Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2)

by Patrick Hodges

  “Excellent, General, excellent. Brynak, you have made it clear to the men that there is to be no quarreling or brawling with our Vandan allies?”

  “Yes, my liege,” the dark-haired captain replied. “Both armies seem to be giving each other a wide berth.” He grimaced. “ 'Vandan allies'. Never thought I'd say those words in the same sentence.”

  Against all odds, Elzor's first meeting with Maxtar had been a success—inasmuch as he was able to walk away from it with his head still attached to his shoulders. He'd talked the Vandan warlord into joining forces with him in attacking Darad. What Elzor hadn't counted on was that Maxtar had already allied himself with a royal prince of Darad: Agedor, the second son of King Aridor himself.

  “Agreed,” Elzor said. “I imagine our mistrust of them is equal to Maxtar's mistrust of me. Still, I am grateful he agreed to the terms of our alliance. He's not quite the imbecile I anticipated.”

  The men turned to the south. Maxtar and Prince Agedor approached, engaged in low conversation. They hadn't noticed Elzor or his men yet.

  “Agedor will be a problem,” Elzor mused.

  “My liege?”

  “If I had to guess, that Daradian braga has made Maxtar many promises to curry his favor. I can't see Maxtar accepting anything less than one-third of Darad's current territory. How Agedor thinks this will strengthen his position as king is beyond me. He will alienate Darad's allies, not to mention most of his army. If by some miracle he attains the throne, he will not have it long.” Elzor scoffed. “I have no love for Aridor, but any man who would betray his own family in such a manner …”

  The young prince looked up, shooting Elzor a mirthless smile. Elzor returned it with an equally disingenuous one of his own. Without looking at his captain, he said, “Brynak, inform the men to prepare themselves to leave at a moment's notice.”

  “Understood, my liege.” Brynak bowed, and walked away.

  “Elzor!” Maxtar bellowed as he approached. “A word?”

  As when he first came face-to-face with the Vandan leader, Elzor felt more than a little daunted by the man's towering height, which topped seven feet. Braided knots dotted the hair that dangled both from the back of his head and his chin, and much of his face had been painted with dye. The bluish-black circles that ringed his eyes gave the man a vicious, feral air.

  “Yes, Warlord?” Elzor asked with the slightest of bows.

  “I'd like ta know how long ya plan ta have both our armies sittin' idle. With each hour we delay, our enemies could be fortifying their positions.” Maxtar fixed Langon with a bemused smirk. “Nice beard.”

  Langon, effusive as ever, simply grunted.

  Elzor said, “I recognize the need for expediency, Warlord, but—”

  Maxtar interrupted him with a raised hand and a scowl. “My battle plans were laid and set before ye turned up on my doorstep. I have accommodated you, yer sister—” He shot an icy glare at Elzaria's tent, “—and yer army against my better judgment. My qualities are many, Elzor, but an infinite capacity for patience is not among them.”

  “I understand that,” Elzor huffed, “but it would be unwise to plan our next move without her. She is the only one among us with divinatory abilities, not to mention the only one with the power to level our enemies' forces. To attack Darad without her at full strength would be tantamount to suicide.”

  Elzor leveled a stony glare at Agedor. “What exactly is your plan, Prince? You've been less than forthcoming about the strength of your support. I would like to know just how you plan to get over two thousand men across the Daradian border without raising every alarm between Ghaldyn Province and Castle Randar.”

  “Oh, I'm sure you would,” Agedor said, using his head to gesture at Maxtar. “But the Warlord and I have been planning this for nearly a season. In that time, I have made certain that the soldiers under my command who are loyal to me far outnumber those who aren't. When the time comes to make the crossing, there will be no resistance. That much I can assure you.”

  “And how many men do you bring to this fight?” Elzor asked, his voice dripping with bile. “Are they as willing to betray their king as you?”

  Agedor hissed, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword, a motion that did not go unnoticed by Maxtar. The giant Vandan shook his head at the prince, and Agedor hastily moved his hand away.

  “Over five hundred men,” Agedor replied through clenched teeth. “And yes, they will follow me even unto death.”

