Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2)

by Patrick Hodges

  “Get out of the way,” Elzaria spat, shoving Nilrem to one side. Ignoring his glower, she placed her hands at the base of the Stone. Despite the exhaustion permeating every bone in her body, her proximity to not one but two mystical Stones had rejuvenated her, if only a little.

  The rock holding this Stone fast was solid yet old. One of Kelia's ancestors, or perhaps one of her mother's, had sealed the Stone deep inside, with the top half poking out. It would only take a little burst of energy to fracture the rock.

  She took a deep breath through her nose. The white glow intensified as she concentrated, bathing the cave in its light and causing both her and Nilrem to look away. She felt tiny threads of lightning exit her hands, driving themselves into the altar. Like blue, spidery fingers, they caressed the hidden underbelly of the Stone, separating it from the surrounding rock.

  Just as she felt her renewed strength flagging, a crack rent the air. The rock of the altar split down the center, falling in pieces onto the cave floor. Elzaria took a step back, smiling as the dust settled. On top of the rubble, the Stone sat, freed. As she watched, the white glow faded and died.

  Without ceremony, she plucked the Stone from the pile and deposited it in her pouch.

  Nilrem bowed again as she exited the cave. Outside, nothing moved. The rain continued to fall, soaking the clothes and skin of the Ixtrayu huntresses.

  “Let's go,” she said, anxious to leave.

  “My Lady,” Nilrem said forcefully. “Our business is not complete. My orders were to make certain none were left alive.”

  Her eyes narrowed at him. “What does that mean? Do you intend to cut their throats while they sleep?”

  In response, he drew his sword from its scabbard, approaching the nearest unconscious Ixtrayu, a fair-haired girl who could be no older than twenty. He placed the tip against her neck.

  “Stop!” she shouted. “The battle is over, Nilrem! We've won! There's no need for this!”

  He hesitated, flicking his gaze between Elzaria and the girl. “Lord Elzor –”

  “Is not here right now,” Elzaria interrupted. “These women have fought with honor, defending their home. Many have died already. You will not massacre them while they are helpless.”

  “My Lady –”

  “No!” she thundered, bringing her hands up as if preparing to unleash another volley at him. She now lacked the strength to do so, but Nilrem had no way of knowing that. “We have their Stone! They do not know where we are taking it! They are no longer a threat to us!”

  His face puckered. “You would kill me? Over them?”

  Her moral dilemma was interrupted by a noise unlike any she'd ever heard before. A high-pitched drone, increasing in volume. She looked up but saw nothing in the slit of sky above them. Without even looking back, she ran as fast as she could to the northern entrance.

  Along the path, through the entrance and down the ramp she sprinted, the enormous whine continuing to ring in her ears. The two merychs, hers and Nilrem's, stamped their feet and whinnied as if preparing to bolt. Elzaria grabbed their reins, keeping them from doing so.

  “What is it, My Lady?” Nilrem panted, hot on her heels, their argument now apparently forgotten.

  A huge shadow appeared against the setting sun. Ignoring the rain, Elzaria shaded her eyes as the object, the source of the noise, approached.

  Her mouth fell open as it came within view. An enormous, metal beast flew … flew toward them. She recognized its gray-and-black, birdlike shape from her visions. The aliens' craft.

  “Blag,” she muttered under her breath.

  Kalik and his soldiers had failed. The aliens still lived. Which meant they still possessed their Stone.

  “Time to go, Captain.” Elzaria pointed at Kelia, who hadn't regained consciousness. “Bring her with us. We'll need her as leverage.”

  The droning sound had reached an ear-splitting level. “My Lady –” he objected, but she no longer had time for his idiocy.

  “Fine, stay here, and explain to the people on that thing,” she pointed at the rapidly-approaching craft, “all the carnage we've wrought. Or you can do what I say and bring her with us!”

  One final glance at the craft, and he nodded in assent. He hauled Kelia up and threw her over the back of his merych before climbing into the saddle himself. “What do I do if she wakes up?”

  Elzaria rolled her eyes. “You can ask her nicely not to set you on fire,” she drawled, “or you can knock her out again. I suggest the second. Anything short of killing her, or our next conversation will end with your death.”

