Holly and a score of Shadows moved into a protective ring around Varren. Defending the king was their ultimate mission. Lluava and Byron did the same. Even Themis pulled a long dagger from under his cloak.
“Please, Varren, we have to run,” implored Thad. His hands trembled along with his voice. “I can’t…I can’t…not again…”
Varren attempted to sooth his oldest friend. “Stay by my side. I will not let them take you.”
Thad’s body shook, and Varren cast a worried glance in Lluava’s direction. Their friend, once a proud warrior, had been reduced to a fragile shell of himself.
“We need to get to the horses,” advised Byron. “They are our best chance to get away.”
Lluava would have agreed with her blond friend, but the route to their mounts was blocked by two rabid behemoths and a mass of ragged marauders.
“Give the Shadows a chance,” Lluava insisted as she nodded toward the mayhem. Already a number of Raiders lay dying. Unfortunately, the Guards’ ability to conceal themselves in shadow was useless in the bright daylight. Without darkness, their gift of surprise was stripped away, leaving them vulnerable.
“No time! Move!” shouted Varren just as the pair of Berserkers picked up speed and barreled straight toward the king. As Varren ran, most of the main circle of Guard followed in position, while a few slipped away to defend their young ruler.
As more Raiders appeared, Varren halted. “We have to fight. All of us. Together.”
The Guard split and formed a defensive line, but this defense was quickly breached. The Berserkers were undeterred.
“Free me!” screamed Aquila, thrashing in his restraints. “I can help!”
Lluava ignored the nomad’s pleas as the first Berserker’s mace crushed the legs of the Shadow to her left. She needed to focus to stay alive.
“Together!”
Varren’s voice resounded in her ears, and they both charged. She understood exactly what he planned to do. She leaped for the leather buckles fastening the Berserker’s thick hide breastplate and sliced through them with the Claws. Varren thrust his sword at the giant’s exposed chest.
Their attacker swung his massive mace at the king. Lluava had to protect him. To give Varren time to back away, she shifted and grappled with the arm wielding the deadly weapon. The giant’s intended blow was so powerful that the tigress was almost hurled to the ground. He grabbed the scruff of her neck with his free hand to pull the enraged feline off.
The Berserker’s grip was fierce; her hide was being pulled from her musculature. She had to escape his grasp. Twisting, she bit the wrist of his right hand, shattering it. With one final crunch, she released the giant’s arm, which still held the mace. Like the blades of a windmill, Lluava was flung to the ground while the mace and mutilated arm followed her arc to pummel the life out of her.
The sound of metal ripping through muscle and bone followed. Varren had severed the Berserker’s wrist; the hand lay on the ground, still clutching the mace. With a grunt of annoyance, the brute turned to face the king.
Lluava struggled to rise. Though badly bruised, all her limbs functioned. So much blood had been spilled that the ground itself was slippery.
A Shadow threw a sai into the monster’s lower back as Varren attempted to strike from the front. In the midst of the fray stood Thad, frozen; he would not move, even to give Varren a better angle of attack. Instead, the king positioned himself in front of his friend to shield him.
Even disregarding the young man’s bad leg, Lluava mused, Thad was a dangerous liability and would certainly pose a risk to Varren as long as the king tried to protect him. But what could they do? Certainly not leave him to his nightmares. It would be more merciful to kill him.
Snarling at the vile thought, the tigress raked the ground with her gilded claws. Had that idea been hers or the goddess’s? How, Lluava wondered, could she ever entertain the thought of allowing a friend to die? Regardless, something had to be done about Thad.
Once again, Aquila shouted, “Lluava! Set me free!”
Lluava swung around. The second Berserker was heading toward the bound nomad. Aquila was easy prey. If he could not escape, he would be killed. She had to release him, even if it meant she never saw him again. No person deserved to die without a fight. As more Shadows came to their king’s aid, Lluava caught Varren’s attention. “The captive—”
Without hesitation, Varren replied, “Go!”
