Orahda was glaring, face to face with Dalpha. His grim expression made Dalpha take a half-step back, and his hand snapped out to grab her. When his fingers were two inches from Dalpha’s left arm, lightning cascaded around his hand and around her. It didn’t even slow him. He clamped down on her forearm and pulled her towards him.
How much power does Orahda wield?
“Why have you betrayed the world?”
Lightning continued to dance around Orahda’s arm and Dalpha. She looked down, her eyes watering. “I had no choice. I tried to draw attention, yet none noticed.”
Ripping the bracelet from her wrist, Orahda said, “There is always a choice.”
Dalpha screamed, “No! You’ve killed her!” She fell to her knees, but ended up dangling by the arm Orahda held. Dalpha, Lady of Light, wailed in mourning and defeat.
Orahda held the bracelet up to examine it more closely. His eyes narrowed as he held the Goddess. He squeezed her arm harder, and she whimpered; her other hand shot up, trying to loosen his grip.
Lothia turned to witness the scene, but did nothing to protest the treatment of Dalpha.
Who is Orahda that he can act so?
Orahda’s eyes dropped to the sobbing Goddess. In a hard, commanding voice he pronounced, “Shar-Lumen would not. That you believe such speaks much. First, you will heal Lord Dohma.” He turned, dragging her to Dohma, and released her arm. Dalpha fell at Dohma’s feet, still wailing.
Orahda’s brows furrowed; his mouth tightened, showing the tendons in his jaw. He turned to Lothia and then glanced around the room. “I’m tired of hiding, and I’ll have the answers.”
Dalpha pulled herself up, tears running down her face. “Then I will do what I must,” she whimpered.
She concentrated, touching the blade protruding from Dohma’s torso. Sparks flew at her from the sword, and she yelped in pain, yanking her hand back.
She looked at Dohma, and he saw, deep in those large eyes, something unexpected behind the anguish and despair: anger. He felt a surge of energy pass between them. Dalpha’s eyes changed from misery to a determination Dohma couldn’t understand.
“We shall stop him,” she whispered under her breath. Orahda’s eyes locked onto her as she wiped the tears from her face and glared at the blade, lips flattening to a tight line.
“Hold him tightly,” she snapped at Cundia.
Cundia shifted her grip to hold him with both arms. Dalpha didn’t wait or give warning. She remained on her knees, but moved to face Dohma, her back rigidly straight. Dohma felt her presence grow.
She braced one hand on his stomach next to the wound and grabbed the blade by the hilt. Both of her hands flared with a golden light, and lightning from the sword danced over her hand and arm.
Pain flared throughout his body, and it was as if her hand on his stomach was a white-hot brand. He could feel the blade trying to twist in her hand to kill him. The blade’s energies spread out into hundreds of barbed needles, ripping his flesh away with them.
As Dalpha ripped the sword free, Dohma’s blood cascaded out into the air, raining down onto her and Lothia. She finished the motion by releasing the blade, which flew away, followed by droplets of blood, to bounce across the floor.
Agony seared through his body as his muscles vibrated against the onslaught of the furious energies Dalpha poured into him.
Dalpha twisted on her knees, shifting to his side. Her hands clamped down on the entry and exit wounds.
The world narrowed, and he became only the pain and a blazing fire that spread over him. And then, as suddenly as it came, it left.
Dohma felt detached, with no control over his own body. His muscles relaxed, and he would’ve fallen if not for Cundia’s strong support. He also realized he was still screaming, but there was no air in his lungs. He gulped the air back in, trying not to throw up.
Deep in his mind, he heard a soft whisper and knew it was Dalpha. “Your spirit is strong. Use this gift well. Forgive me.”
Dalpha slumped to the floor and rolled over. She was completely drained and pale, but she was breathing.
Cundia lowered Dohma to a sitting position on the floor. The remaining pain drained away, and his heart slowed. Stars still floated around him, and Dohma blinked, trying to focus on the situation.
Only one gate remained open. Orahda was leading a pack of twenty Daggers, fighting in a close semi-circle around it. The Nhia-Samri were trying to break through the line. Although Orahda and the Daggers were bleeding from their wounds, they fought on just as hard as the enemy.