  With the comforting weight of both Stones hanging from her belt, she mounted her own merych and rode east. Minutes later, she and Nilrem joined the rest of the surviving Elzorath as, under cover of twilight, they sped across the Plains of Iyan.

  Chapter Forty

  Elzor tugged at the clasp of his borrowed cloak, gazing down with amusement at the Agrusian emblem that adorned the front of his armor. Two crossed swords. A symbol of strength.

  Useless and meaningless. He and Elzaria had shown Agrus what true power was. It would be years, perhaps decades, before Agrus regained its former glory, if it ever did. Leaderless and defenseless, the once proud kingdom now lay ripe for the picking.

  He slowed his merych to a brisk trot, his sharp eyes darting left and right, searching the forest of reesa trees for a potential enemy. Langon and Brynak, riding right behind him and similarly disguised, remained vigilant as well.

  For the thousandth time, he questioned whether Elzaria's judgment had been sound when outlining this foolhardy plan. Not since defeating Viceroy Callis's assassins had he been this exposed. Langon and Brynak were two of the best soldiers, the best fighters he'd ever known, and there were few who could match his own prowess with a sword, but it would only take one well-placed arrow to end his quest once and for all.

  It gnawed at him, not knowing how the battle had gone. He had every confidence in his men and his sister; no matter how powerful the female tribe's leader was, it would not be enough to overcome a force of trained soldiers that outnumbered them so mightily. Between their efforts, Elzaria's power, and Kalik's fierce determination, he imagined all three of the Stones from Merdeen's prophecy, even now, on their way to the rendezvous point near the Vandan border. All he had to do was convince the most powerful warlord in all Vanda to ally with him.

  What a preposterous notion. Vandans didn't trust anyone beyond their own clans, let alone their own borders. It would take every ounce of cunning he possessed to convince those barbarous mongrels that he had their best interests at heart, which couldn't be further from the truth.

  He knew Langon and Brynak had their reservations about this plan; any sane man would. The Elzorath had been fortunate to evade their enemies' armies, but such luck would not last forever, especially with the High Mage opposing him. If Elzaria's vision had been correct, they had successfully drawn most of the Daradian army to the west, near the Imarian border. They were vulnerable to the south, a situation the Vandans would want to exploit. That was their weakness; their hatred for Darad, who had kept them on a short leash since quelling the uprising all those years ago.

  So help me, Elzaria, if you're wrong about this …

  “Wait, my liege,” Langon said, causing Elzor to bring his merych to a halt. Brynak also stopped.

  Elzor's eyes scoured the forest ahead of them. The faintest of breezes blew, rustling the leaves that comprised the dark green canopy above them. Apart from that, only the occasional twitter of birdsong interrupted the silence. As if disturbed by the quiet, Elzor's mount stamped its hoof in agitation.

  “What is it, Langon?” Elzor whispered, patting the neck of his steed in an attempt to keep the beast calm.

  “There are men ahead of us. Three or four, I would say. Probably waiting to ambush us.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Langon sniffed, as if using his prominent nose to taste the very air. “I know the smells of the forest, my liege
. What lies in wait is not one of them.” He snorted in disgust. “If you're going to attack from upwind, then you must mask your own stink. Amateurs.”

  “Vandans?” Brynak asked, also keeping his voice low.

  “I'd wager so,” Langon said. “A Daradian patrol would simply ask us our business.”

  Elzor exhaled deeply. “Well, this is why we're here.”

  “How shall we proceed, my liege?” Brynak asked.

  “Swords and shields, merychs at slow pace. If they let their arrows fly without a warning shot, take cover as best you can.”

  The two men nodded and kicked their merychs into motion, taking point while Elzor rode behind them. All three men unfastened the machinite shields strapped to their mounts' sides, holding them at the ready in their left hands while drawing their swords with their rights.

  Despite the coolness of the forest, Elzor felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. A thrill of excitement shot through him, and his lips curled into a smile. One was never more alive than when facing down death.

  A flash of movement from just off the trail ahead of them caught Elzor's eye, along with the unmistakable sound of an arrow piercing the air. All three men brought their shields up, and the arrow clanged off Brynak's. A second arrow, fired from their left, bounced harmlessly off of Langon's. They brought their merychs to a halt again as several more arrows followed, none of them finding their marks.