  “So that brings our total number to well over three thousand men,” Maxtar said. “If, as your sister envisioned, the bulk of Aridor's army is still encamped at Promontory Point, then it behooves us to be on our way as soon as possible. They would have to ride for two days to reach Dar, which is still one day less than it would take for us to get there.”

  Elzor faced Langon. “General?”

  “King Aridor isn't stupid enough to move his entire army away from the capital,” Langon said. “He'll have left a sizable force behind. We will likely have to engage them in battle before we even lay eyes on Castle Randar.”

  “Will your sister be able to join us for the final push?” Agedor said with no small amount of sarcasm.

  “I wouldn't miss it for anything,” said a voice behind Elzor.

  Clad in her form-hugging black dress cinched at the waist by a leather belt, Elzaria stepped from the tent to join them. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of Maxtar, but her awe only lasted a moment. She did not even look Agedor's way.

  In the twenty years since finding the Stone, Elzor had watched his sister's power grow. Her control over lightning was as precise as it was deadly, a precision both the Agrusian army and the Ixtrayu had learned to their dismay.

  It was only recently, however, that Elzaria began experiencing visions through contact with the Stone. While said visions had undoubtedly made his quest more attainable, it also had a detrimental effect on her well-being. Elzaria's hair, once as dark as the night sky, now bore several strands of grey. Her face, which once exuded both strength and beauty, now looked drawn and haggard. It was as if the Stone was aging her body, chipping her soul away one piece at a time with every vision she experienced.

  “Sister,” Elzor said with a warm smile. “It is good to see you up and about.”

  “Thank you, my liege,” she replied. “The rest has done me a world of good.” She scanned the encampment, as if searching for something. “Where is Kelia?”

  “Who?” Agedor asked, his brow knitted.

  “The woman they brought in,” Maxtar answered. “Don't worry about her. She's been taken care of.”

  “What does that mean?” Elzaria asked. “You didn't kill her, did you? We may need her as leverage to—”

  “—to ensure our enemies' cooperation,” Elzor said, stepping in front of her. With his back to Maxtar and Agedor, he glared at her, hoping to coax her into silence. If there was one thing his allies could never discover, it was the existence of the Stones. If Maxtar or that Daradian whelp had an inkling about his final objective, it would bring their brief alliance to a very messy end.

  Elzaria gave a contrite head bow.

  “Keeping her alive is a waste of time, if you ask me,” Agedor scoffed.

  “I don't recall asking,” Elzor cut in. “Maxtar, I know this is an unusual request, but my sister is right. We have a powerful enemy that cannot be underestimated.”

  “Beings from the Above? Seriously?” Agedor broke into a coarse laugh. “You would have us believe that aliens have dropped from the night sky and are now poised to oppose us?”

  “Yes,” Elzaria replied. “Their craft is like nothing you have ever seen. As long as the tallest reesa tree is high, and covered in metal from stem to stern. I only caught a glimpse of it, but it was enough. If you don't believe me, ask any of the hundreds of my brother's soldiers who also saw it.”

  Maxtar held his hand up again. “Rest assured, I have not disposed of the woman … yet. As of this morning, she's on her way to my encampm
ent at Mount Vaska. My men have strict orders to keep her under close guard. If she shows any signs of struggle, they'll render her unconscious.”

  Elzor did some mental arithmetic. Mount Vaska was more than a day's ride away by merych, in the opposite direction of the Daradian border. If they did indeed move out the next day, then Kelia's ability to Wield would wane as the distance between her and the Stones increased. All the Vandans had to do was keep Kelia docile until they moved out of range, and she would be powerless. And even if she did manage to free herself, they would have a two-day lead on her. There was little she could do on her own.

  “Elzaria,” Elzor admonished, “can you excuse us?”

  She flicked her eyes between Elzor and their two uneasy allies, then nodded.

  “Yes,” Agedor added with a sneer, “go back to your tent. Leave the planning to the men.”

