The thin man turned to the speaker. “Good work,” he said in a soft lisp. “I need more though. Send out more recruiters.”
“As you wish, Master.” The man turned to leave.
“Brodin?”
The man turned. “Yes, Master?”
The master's head lifted and Brodin met the pitch-black gaze. “Do you know why Peron is always one step ahead of us?”
The servant swallowed, scared of knowing neither correct answer nor the answer his master desired.
“I…I have no idea, Master. We have a bigger army than his.”
The man took a small step forward, making the servant cringe inwardly. Obviously his answer was not the one sought.
“Even then, we are still losing more troops to him.” The black eyes flashed. “I will tell you why.” He cocked his head to the side, causing his black eyes to glint menacingly in the flickering candlelight. “Peron is selective about who he recruits. Where you…,” the black eyes flashed again, “and your men…recruit paupers and farmers…he…recruits warriors.”
Brodin shivered at the cruel look that came over the master's face. The last time he had seen that same look on Ridat Clemel's face was also the day he was recruited, brutally.
“We will recruit the best we find from now on, Master,” he choked out softly, lowering his eyes. When he looked up, he found Ridat smiling at him.
“Yes, you should do that. Now, leave and keep me informed about the convoy.”
***
Lima shuddered as she watched her daughter eat her meal. She was worried about Orla. These past months, Orla had been wasting away from lack of proper eating. Suddenly, about a week ago, her daughter had shown an unexpected appetite. Lima should be happy, but the abrupt change seemed to worry her more. As she looked now at her daughter while she ate, Lima could not help but feel that there was something amiss. It was not so much the near orgasmic look on her daughter's face as she ate, but it was more what she was eating.
Of late, Orla had taken to eating meat. An unsettling amount of it too. Lima swallowed uncomfortably as she looked at her daughter's plate. The plate, was almost swimming in blood, creating a stomach-churning tableau of red-rimmed vegetables and blood-soaked bread.
“I cannot understand how you can even eat that,” she whispered, looking away as Orla lifted her head, a streak of bloody sauce running down her chin. She sighed when Orla reached for her napkin and wiped her mouth. For as long as she could remember, Orla had always had an acute aversion to blood. As a child, she would close her eyes tightly when she sustained a scraped knee, so she could not see the blood. But now, it was almost as if Orla reveled in the sight and taste of blood.
The blue eyes were clouded as they studied her.
“It is quite tasty mother. You should try some.”
“No, thank you, daughter. I can hardly look at you eating that raw meat without my stomach doing summersaults.” So many things had changed of late. Orla seemed different somehow. Her beautiful blue eyes had a sharpness about them that was not there before and she seemed almost…larger than she was before.
Lima shook her head slowly. “You have changed.”
Orla reached for the blood-soaked piece of bread and took a bite. “For the past months you have pestered me for my lack of eating. Now that I do, you feel like vomiting.” Orla took another bite. “You even dragged me to the healer.”
Lima sighed again. “I am just worried about you.”
“You need not be, Mother. You heard what the healer said. My lack of healthy eating has caused me to crave more protein in my meals. She said it was not uncommon for me to eat this much meat. The bloodier the better too.”
Lima scooped up a piece of carrot and ate it. “And what about your vegetables?”
“Ah, Lima, stop pestering the girl already,” Cybralle cut in. “Look at her. She is in perfect shape for our journey to Arnat. I believe she is in much better shape than all my men together.”
Lima smiled weakly before turning to look at Cybralle. “A mother never stops worrying about her children. As a mother I am sure you know what I mean.”
Mesmeria chuckled. “Yes, my love, you of all people should know that. You are like a mother hen when it comes to Sterling.”
Cybralle grinned apologetically. “You are right, Lima. No matter how old they get, they will always be our little girls.”
Lima bowed her head and threw a sharp glance at Orla. “Now eat your vegetables too. They are good for you.”
Lima watched as a pouting Orla warily began to eat from her vegetables. It was odd for her to see Orla like this. It was as if an utter stranger were sitting opposite her. She lowered her eyes to her own plate. For the first time in a very long while, she wished for Gentro’s presence. Maybe he would have been better at dealing with this. He was always so calm and thoughtful. He was never one to panic easily. She has been thinking about him a lot lately.
She took another bite from her bread and looked up. She blinked in surprise to find Orla's eyes studying her intently. The blue eyes, so like Gentro's, seemed to be looking right through her. What is going on behind those eyes?
***
Orla leaned against the trunk of the tree and closed her eyes. She was scared…no…terrified. Something was not right. She could feel it. Her body was foreign to her. It was almost as if something bigger and more powerful than herself had nestled inside of her. And then there was the itching. Her skin felt as if it was on fire from the inside out. She took a shuddering breath. She felt as if she were ready to explode.
“It is a pleasure to meet you again, milady,” a quiet voice said behind her. Orla spun around, her body in a battle stance.