The smell of blood was overwhelming. It steamed and flowed around the room from hundreds of bodies. In places, the bodies formed dams, the blood pooled almost two hands deep. In other areas rivers of blood wound their way out the doors.
Dalpha lay next to Dohma on the dais, above the bloodline. Lothia floated nearby, and her eyes squinted as she returned to the fighting with magic and sword. All who attempted to attack her were cut down or thrown away.
Many additional warriors burst into the room to join in the assault on Lothia. More rushed to the gate, pushing the Daggers back. As Dohma watched, three of the Daggers were cut down, allowing more attackers to enter the room through the remaining magical gate.
Dohma shook his head to clear the fog and pushed himself up. Standing still, he let the pain echo through his body from the stab wound, but it felt like it was nearly healed. He picked up a sword, grabbed a dead guard’s dagger from her belt, and moved towards the gate.
Cundia leapt in front of him. She held a restraining hand up, looking him in the eyes, and then she dropped it with a sigh. “You cover me.”
Dohma nodded, not trusting his voice yet. As they ran, he felt increasingly better, as his body finished recovering. There was no more time for self-contemplation.
Almost instantly, Cundia’s blades cut down a Nhia-Samri. Orahda grunted at their arrival. Dohma sensed himself detaching from the horrific scene. He had to use every ounce of his long years of training to fight.
As his vision widened, his sight filled with not only the warriors in front of him but also the path of bodies leading to this position from the last gate Orahda had closed. Orahda fought as the arrowhead, with Cundia on one side and Dohma on the other. Only eleven out of nearly three hundred Daggers remained with Orahda; two other pockets of fighting held about as many Daggers and guards. Hundreds of fallen warriors covered in gleaming blood made the hallowed hall of the Duianna Alliance Assembly into a macabre painting.
If it wasn’t for Orahda, we would’ve already lost this battle. His blades danced in shimmering waves of death, blocking every attack at him and cutting or stabbing any warrior who stood before him. Their circle of soldiers closed the distance to the gate in steady but difficult steps.
They were almost in position for Orahda to destroy the gate when Dohma’s heart sank and a small groan escaped his lips before he clenched his jaw tightly shut. Two squads of Nhia-Samri rushed into the room, through the main door, and headed straight for their position. Behind them, another group of at least three more squads, covered in blood and led by a tall woman in red-enameled battle armor, raced in.
The woman glanced around the room and then pointed to Lothia. “Take her!”
Before they were assailed from the rear, Dohma yelled, “Defensive circle!”
Cundia, Orahda, and the remaining defenders joined Dohma, standing back to back. Surrounded, they fought the desperate battle of fighters who knew they weren’t going to survive the day, yet dared to hope they might.
Dohma’s wider perception allowed him to witness every barely parried blade and frantic counter-attack. Several cuts burned painfully on Dohma’s arms, face, and torso. At his side, Cundia and even Orahda had similar wounds. He cast about for some brilliant strategy that might help. They were overwhelmed, and he kne
w there was no escape. Two more Daggers fell, either dead or near death.
The light from the gate rippled, attracting Dohma’s attention. A lone figure stepped through.
Lords and Ladies help us, Gracia is lost! Dohma realized that his plea was of no avail. The Lords and Ladies were already trying, and failing. There on the dais stood Lady Lothia herself under heavy attack, trying to protect Lady Dalpha. Lord Pualla had already abandoned the hall to give protection to the fleeing rulers.
Dohma’s heart rate doubled, tears burning in his eyes, and a painful lump in his throat made him swallow. The tall, muscular warrior wore grey and black armor, which flared dramatically from his heavy shoulders. He stood a full hand taller than Dohma. The new warrior did not have his swords drawn, yet Dohma’s heart and soul screamed at him to run instead of challenging him.
This is Shar-Lumen! This last gate must go directly to his fabled impenetrable fortress, Hisuru Amajoo.
Shar-Lumen’s violet eyes took in the room. He moved towards the dais, where Lothia was holding off a ring of Nhia-Samri with a shield that surrounded her and the collapsed form of Dalpha.
