“Be careful … both of you,” Aliqua said.
Anaela nodded, grabbed Searon’s hand, and led him into the forest.
Searon abruptly stopped walking and knelt on the ground. Anaela spun around and raised an eyebrow. She strode over to him, careful not to disturb the area at his feet.
“What did you find?” Anaela asked.
Searon gazed at her. She stood next to him, watching him carefully. The wind blew her tangled hair, and her eyes widened with a look of hope.
“Somebody was dragged here,” Searon said.
Anaela got on her knees and peered at what Searon stared at. Without Searon realizing it, his attention was no longer on the disrupted dirt, but lost on her beauty. She studied the ground, touching the dirt with her hands. Her hand grazed his, and he looked into her eyes. Their eyes locked as the warmth of her hand spread through him. She blushed and turned away, but her hand didn’t leave his.
The rustling of leaves startled them, and she removed her hand from his. She got to her feet and searched the area, drawing her bow. Searon stood and felt a cold chill run along his spine. There was no wind, but leaves crackled, unsettling his nerves.
They stood closer together, and Searon held the hilt of his claymore as he searched the area. The leaves stirred in the bushes ahead of them, and a woman with charcoal skin sashayed into the open, a sinister grin upon her lips.
Searon became lost in the woman’s dark beauty, from her snow-white hair to her lavender lips. Her dark armor sparkled back at him, accenting her soft dark face. His mind wandered. Her beauty was dark and different from any other’s, but it was mesmerizing. He had met this woman once before.
“Arria …” Anaela whispered.
Searon looked to Anaela for a moment before gazing back to where Arria stood. She strutted toward them. Arria resembled her sister, Starlyn, but the similarities were nearly faded away by the darkness overtaking her. An aura of power surrounded the woman that gave Searon shivers.
She had a power over him that he didn’t understand, and he felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He pictured himself as a moth getting closer to her, only to be engulfed. It felt like magic encircled him, grabbed him tight, and forced him to her. It took nearly every fiber of his being to take a step backward.
He felt his hand graze Anaela’s. He grabbed her hand and held tight. The swirl of emotions cluttering his mind suddenly became clear. Arria was evil, and she had power over him, a power that caused attraction toward her. Admittedly, she was very attractive, but not in the mesmerizing way she’d been only a moment before. The touch of Anaela’s skin broke him from the spell and enabled him to think clearly. He understood what was going on—the missing kheshlars, humans, and spell casters. All of them were missing because of her … because of Arria.
Chills ran across Anaela’s arm as Searon took her hand. She decided not to push his hand away. No, she sensed something, a connection between him and Arria that sent shudders over her spine. Moments ago, he’d gawked at Arria. He’d gained focus when he touched her. She enjoyed the touch more than she wanted to admit.
“This is all your doing, Arria,” Anaela said.
Arria smirked and stepped forward, pursing her lips together. “Would you expect any less?”
“I didn’t expect your return to be so soon,” Anaela said.
“You must take me for a weakling,” Arria spat.
“What are you up to?” Anaela asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Arria replied.
Anaela drew her bow and pulled an obsidian arrow from her quiver. She aimed it at Arria’s forehead. Arria laughed, a cruel heartless laugh that echoed through the wilderness.
“I must stop you,” Anaela said.
“I do not have time for this,” Arria said.
“Make time.” Searon withdrew his crimson claymore from its scabbard.
Arria dashed toward them, slashing her sword in downward strikes toward Searon. Anaela fell back and loosed arrow after arrow toward Arria with perfect accuracy. With astonishing reflexes, Arria spun away from each arrow with lightning speed. A few she deflected with her flamberge.
After a handful of shattered obsidian arrows, Anaela hung her bow over her shoulder and pulled her short sword from her back. She wasn’t as effective with her sword as at archery, but Arria easily dodged arrows while battling against Searon. It was time for a new approach, and Anaela only hoped it would be enough.
The clashing of swords echoed through the forest, causing a few animals to shriek as they scurried by. Arria parried against both of them with ease. Arria’s weapon was a medium flamberge, which caused excessive vibration for Searon and Anaela.
Anaela tried attacking from behind, but Arria blocked every strike and landed a strike on Anaela’s shoulder plate. The stinging sensation forced her to retreat a few steps and reposition herself. It gave Arria enough time to overcome Searon’s strikes and knock his claymore from his grasp. Anaela watched in horror as his claymore clattered to the ground.