She cocked her head to the side as she studied the man. He was familiar, but she knew he was not from the village. She was vaguely surprised that she had not heard him coming nor had she smelled him. Along with the many changes in her body, her senses of hearing and smell had been amplified. That was one of the reasons she found herself spending more and more time in the forest, away from the village and its many overwhelming sounds and scents. She took a tentative sniff at the man and her gaze narrowed. She still could not smell him because he was standing downwind. It was almost as if he knew. The idea was unsettling.
“Who…who are you?” she croaked. She did not detect any aggression from him and slowly relaxed her muscles until she was standing up straight again. She saw the man's eyes widen as he took in her size when she unconsciously rolled her shoulders.
“I am your loyal servant, milady.”
“What does that…” She took a step closer, causing the man to stiffen. “I know you. You were at the church on the day of my wedding. What do you want from me?”
The man relaxed gradually. “I am your servant, milady. Whatever it is you need done, I will do it for you.”
Orla slowly looked the man up and down. He was not dressed like a peasant. Just like the day at the church, he was dressed in casual, but obviously expensive, clothing. His jerkin and pants were leather. She searched him for weapons and shook her head when she found none.
“What kind of fool are you to walk around unarmed, especially with the type of clothing you wear? You are an easy target for thieves.”
The man smiled broadly at that, confusing her even further. “I have no need for weapons, milady.”
Orla snorted. “Then you are surely a fool.”
“Not in the least, milady. I fear no one here and the only one I fear is not my enemy.”
Orla blew out a frustrated breath. Can the man be any more confusing? First he sneaks up on me, calls himself my servant, walks around unarmed and then spouts some foolishness. She needed to get away from him. It was obvious that he was addlebrained.
“I have no need for a servant, especially not one that is foolish enough to believe himself invincible.” She turned to walk away.
“I know what you are going through, milady. I am here to help you through it,” the man said quietly.
O
rla turned back slowly, her eyes intense as they pierced the man. He knows what is going on with me? The man's dark-blue eyes were serious as they looked back at her. For the second time in these few minutes, she could not shake the feeling that the man did indeed know what was wrong with her. His eyes were open and his posture relaxed.
“What do you know about me?” she growled, surprised when the sound echoed into the silence around them. She looked around, startled by the deep vibrations. When she looked at the man, he smiled.
“It will all make sense very soon.”
The phrase sounded familiar, and she raked her mind to place it. He had said the same words to her in the church. He had known even then. She nervously licked her dry lips and swallowed hard.
“What is this? What is happening?”
The man stepped closer, and she quickly reached for the sword she now wore daily. Her hand tightened on the hilt.
“No need for that, milady. I am no match for you. I simply want to introduce myself.” He bowed deeply before her. “Romulus Harpon at your service, milady.” He quickly came upright again, his dark-blue eyes twinkling. “My friends call me Rom.”
Orla watched him, still a bit wary of his intention. The man shrugged and smiled at her.
“I take it you do not recognize the name, milady. Maybe your mother would, but I would not encourage you to enlighten her about my presence.”
Her mother? What did this have to do with her mother? She pushed her fingers through her hair, her frustration growing, as did the burning feeling inside her chest.
“Tell me what you are here for and get it over with. I am growing weary of your riddles,” she snapped.
“Ah, but I cannot tell you about it. My task is to help you once you have braved the transformation.”
Orla stared at the man for a few moments, before she turned on her heel and walked away. The man was of no use to her and she had wasted valuable time with him.
“You know where to find me if you need to, milady,” she heard the man call after her. Orla did not break her stride as she put as much distance as she could between herself and the infuriating man.
She was still seething when she walked through the gates of the castle and to her shed. As she passed the stables, her eyes fell on a strange horse being brushed down by one of the young grooms.
“Felton, whose horse it that?”
The boy bowed quickly. “A messenger from Arnat, milady. He arrived a little while ago.”
She nodded and turned toward the castle. The horse had been ridden hard. It could mean trouble was brewing. If the army was where they were expected, then the urgency with which the messenger arrived was totally misplaced. She lengthened her strides and, within a few minutes, she found herself in the throne room. Cybralle was standing in front of the throne facing a frowning Mesmeria. It was Mesmeria who caught her standing in the door.
“It is good that you are here. I was just about to send for you. We have received some news.”
Orla bowed deeply before Mesmeria, before she straightened to hear the news. She threw a quick glance in Cybralle's direction and found the consort's troubled eyes resting on her.
“The Arnati troops came under attack just as they were about to cross the border. They have suffered heavy losses.” Cybralle's voice was flat as she relayed the news. “We will leave within the hour. I have already called the troops to arms.”
Orla nodded. “I am ready.” She looked at Mesmeria. “Who attacked them?”
Mesmeria shook her head. “The messenger could not tell us specifically. It was dark. He suspects it was wolves. He was sent out before they were completely surrounded.”
“If we leave now and ride through the night, we can be there within two days.” Cybralle caught Orla’s attention with a glance.
“I will make sure the weapons are packed and ready for transport.” Orla bowed again. “I am not sure if we will be back before you send another missive to the Wastelands. May I petition you for a favor, Your Majesty?”
Mesmeria smiled. “You may, Orla.”