They pounded on the shield, slowly collapsing it. She gestured time and time again. Each gesture produced a powerful burst of lightning that burned and threw a warrior violently back to land in the pools of blood that filled the chamber. But they continued to come in through side doors to join the onslaught on the Goddess. The woman warrior was also there, pounding on Lothia’s shields and dodging every attack Lothia threw at her.
“Lumen!” Orahda’s thick orotund voice cut as sharp as his sword through the sounds of battle. The hall’s acoustics added resonance, elevating it to the very voice of legend described in dozens of stories Dohma grew up listening to.
All combatants were stunned, and looked around for the source of that call.
Shar-Lumen stopped in the middle of a deep pool of blood, his head spinning back to look at who had called out. As his eyes landed on Orahda, his magnificent face contorted into a mask of rage and hatred.
Without any motion, Lumen’s swords were in his hands, fingers clenched so tightly every muscled fiber stood out. In the peculiar silence of the room, the leather grips creaked as loudly as a falcon’s shriek. “YOU!”
Lumen dove at Orahda, knocking aside one of his warriors who stood between them. Blinding flashes of light strobed as Lumen’s blades clashed with Orahda’s weapons. Battles resumed, and the Nhia-Samri fought harder than ever, refreshed and confident in their victory.
A scream pulled Dohma’s attention from the two fighting legends. On the platform, Lothia’s shield had collapsed, and six Nhia-Samri were beating her with the hilts of their blades as she fought back.
The female warrior had sheathed one blade and was using it, with its polished scabbard, like a club. Strike after strike landed on Lothia’s body and head, making her yelp in pain as she tried to protect herself with her bare arms. Lothia’s eyes bulged, and she spun around, trying to fend off the blows, but there was no escape.
Surrounded by nearly a dozen Nhia-Samri, Dohma cried out, “Move to aid Lothia!”
He tried to shift the ever-decreasing circle of Daggers towards the dais as additional warriors punched through the Hisuru Amajoo gate and the hall doors.
Dohma’s legs screamed in pain from multiple cuts and fatigue, and his arms were no better. Still they fought. Only a couple of Nhia-Samri could engage them at a time, and the remaining Daggers were their equals in combat. The problem was that they had the odassi, which gave them the advantage.
Lothia fell under the onslaught, curling tightly into a fetal position, covering her head with her arms as best she could. They continued to beat her after she had fallen.
Dohma wasn’t sure if he could believe his eyes. Lothia was bleeding from many wounds, and her blood emerged the color of dark amber. As it flowed, it turned a clear pink, running over the dais, being smeared and mixed with the blood of others.
A loud howl echoed through the chamber. Hundreds of Daggers rushed into the room from almost every entryway. Duke, supported by at least three teams, forced his way into the room. The Nhia-Samri fought hard, making Duke struggle for every step. He had dozens of wounds, and on his left shoulder, his skin hung open, exposing the muscle beneath. Duke fought on regardless, using every trick he had.
Nhia-Samri warriors continued to rush in, but with the Dagger reinforcements joining the fight, Dohma felt his spirits rise.
We may yet survive this day.
Dohma brought his blades around and slipped past the defenses of one man, cutting his throat. As he fell, Dohma checked on Orahda’s fight. Shar-Lumen had cut Orahda across one shoulder, and blood was pouring from a wound in his side. He was favoring his right side, trying to keep Shar-Lumen from getting a clear strike.
Shar-Lumen glanced at Duke, and a frown formed as he breathed out through his nose. He ducked low and spun, kicking Orahda so hard that he was thrown, tumbling over some desks, which collapsed onto him.
Instead of digging Orahda out, Shar-Lumen spun and ran towards the dais, scooping up an abandoned odassi from the floor. He leapt the last several feet to land on the platform. Lumen spun around, facing Duke, holding the odassi high above his head with both hands over Dalpha. “You’re too late, Duke! Learn what it means to cowardly attack mine!”
Duke, Cundia, and Dohma screamed in unison as Shar-Lumen brought the blade down with so much force that it sounded like a massive hammer hitting an anvil.