Missing a weapon and a hand, the Berserker who had attacked them was no match for the five Shadows that descended upon him. For the moment, Varren was safe. But would he approve her action to free her ward? Did he realize what she was going to do, or did he think she was going to defend the prisoner?
Racing ahead of the second Berserker, Lluava began to sever the nomad’s bindings with her gilded claws. She had freed his wrists and was almost finished with his ankle bindings when Aquila shouted, “Behind you!”
The giant was almost at the tree. Tufts of red hair stuck out from under the massive helmet. Throwing suns peppered his left arm and shoulder. Snarling, Lluava leapt to the man’s side, feinting strikes to draw his attention. Aquila would have to fend for himself. She hoped no Raider would slay him before she could untether him from the tree.
Varren was at the center of the skirmish. He and several of the Guard were trying to protect the all-but-useless Thad. Although the king was defending his friend, others were not as concerned for the lordling. Lluava would have assisted but for her own gigantic problem.
The Berserker’s maul whooshed over Lluava’s head, so low that she felt the sting when it contacted her erect ears. Leaping back, she had to bat at the sword of a neighboring Raider. This smaller brute’s underbite exposed cavity-infested lower teeth and a tattoo on his lower lip. The crooked incisors oozed slaver; the odor of decay offended Lluava’s nose.
The Raider lunged at her at lightning speed. The thin rapier looked fragile in the man’s hands, but he handled it with deadly skill. Instead of combating this enemy with her metal-infused claws, Lluava employed a defensive strategy. With the approaching Berserker closing in behind her and the Raider attacking from the front, Lluava—grateful for her Endun clothing—shifted into human form just as the giant swung the maul at the tigress. Aided by her smaller human form, she leaped out of the way to reveal the Raider behind her. The deadly maul took down its new mark.
Crumpling to the blood-spattered ground, the smaller Raider met his end. Lluava, on the other hand, still had to survive to fight. With the Berserker fixated on killing her, she was forced to turn and run.
All around her, fur-garbed men fought those in black. The clatter of metal resounded above all other noise. Onyx cried from above, while dark-winged birds gathered hungrily in the neighboring trees.
She saw Varren struggling with a Raider; Byron hacking his way toward his king; Thad on his knees, sobbing; the growing shadow of the giant gaining on her.
The thing inside her stirred as her internal heat rose. Skidding on her heels, Lluava veered away sharply. From the sound of the lumbering feet, the Berserker was still on her tail. Maybe she should—
Suddenly, she fell flat on her face. A dying Raider had grasped her ankle. Glancing around, Lluava saw the Berserker only steps away. “Let go!” she cried as she kicked at the Raider. He released her, his head popping like a cherry when the Berserker stomped on his skull.
Issaura’s Claws, though strong, would not be able to deflect the blow from the Berserker’s large maul. There was no time for her to get away. Even Theri would not be able to help.
There was a scream.
The Berserker kept his eyes locked on Lluava’s.
Aquila’s sword dripped with the giant’s blood as the behemoth fell to his knees. Both tendons severed, the monster would not rise again. Lluava moved into action as the nomad knocked off the Berserker’s horned helmet. Lurching at the giant’s face, Lluava drove both of Issaura’s Claws deep into his skull. The great opponent was no more.
In the hour that followed, the rest of the Raiders either fled or were slain. Once their giants were dead, the attempt to kill Elysia’s king failed.
The survivors had a moment to take a breath. At first, Lluava did not see Themis among them. Maybe the gods had been merciful and rid the world of the head councilman. Scanning the area once more, however, she recognized him. Although his dagger was bloody, he sported only a tear in his sleeve.
“Nott’s lair,” Lluava cursed under her breath as she kicked a crossbow out of the cold hands of a Raider corpse.
“I want the numbers of the dead as well as the injured,” Varren ordered the Obsidian Guard next to him. “Also, every salvageable weapon needs to be gathered and brought with us. The people gathering at Amargo might have use for them.”
Several of the Guard followed the king’s command. The rest took a moment to revel in the fact that they had survived. As Themis wiped off his dagger, he asked pointedly, “Who freed our prisoner?”