Orla blushed at the knowing look on the queen's face. “Please tell her that I love her with all my heart and that I cannot wait to gaze upon her beautiful face again.” She lowered her eyes. “Also remind her to keep the faith until we meet again.”
When she looked at the queen, there was a soft look in her eyes. “I will write her a letter myself and convey your message.”
With curt nod, Orla left the throne room.
***
“You had better make sure that she returns unharmed, my love. I doubt our daughter would appreciate it if something was to happen to her.”
Cybralle's eyes followed her daughter-in-law as she walked away. She doubted Mesmeria had any idea how what she'd just said terrified Cybralle. Not many of the men knew what they were in for. If her suspicion about what was plaguing Arnat was true, they were walking into a very dangerous situation. Maybe she should reconsider taking Orla with her.
“Do you think she would be offended if I asked her to stay behind?”
Mesmeria shrugged. “I do not have an answer for you. The only other person who knows her well is Lima. Maybe you could ask her.” Mesmeria held out her hand to Cybralle and pulled her closer. “Do you really think it will be dangerous for her to go with you?”
Cybralle grimaced. “Going to war is a dangerous venture in itself. Fighting giant beasts that reportedly rip men apart…I do not know. It just seems more perilous to me.” Mesmeria's hand brushed through her hair and Cybralle leaned into the touch. “It will be dangerous for every warrior who follows me to Arnat, but Orla is a different story. It would break Sterling if something happened to Orla. I doubt I would be able to live with myself if I broke our daughter's heart.”
“Do not fret so much, my love. You said yourself that she is a great fighter. With her size and skill, I think she will be able to hold her own,” Mesmeria said gently. “Besides, they are soul mates and I doubt destiny would have brought them together only to tear them apart so soon.”
Cybralle's thoughts were jumbled even as she listened to Mesmeria's argument. Prince Halen's graphic rendition of the attacks still gave her nightmares. He had described bloodthirsty beasts, standing taller than a grown man, with glowing eyes and long teeth. The creatures' only weakness was silver. That knowledge only came to them by chance. Rumors reached the Arnati Royal House that a desperate farmer, trying to save his daughter from the claws of one of those creatures, had stabbed the beast in the chest with a lance furnished with a silver blade. The beast had screamed in pain, running off into the forest. Scared to follow the retreating fiend into the night, the villager rounded up a group of men and searched the forest the next morning. The beast was nowhere to be found. All they found was the corpse of a man, presumably another victim of the beast.
A mass production of silver weaponry was started, but it was found that suitable craftsmanship was lacking. The weapons were crude and weak posing more of a risk than an advantage. That was where Orla came in. She was renowned for her skill in taming any type of metal. Cybralle had tested and compared the blacksmith's swords and arrowheads to the ones brought from Arnat by the prince. The difference was remarkable. Orla's swords were lightweight and the blades tempered to a sharp finish as opposed to the heavy brittle blades from Arnat. Orla's job was done. Was it really necessary to take the blacksmith with them?
She pulled away from Mesmeria, giving her an apologetic smile. She needed to find Orla, but knew that Mesmeria, although she was not verbal about it, craved some intimacy. Mesmeria had always needed physical comfort when Cybralle left for war or even embarked on a short trip within the kingdom. She saw the hidden fear in the green eyes.
“You will come back to me, will you not?” Mesmeria's voice sounded small.
“I promise to be careful, my love.” She placed a soft kiss on Mesmeria's lips. “We still have to raise our grandchildren, and I would not miss that for the world.”
Mesmeria
smiled weakly. “You had better keep that promise.”
Chapter 12
The music was lively and the wine was flowing freely. The cold was kept at bay by large fires around the camp. Sterling was seated in the shadow of her tent, watching the revelry. Today she had given them leave to celebrate. The day had been grueling, but a victorious one. The Hurians were pushed back deeper into their desert, every last one of them. She took a sip from the goblet in her hand as her eyes carefully touched each and every soldier sitting around the fire. Their eyes were riveted on the swaying hips of the dancing women she had brought in from a nearby village.
They deserved the break. Two months of heavy fighting had been followed by the somber atmosphere of burying their dead. They had lost many good warriors. Four thousand men were absent from tonight's celebration. She rubbed a hand over her face. The most painful task still lay ahead of her. No one liked imparting bad news, but it had to be done. Loved ones would be waiting with bated breath as the army returned. She took a generous drink from her goblet.
“She asked about you.”
Sterling raised her head slowly and looked up into the eyes of Miriam. The healer stood next to her.
“Who did?”
“The dancer.” Miriam took a sip from her cup. “She wanted to know if she could spend the night in your tent.”
Sterling smiled and looked past the healer to the dancing women. A beautiful brunette caught her eyes and held them. She smiled at the woman. She could so very easily become a likeness of Orla in her arms. She had the coloring, but she lacked the size. No, she would not do. Sterling wanted Orla and nobody else.
“I am married.”
Miriam snorted into her cup. “So are half of the men ogling her.”
Sterling smiled at Miriam. “But they are not married to their soul mates, it would seem.” She emptied her goblet in one swallow. “I want my wife and no one else will do for me.”
Miriam looked at her over the rim of her cup.
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