  Elzor shot a look of contempt at the arrogant young prince, but it was nothing compared to the look of white-hot hatred Elzaria gave. She raised her right hand, and Agedor's eyes went wide as sparks danced and crackled over her fingertips. He took two nervous steps backward, eliciting an icy smile from Elzaria. The sparks vanished and, with a twirl of her cloak, she disappeared back inside the tent.

  Langon chuckled, a deep guffaw that he tried to cover up by holding a gloved fist over his mouth. Maxtar's expression was a mixture of fascination and alarm.

  “Just make sure you keep your beast on a leash,” Agedor spat, turning on his heel and walking back the way he came.

  “What a braga,” Elzor muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Maxtar to hear.

  “Yes,” the Warlord agreed. “The man may have the temperament of a festering boil, but we need him. There'll come a time when we won't anymore.”

  Elzor's eyebrows raised.

  “Your sister,” Maxtar said in a rather clumsy attempt to appear delicate, “is she … stable?”

  “Oh, yes,” Elzor said, looking sidelong at Elzaria's tent. “She just doesn't like being treated as an inferior.”

  “I can tell. Don't worry, I ain't gonna piss her off.”

  Elzor smirked. “You are smarter than I thought.”

  “And now that she seems to have recovered, I trust ye'll have no objections to movin' out immediately?” He jerked a thumb in the direction of a blanket of storm clouds approaching from the south. “I think the weather's gonna turn on us by day's end.”

  “No objections, Warlord,” Elzor said. “My men will be ready to leave within the hour.”

  Maxtar nodded his enormous head, and strode away.

  Elzaria emerged once again from her tent. She appeared unsteady, but determined.

  “Sister—” he began.

  “I heard. We ride for Darad.” She exhaled, furrowing her brow.

  Elzor placed his hands on her shoulders. “Are you strong enough to ride with us?”

  “I believe so,” she said with rather less certainty than he wanted to hear. “But you have a choice to make, brother. Consulting the Stone, though it helps us anticipate our enemies' moves, drains me more and more each time I do it. If you wish for me to be involved in the upcoming battle, then I cannot utilize this ability anymore.”

  Elzor nodded, contemplating his options. He had absolute confidence in his sister's abilities, as well as those of his men. With her at full strength, they had a good chance to vanquish the Daradian army.

  The only thing that could disrupt his careful plans was this mysterious alien woman. Elzor had any idea of the true extent of her power, or her enormous craft's. For all he knew, she could lay waste to both his and his allies' forces with but a gesture.

  That was a risk they would have to take. The only alternative was to give up, and he'd come too far, endured too much to do that. They would go on, and hope that the dark intelligence who provided Elzaria with her visions would guide them to victory.

  “Where are the Stones?” he inquired.

  “Safely hidden on my person.”

  “Make sure they stay that way, sister. These allies you bade me to seek out would not appreciate what our plans are the moment Darad falls. I just wish I had another way to obtain the third Stone.”

  Elzaria leaned in close, and smiled. “Consider that wish granted.”

  Chapter Three

  Maeve rubbed tired eyes with her thumb and forefinger, sighing in frustration.

  She picked a direction at random and strolled away from the large red-and-white tent she'd just exited, ignoring the curious stares Aridor's soldiers threw her way. She'd become accustomed to such looks in her brief time mingling with the people of Elystra; though her physiology was nearly identical to theirs, she was alien to this world. Their whole lives, these men had never even conceived that a woman could Wield, and now they were camped just outside a village where nearly a dozen Wielders resided.

  Let 'em stare. This is how things are now. If they can't accept that a woman is more powerful than they are, fark 'em.

  She slid her computer pad from a pouch on her belt and activated it. According to the chronometer, she'd been in that tent for over two hours. Two long, fruitless hours. King Aridor's prowess at directing troop movements and battle strategies was impressive, yet two-dimensional. It wasn't something he could help, given the limitations of Elystran technology, but he'd never had to deal with an enemy like Elzaria before. Aridor said repeatedly that he would not underestimate her, but until they came up with a viable plan to defeat her, their best hope lay with Maeve and Nyla.