The odassi went through Dalpha’s chest and into the stone below her. The shock must have snapped her into consciousness, because she cried out and grasped the blade. Lightning burst from it, down her arms and across her body, making her vibrate. As fast as the lightning started, it stopped. Dalpha’s arms dropped, motionless. Her head faced Dohma, eyes open, unmoving, her pupils expanded to fill most of her eyes. Lady Dalpha, Lady of Light and Nae-Rae, was dead.
Rage tore through Dohma’s mind. Lady Dalpha, who had given immeasurably to the world, had saved him, using so much power that she’d passed out, helpless to defend herself. Because of that sacrifice she now lay pinned to the stone platform by a Nhia-Samri odassi. She’d had no chance.
His soul screamed out for vengeance, his vision blurring with a red haze. Dohma kicked the warrior before him out of the way. Ignoring that the man flew backwards six feet before collapsing in a pile, Dohma ran, roaring, for the dais. Waves of blood sprayed all around as he cut through the crimson liquid pools as through air.
Shar-Lumen picked up Lothia by one arm as a parent might lift a broken doll. He ripped the silver medallion off her neck, throwing it into the pooled blood on the floor.
As Dohma raced nearer, Shar-Lumen produced a golden collar, which he snapped onto Lothia’s neck before tossing her aside to the Nhia-Samri warriors led by the woman in red armor.
Dohma leapt the last few feet to the platform, his blades held above his head. As he landed, he brought them down on Shar-Lumen’s head, all his strength focused on that single action. The attack should have cut Shar-Lumen in two, except that he had drawn and parried in a single fluid motion.
A brilliant spark of lightning exploded from their blades, illuminating Shar-Lumen’s silver skin, making it look like liquid mercury. Nose to nose with Shar-Lumen, Dohma cried out his rage at being denied revenge. Shar-Lumen’s violet eyes took him in, measuring him as a collector might evaluate a rare prize. As they stared at each other, Dohma’s vision fogged in a red haze, making Shar-Lumen’s eyes appear pitch black.
Dohma screamed again, letting the fury take him, giving him speed and strength like nothing he had ever experienced. His blades and body moved as one, faster than he thought. The entire world forgotten, his mind would accept nothing but killing Shar-Lumen.
Daggers and guards continued to flood into the room, their forces beginning to push th
e Nhia-Samri back. The pitch of the battle started to change to the sparking concussions of Dohma’s and Shar-Lumen’s blades. The fight began to tip in favor of the assembly’s forces. Duke barked and yelled obscenities as he crushed and mangled those who blocked his progress. Ignoring all else, Lumen and Dohma determinedly fought each other as the Nhia-Samri tried to stop Duke. Dozens more on both sides died each moment as the battle raged on. The Nhia-Samri did not falter, even as their numbers dwindled.
Shar-Lumen’s face remained tranquil except for the corners of his mouth, which became tighter as they fought. They spun, kicked, struck, parried, and riposted. Anyone, Nhia-Samri or Dagger, that strayed too close to their mortal combat whether by design or accident, they kicked or batted away as if mere insects.
Dohma’s attacks continuously pushed forward. Shar-Lumen’s eyes never wavered from his as they fought. Dohma’s perceptions tunneled until there were only the two of them in the entire universe, which was too small to allow the other to continue to exist.
He drove Shar-Lumen back until he was near the wall. Shar-Lumen nodded ever so slightly. “The day is yours, Lord Dohma Uriosal. I will not underestimate you again.”
He performed a rapid series of attacks, forcing Dohma to step backwards for the first time since the beginning of their combat. Instead of following up on his advantage, Shar-Lumen spun and dove sideways through the remaining portal, which vanished, leaving only the blank wall in its place.
A primal shriek escaped Dohma as he pounded the wall where the portal had been, with his blades chipping away large chunks of stone. The fury finally ebbed, and he bent over, breathing deeply. Dohma straightened and turned, lifting his swords to continue the battle only to find the assembly chamber filled four hands deep with blood, bodies, and a hundred Daggers, staring at him with open mouths and wide eyes.
Thread Skein (Golden Threads Trilogy Book 3) Page 7