Anaela leaped forward in an attempt to save Searon. She delivered a quick parry of offensive strikes. It caught Arria off guard, and she backed away from Anaela’s attacks, barely able to sustain her defense. Anaela wasn’t sure what overcame her, but the sight of Searon in danger stirred something within her that she hadn’t even known existed. She had compassion for another and a burning desire to keep him safe.
Her swift attacks created a lack of concentration that brought mistakes in her offense. Arria noticed a weakness and pressed forward with her own offensive strikes. Arria brought a dagger from nowhere and slashed and stabbed it at Anaela, meeting her armor.
Searon rushed forward, and Anaela watched as the hilt of Arria’s flamberge collided with his head, and his claymore once again clattered to the ground. Enraged, Anaela pushed forward, delivering quick blows at Arria’s defenses, only to be blocked from every angle. After a low attack, she realized her mistake as she saw the hilt of Arria’s dagger coming at her face.
The last thing Anaela remembered was her knees losing the strength to support her weight, and crumbling toward the ground. Blackness overtook her, but not before one last glance through her hazy eyes at the grinning undead kheshlar. Arria sheathed her flamberge and dashed away.
Chapter 11
Arria glanced at the two limp bodies on the ground. They were pathetic. That was the only word she could think of to describe them. By herself, she’d overcome them in a battle of swords. She figured the human to be weak, but even the kheshlar was useless. She had always heard Anaela was a good archer, but her shots were too predictable.
She relaxed her grip before sheathing her sword. They weren’t worth the effort. Her mission was too important. With her two stalkers out of her way, she was free to continue with her plans. A twisted grin formed on her face as she ran toward the heart of Sudegam.
As Arria ran, the wind blew through her hair and she recalled a memory of Starlyn and her running through the forest. Life had been simple back then, when they were carefree and before their mother became sick. Starlyn was weak-minded and couldn’t see as Arria could. Arria could have saved their mother, but Starlyn just wouldn’t let it happen. She remembered her own pale blue skin and black hair as she ran through the forest all those years ago, chasing after a much younger blond Starlyn.
The memories of when she was a kheshlar came back from time to time. She had to admit that she’d had fun as a kheshlar, but she was glad to be free of the rules they lived by. The one thing that hadn’t left her during her transition was her love for her sister, even though it was her sister who caused her death. The magic Arria had used was too deep, and it took over and changed her, for the better. She was stronger now, and one day she would find her sister and convince her.
Arria shook away the memory of her sister and her playing in the forest, laughing and pushing each other around. It was a happy memory, one that Arria wished for again … if Starlyn could see her way.
She came to
an abrupt halt as she rounded a group of trees. An unpleasant scent filled her nostrils. Humans. The mere thought of them brought the taste of stale bread to her mouth, and she nearly gagged. Glancing around the corner of an oak tree, she saw them: four men, and they were talking amongst themselves. Two of them wore heavier armor and broadswords.
It would take Arria too much time to destroy the lives of the four humans, especially if two of them were captains: she dared not judge their sword skill. Arria withdrew a small vial of black powder and poured a small amount into her palm. She pressed her lips together and blew softly, scattering the dark powder all over the ground.
The ground trembled underneath her as dirt shot up. A pale white hand punched out from the dirt, and it unburied the rest of its skeleton. Two more bone hands appeared close by, popping through the dirt. The three of them unburied themselves until they stood before her, each equipped with a bone sword and shield. Their white bones seemed frail, but Arria knew looks were deceiving. The skeletons regarded their master. She smiled, pointing to the four humans. Glowing purple flashed where their eyes should have been. They turned, laughing, and headed for the humans.
“What is that!?” a human shrieked, pointing at the skeletons.
Arria watched as the humans scattered, trying to ready their weapons. They ran around, frantic as the skeletons rushed at them. She smiled before turning to slip past them.
She neared the heart of Sudegam, and knew it was covered by many preparing warriors and kheshlar guards. Peeking around a bush, she saw the several patrols outside the city. There was no way she would be able to walk into the center unnoticed.
The old worn paths encircling the city were light brown dirt with scattered chips of rocks. On every side of the paths there were bushes with flowers. The smell of the fresh plants soothed the air and brought relaxation to Arria. It was one of the things the kheshlars were best at, growing plants.
She looked into the city through the cover of a thick bush, trying to find an opening. The day was clear and the sun too bright for easy passage. Instead, she glanced to the trees scattered throughout the city. She secured her chain mail gloves and climbed the nearest tree.