  Then, as quickly as the barrage started, it ceased. Elzor kept his sword and shield at the ready. No doubt their attackers expected their targets to either charge forward or beat a hasty retreat. He could almost sense their puzzlement as they contemplated their next move.

  Rather than wait for the next volley, Elzor decided to take the initiative. “Show yourselves! I would speak with your leader!”

  No reply. Even the distant birdsong had stopped.

  Elzor bristled at the lack of response. “Show yourselves! I seek an audience with Maxtar!”

  That got their attention. “Get off yer merychs and sheath yer swords!” came a deep, guttural voice from ahead of them.

  “Not a chance,” Langon bellowed, the veins prominent on his bald head.

  “Do it, or ya die where ya stand!”

  Elzor nudged his merych forward, edging ahead of his men. “Show yourself, and we'll lower our swords.”

  “My liege …” Brynak murmured through clenched teeth.

  “Silence,” Elzor hissed.

  A few tense seconds later, a stocky man with a thick black beard stepped out from behind a wide tree trunk and faced them. He was not armed with a bow, but a long, serrated sword that he gripped tightly in his fist.

  “Yer a long way from home, Agrusian,” the man said, addressing Elzor.

  “As are you, Vandan,” Elzor retorted.

  “Ya got some rocks on ya if ya think Maxtar'll let ya anywhere near him. Either that or yer just the stupidest muckspit to ever draw breath.”

  Elzor leveled a malicious glare at the bandit but did not respond. Of all the trials he'd had to endure since beginning his quest, having to ingratiate himself with Vandan scum was by far the worst. “While you scrounge around the forest waylaying merchants, I have made plans on a far grander scale. Believe me, I would not be enlisting your warlord's aid to my cause if it weren't necessary.”

  A distant chorus of hoof beats up ahead drew both Elzor's and the Vandan's attention. Elzor's eyes widened when a large group of armed and armored riders drove their merychs into view. Five men in all, four armed with bows.

  Four Vandans, who had spent all of Elzor's conversation in hiding, broke from cover, fleeing into the maze of trees in a panicked rush. The riders, wearing colors that identified them as Daradians, gave chase. Two Vandans, realizing they couldn't outrun their pursuers on foot, attempted to fell the riders with their own arrows, but their shots clanged off the soldiers' shields just as they had Elzor's. The Daradian archers fired back, striking the bandits in the chest. They fell to the forest floor.

  Two more Vandans, as well as their leader, ran straight at Elzor, Langon, and Brynak. The head rider mowed down the two stragglers with vicious swipes of his sword, but the leader had enough of a head start to reach Elzor.

  Elzor wasn't sure whether the Vandan meant to attack him or hide behind him, but it didn't matter. Neither option would work out for him. Thinking fast, he leaped from his merych, stepped forward and unleashed a hard punch right at the man's face. The impact came with a bone-splintering crack, and it dropped the bandit to the ground, dazed. Elzor kicked the man's sword from his limp grasp, placing the tip of his own sword flush against the downed Vandan's throat.

  “You there! Stand to!” ordered the lead soldier, whom Elzor assumed was the captain. All five men reined their merychs to a halt. Elzor looked up to see five pairs of eyes scrutinizing both him and the Vandan at his feet. He hoped none of these men would see through his disguise or, even worse, recognize him.

  “You two,” the captain said, using his sword to gesture at Langon and Brynak. “Dismount. Now.”

  Elzor gave his men a cursory nod, and they obeyed, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. “Greetings, Captain,” he said in his most congenial voice.

  The captain's ruddy face pinched as he surveyed the three men standing before him. “State your name and your business, Agrusian.”

  Elzor glanced at the fallen man. He had not regained consciousness. Good.

  “Captain Relzar of the Agrusian army,” he said with a disarming smile. “These are my lieutenants, Lingam and Brax.” Langon and Brynak bowed their heads in acknowledgment, but kept their eyes forward.

  “What in the Fire Realms are three Agrusian soldiers doing in the Celosian Forest?” the captain asked, his eyes narrowed.