  Maeve glanced up at the blanket of clouds covering the sky, wondering if more rain was imminent. It was the season for storms, and a downpour such as the one that drenched the Ixtrayan Plateau on the day of the attack would only hamper their efforts to rescue Kelia from the Vandans.

  Kelia.

  Maeve's mind darkened. Only a few days before, after a night of passionate lovemaking, Maeve had woken up in Kelia's arms, happy and content for the first time in years. The overwhelming guilt and doubt that had weighed her down since coming to Elystra was gone, dispelled by Kelia's reassurance and compassion.

  Return to me soon, my love, Kelia had said right before they parted, a declaration Maeve had been too taken aback to reciprocate. Only too late had Maeve realized the true depth of her love for her Elystran friend. And now Kelia was gone. Stolen away by that psychopath of a lightning-Wielder to be used as leverage, thrown into some Vandan hole and fed scraps of meat like an animal.

  “I will get you back, my love,” she said to the ground at her feet, “and God help anyone who stands in my way.”

  “Protectress?” came a voice from behind her.

  Maeve turned to see Nyla approaching, her round face bearing a scowl that matched her own.

  “You don't need to call me that, Nyla,” Maeve said. “I'm only filling in for your mother until we get her back.”

  The girl nodded glumly in response.

  The past week, Maeve noted, had aged Kelia's daughter considerably. Not at all surprising, given what she'd been through. She'd used her Wielding to kill many of Elzor's soldiers, a grim act for someone so young. Just when it seemed the tide had turned in the Ixtrayu's favor, Elzaria had blanketed the Plateau in a wave of energy that knocked Nyla out … but not before she witnessed Sarja, her Promised, fall to her death.

  Without another word, Nyla stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Maeve. “What are we going to do?” she quaked, desperation tinging her voice. “Every day we sit here and do nothing—-” She sobbed quietly into Maeve's tank-top.

  “I know,” Maeve said, returning the hug. “But there's more than just your mother's life at stake here.”

  Nyla hissed through her teeth, turned around and held her left palm towards the sky. Within moments, a stream of fire shot from her fingertips, stretching at least fifty feet before dissipating into the atmosphere. Maeve took two steps back, avoiding the searing heat. She noted the gawking stares of several of Aridor's men at this pyrotechnic display, and grinned.

 
The fire faded away, and Nyla faced Maeve with a determined frown. “Apart from my mother, I'm one of the most powerful Wielders on Elystra. Maybe the most powerful!” Her fists clenched and unclenched in obvious frustration. “And yet, the mighty King Aridor treats me like a baby! Blag, I'd love to wipe that condescending smirk off his face.” She made a move to march back to the tent, where Aridor awaited their return.

  Maeve stepped in front of Nyla, placing her hands on the girl's shoulders. “Whoa, whoa, kiddo, cool your jets. Part of being a leader is being able to keep your emotions under control.”

  Nyla folded her arms. “You're one to talk. You were as angry as me when you stormed out.”

  Maeve felt the blood rush to her face. Nyla did have a point.

  “Well, this is new territory for me too, you know,” Maeve said. “I'm a soldier. A pilot. I didn't plan the battles, I just fought them.”

  “But you were a commander.”

  “And if any of my squadron ever got stroppy, I just kicked their arse. I don't think that would go over too well with His Highness.”

  “No, it would not,” said Mizar, who eyed them from several paces away.

  Clad in his usual black tunic, cloak, and skullcap, Maeve had to admit that Mizar cut an imposing figure for a man in his late fifties. He, much more than Aridor, seemed much more open-minded to including the Ixtrayu Wielders, and Maeve, in their battle strategy. His recent discovery that he was the son of an Ixtrayu mother probably had a lot to do with that.

  “High Mage,” Maeve said with a polite bow.

  “Uncle Mizar,” Nyla said.

  Mizar smiled down at his grandniece, and returned the bow. “You'll have to forgive His Highness. Despite his extensive tactical training, he's never had to lead his army into battle before. All throughout our journey here, he prepared himself to meet with Kelia. Being confronted instead with …” He trailed off, averting his gaze.