smoke from billowing in their direction. Visibility had dropped to zero beyond the line of b
urning grain.

  And then it came. The image from her visions, from her nightmares.

  A sphere of blue lightning approached, pushing aside the smoke and flame as if they were annoying insects. It glided along the path by the river, seemingly in no hurry, as if it was supremely confident in its invulnerability; as if its occupant was certain of its imminent victory.

  Proda's daughter had come home.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Rahne tore his eyes away from the alien craft for the hundredth time, choosing to focus instead on Kalik. Again, he failed. He couldn't help wonder how the other soldiers could ignore the behemoth that now cast its looming shadow over them. Its sleek gray and black hull gave off an air of menace Rahne could feel in his bones without moving an inch, as if it had eyes upon him, like a great predatory bird ready to swoop down on its prey.

  Of all the things he'd expected to find in this remote stretch of barren mountain … aliens? From the Above? On Elystra?

  He had questions, so many questions. These beings who, unbelievably, resembled Elystrans in more ways than not, could teach them so much. But instead of being ambassadors, fostering goodwill with them, he and the small company of Elzorath had attacked them. Taken them prisoner.

  And now, here he was, sword gripped in his shaky hand, its tip only inches away from the alien boy's back. The notion that Kalik would order him to use his weapon made his stomach churn and the tremors worsen as he forced himself to grip the hilt with both hands. The slight throb he'd felt in his head since reaching the alien vessel had grown worse, a constant thrum that made concentration difficult.

  How had it come to this? Not long ago, he was hauling in nets full of barkfish with his father. Now, he'd taken up with a vicious conqueror and his army of murderers. Elzor had sent him with Kalik's men to this place, knowing full well what lay in wait. Of this Rahne was certain. These aliens possessed a Stone, and Elzor would stop at nothing to get it. Whether this purple-haired woman with the strange accent handed the Stone over or not, she and her son would die, along with their Elystran ally.