“I—” Lluava began to confront Themis but suddenly stopped. Aquila was standing nearby. She had not fully cut him loose. How had he escaped his bindings?
When no one spoke up, Themis said, “I suggest we search him.”
Varren nodded, and a pair of Shadows approached the nomad. Aquila had discarded the sword he had acquired during the battle, but tucked into one of his boots was a ceramic shard.
“What’s this?” Themis asked as the shard was presented to the king. “Looks like a bit of a pot or bowl.”
Lluava flushed. “I broke a bowl near him a while back. I thought I had gathered all the fragments.”
“It seems you missed one,” noted Themis. Though the tone of his voice was not insulting, Lluava knew he reveled in her mistake. “You enabled the prisoner to arm himself.”
“It’s not a weapon,” Lluava pointed out.
“No,” commented Varren unhappily, “but if it was sharp enough for him to cut the ropes, it is sharp enough to kill.”
“Your Majesty,”—Themis looked directly at his godson—“this adds to the charges against him. His execution must take place immediately.”
Glancing at Aquila, Lluava saw that the nomad was not about to run. She spoke up on her ward’s behalf. “He had it, true, but he did no harm with it, nor did he use it to escape.”
“Do you really believe,” argued Themis, “that the captive would not have used the shard if given the chance?”
“He saved my life!”
“He can’t be trusted.”
“Enough!” Varren rarely raised his voice; doing so now caused the others to fall silent. “Lluava, he may have saved your life, but I cannot be certain he did not act merely out of self-preservation. In times such as these, that must be considered.”
“What, then? Kill him?” Using this to divert their attention, Lluava spoke out. She did not care whether people thought her impertinent. “I assumed you needed every fighting man you could find to retake Elysia. Two armies oppose us. How do you plan to defeat them? I do not believe we can take on both.”
Varren was silent. Several Guards edged closer to her. She knew she had overstepped the boundaries of acceptable behavior, but Varren raised his hand and held the Shadows off. Lluava realized that he was waiting to see if she had anything more to say.
“I think,” she began as she warily eyed those in black, “that we must take a stand before it is too late. The longer we wait to come up with a viable plan, the more opportunity we give them to tear us apart, piece by piece, until we are nothing.”
When Lluava had finished, Varren asked, “Anyone else? If you want to have your say, now is the time.”
Byron spoke up. “Though I do agree that the longer we wait, the greater the chance we offer the enemies to destroy us, I know that we first need a plan. We cannot run at them blindly swinging our swords.” He looked at Lluava apologetically. “If there were only one enemy, I would have more hope. But there are two. If only they would destroy each other…” Byron sighed and shook his head.
“Plans can and will be made once we are all gathered at Amargo.” Themis spoke with confidence. “For anything to work, we must act as one.”
Varren was clearly not listening to Themis’s council. Suddenly the king asked, “What if there were only one enemy? Then our chances for success would grow. How could they not?”
“Your Majesty—” Themis broke in but was waved silent.
Varren weighed his words carefully. “The leader of the Outlander army, High Priestess Yena, has some sort of fascination with Lluava. She desires to have Lluava at her side. I believe that we could use that to our advantage.” Varren turned to face Lluava as if speaking to her alone. “The Outlanders will kill the Raiders for us.”
Chapter 12
Rise!
Haven’t they been doing that?” questioned Byron. “Have they not been fighting one another since we fled?”
Varren considered the question. “Yes and no. They have been fighting; of that I am certain. But I assume that as long as Yena holds Cronus, she would focus on defensive tactics. If I were her, I would save my resources and minimize the loss of my troops until I could successfully defeat the Raiders. Who knows? Perhaps she hopes that the Raiders will slay all of us for her.”
“If the Outlanders are protected by Cronus’s walls,” Byron asked, “why would they risk an offensive strike on the Raiders in the open?