  Two days earlier, right before breaking away from the rest of his army, Elzor had concocted a cover story to explain their presence to any whom they might encounter. It was time to put that lie to the test. “As I'm sure you've heard, Captain, Agrus was recently invaded by a vicious tyrant named Elzor.” A smile almost forced its way through, but he kept it at bay.

  “I've heard,” the captain said evenly. “Continue.”

  “At the time of the attack on Talcris, my men and I were assigned to a remote outpost in the southern region. By the time word reached us of the attack, it was too late to join the fight. Most of the army had already been crippled or killed, and my liege, King Morix, had been slaughtered.” A tear formed at the corner of his eye, and he averted his gaze. “How I wish I could have been there.”

  Elzor searched the captain's face for signs of disbelief, but the man's expression was unreadable, so he continued. “After taking the capital, Elzor ordered his men to attack every military outpost, every garrison in Agrus.” He gestured to Langon and Brynak. “It is the duty of every soldier to fight and die for his country, but my general refused to sacrifice his men for a lost cause. He ordered his surviving soldiers to scatter, to survive any way they could. To me, he gave a more specific command: travel to Darad and beg King Aridor for aid.”

  He looked down at the Vandan, who had regained consciousness and now stared up at him with hate-filled eyes. The bandit opened his mouth as if to shout out a curse, but Elzor pressed the tip of his sword into the flesh of his neck, cutting off any vocal response. “We were ambushed by this braga,” he spat, using his boot to roughly kick the Vandan in the head, “only moments before you turned up. We owe you our lives.” Elzor smiled again, false gratitude oozing from every pore.

  The captain continued his narrow-eyed scrutiny of Elzor for several more moments, and then his shoulders relaxed. “Very well, then. Finish him off and we'll be on our way.”

  Elzor turned his head, ever so slowly, locking eyes with Langon, whose sword remained clenched in his meaty fist. The burly man nodded, almost imperceptibly, and strode forward. “Excuse me, captain,” he said, “but may I trouble you for some water? We emptied our last water-skin yesterday, and have been unable to find a stream. Can you
spare an old soldier a few sips?”

  The captain nodded, gesturing at the soldier on his right. The rider on his left pulled out a small metal flask from a pouch on his belt, removed the stopper and took a swig.

  “Is that manza ale?” Brynak said, also stepping forward. “Great Arantha, it's been a perin's age since I tasted some.”

  The soldier looked to his captain for confirmation, which he gave, and within moments, Brynak downed a hearty gulp. “Ahh,” he said in exaggerated satisfaction. “That'll keep you warm on a cold night.”

  “Come,” said the captain, his eyes darting left and right as he scanned the forest. “Where there is one pack of Vandans, there may be others. Kill the braga and let us be gone.”

  “Very well,” said Elzor. The Vandan's eyes widened in sudden terror. “Lingam, would you care to do the honors?”

  “Gladly, my captain,” Langon said. He lifted the water-skin up, preparing to hand it back to its owner. The soldier reached for it, and then Langon struck.

  Moving with a speed and a grace that belied his bulk, Langon raised his sword, bringing it down on the rider's outstretched arm, severing it at the elbow. The man screamed, clutching a bloody stump. Bringing his sword arm up in a flash, he dispatched another rider at the same time Brynak used his blade to skewer one of the archers in the throat.

  The captain, as Elzor expected, reacted quickly to their betrayal, drawing his sword and spurring his merych into motion with a cry of rage. He bore down on Elzor, swinging his sword in a sweeping arc that would have sliced Elzor from neck to stomach had he remained still. But as a member of the Barjan militia, Elzor had been trained to combat mounted soldiers. Ducking low, he brought his shield up, and the sword struck it with a loud whang. Elzor thrust the shield upward, forcing the blade away from its owner and leaving the captain exposed. In one fluid motion, he brought his own sword up, using it to cut a deep gash in his opponent's thigh. The captain emitted a strangled cry of agony and clamped his free hand down on his injured leg. Elzor wasted no time in attacking again. Gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands, he sprang off the ground like a jarvek and swung, slicing into the captain's neck as his merych rode past.