“Faith.” Varren studied the skeptical expressions of those about him. “The Outlanders are extremely religious and follow the Old Ways. This is why the high priestess is their leader. They also believe that certain Theriomorphs serve as hosts for their gods.” Varren glanced at Lluava. “Yena seeks Lluava’s support because she believes that Lluava is one such host.”
Themis scoffed. Varren was unperturbed. “Come now,” he went on. “We know that in the pagan religion it was foretold that the goddess Issaura would return to Earth to save the Theriomorph race. The Outlanders believe that Lluava is Issaura—or, rather, the host for that goddess—and will lead them to victory. If Lluava exploits that faith, she could persuade the Outlanders to rise and follow her. She could lead their army into a full-on battle with the Raiders.”
“They will lose,” Thad’s voice rasped out. His wide eyes turned quickly downward.
“Perhaps,” concurred Varren. “But the Raiders’ army would still be weakened. That is when we would attack. We can win this war.” Varren’s voice rose confidently. “We can win this war.”
“I am loath to ask,” Themis interjected, “but how do you know that Lluava would not be swayed by her own people? How do we know we are not empowering yet another future usurper of the throne?”
“Your lack of faith in Elysians concerns me, Themis,” Varren admitted earnestly.
“My grandfather, may his soul rest in peace…” Varren began.
The others echoed, “Rest in peace.”
“My grandfather decreed that both humans and Theriomorphs were Elysians. They will be treated equally. We are one people united under one king. Lluava will not be swayed by the Outlanders, for she is not an Outlander but an Elysian. Lluava is a soldier of the Elysian army and will fulfill her duty to her king.”
Varren paused, but no one disputed him. “Once Lluava has done her part, we will attack what is left of both our enemies and then turn our sights on Cronus. Elysia will be ours again.”
“As you say,” Themis bowed graciously to his monarch.
Without lifting his head, Thad muttered to himself, “The blue monsters will kill everyone.”
“If I am to be sent back into that nest of vipers,” began Lluava as a low rumble reverberated in her throat, “then the nomad comes with me.”
“The prisoner is to be executed,” countered Themis. “Anyway, he would be killed on the spot by those Outlanders, since he is human.”
“Exactly.” For once Lluava agreed with the head councilman. “He can either die here, now, or at the capital. If he will die either way, why not g
ive him a chance at redemption? He might be able to aid our endeavors.”
Aquila gave her an understanding look. There was no trace of hatred in his eyes, only a genuine determination. “I will fight for the she-tiger.”
Varren raised an eyebrow. “Will you, now? Even if she be your mortal enemy?”
“She is my mortal enemy,” responded Aquila briskly. “And will always be so, as ordained by the gods.” Nodding toward a Berserker corpse, he said, “That is not god made. That, and any like it, are an abomination in the sight of the mighty Twelve. They must all be destroyed and the natural order restored.”
Themis clearly opposed this scenario, but Varren had another question. “The Berserkers, though large in stature, are mortal just as we are. What, then, other than a god or gods, could create them?”
“Evil,” replied Aquila.
Varren ran his fingers through his wavy hair. “What would you do if I released you?”
Aquila regarded the king. “I would hunt down the vile things and kill each one I find with a shot from my bow.”
“One shot each?”
“I never miss.”
“And what if you do? What if you are captured?”
“I will take my own life, for no other deserves to do so.”
“I do not believe that you would come to Lluava’s aid if she were in peril. I think you would leave her to die. But,” Varren spoke slowly and clearly, “what I do believe is that you truly want to destroy the Berserkers. You are being honest about that.”
“The gods,” replied Aquila lowering his blond-streaked head in a sign of respect, “will smile upon any who take up their cause.”
Themis pulled out a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his brow. “As much as I wish one could change one’s behavior, the prisoner has proven himself to be wild. And Lluava has not demonstrated that she is capable of controlling the captive. He could slit her throat the first night out. We would not want that.”
“Lluava is far more capable than you think, Head Councilman,” responded Varren. “The nomad will accompany her. And you should all remember,” he said, looking at Holly, “that we are in Elysia, and I have supremacy here.
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