The trees were close enough to each other for Arria to easily leap across. However, she used caution, studying the ground for anybody who was scouting the trees. Luck was on her side; the men and kheshlars were too busy discussing their ground defenses to even glance to the trees.
Arria leaped from tree to tree swiftly and became clumsy, nearly colliding with a lone kheshlar, a spell caster. The kheshlar was tall, pale, and redheaded, with freckles. She was a rare sight indeed. A war hammer was in her grasp, and she slammed it into Arria’s side. Her cry of pain echoed through the trees and she mentally cursed herself for her clumsiness.
Drawing her flamberge from its scabbard, she neared the kheshlar, and both nearly lost their balance on the thick branch. They had to parry each other with one foot in front of the other, as one fatal step to either side would lead to a fatal drop. The kheshlar’s blows were obnoxious. Arria knew she had to end it quickly, before her shriek brought the kheshlars from below. She stepped backward several paces, giving her room to study her opponent.
The kheshlar in front of her wore only leather armor, no doubt because anything heavier would upset her balance while climbing in the trees. An evil smile twisted Arria’s lips as she grabbed a shuriken and threw it with impressive accuracy into the redhead’s right breast. Caught aback, the kheshlar slipped on the branch, almost losing control, while Arria ran at her full speed, sheathing her flamberge. Arria leaped into the air and landed behind the redhead.
Arria pulled a dagger from her sash, grabbed the soft red hair with her right hand, and covered the kheshlar’s mouth with her left. She could feel hot air on her hand as she muffled the woman’s scream. Arria let go of the woman’s hair and moved her dagger in front of the redhead, who saw it and attempted another scream, before the dagger slit her throat. Arria caught the limp body in her arms and gently set her to rest against the trunk of the tree.
She knelt to the redheaded kheshlar, smiled, and pushed her eyelids closed. Bringing the dagger to her lips, Arria licked its fresh blood before replacing it in her sash. Standing, she observed the area, making sure no more kheshlars hid nearby before leaping to the next tree.
Everything became a blur as she raced through the treetops, feeling only the cold wind as it brushed across her charcoal face. Her white hair was a tangled mess as she sat on a branch looking onward. The kheshlarn castle stood in front of her. The hardest part was to come. The hardest part was to come. The castle’s defenses had been fortified since she’d last seen it.
She leaped from the last tree onto the surrounding marble wall of the castle. It was a beautiful sight to see a castle amongst the trees. Though she thought it would be even more beautiful shattered and destroyed. Arria grinned. Yes … that would be a lovely sight.
Slipping unnoticed over the walls, she hid behind a royal azalea bush as a guard walked past her, scanning the ground. Once he was out of sight, she dashed on, cutting through alleys and climbing walls. She wouldn’t be able to go the normal way—too many guards blocked the entrance. Luckily, she spent a lot of time in the castle in her younger years. The king, Elsargast, had thought highly of her and her sister once upon a time.
After several minutes of climbing, she found what she searched for, a loose stone. If it were removed, the hole left would be large enough for a person to slip through. Carefully, Arria loosened it as much as she could as she clung to the wall. Once it was halfway out, she dashed black powder on it and chanted silent words. It slid out and fell to the ground silently.
Taking one more glance around, she hopped into the castle and dashed through the hall. She ran up the stairs and into the golden hall. Nothing stood in her way. She walked to the king’s door. Her hand reached out, ready to open the double doors, when the clinking of metal echoed in her ears. Turning around, she saw a male kheshlar with long brown hair behind his pointed ears. Two scimitars were held in an X in front of him.
“You are not permitted in the king’s chamber, dead kheshlar.”
“Vil’ek, it has been a while. Are you still a slave to the king’s will?” Arria snarled.
“I am on the side of the kheshlars, remember? You used to be one once.”
The corner of Arria’s mouth fell. To be considered a kheshlar once was an insult. She shook the thought out of her mind and looked to Vil’ek. He was attractive for a male kheshlar, and she remembered the nights and days they had shared. She licked her lips as she remembered the sleepless nights she’d spent at his place. Yes … she remembered well … when she was a kheshlar, they were lovers.
She stepped closer, licking her upper lip and allowing her hips to swing in a small figure eight motion. Vil’ek stumbled as he tried to back away from her. Arria knew she had an effect on him. She was pleased, especially since she hadn’t used her seductive charm yet. Arria didn’t think she would need it, but she felt her hands grab a pinch of black powder anyway. She blew it into the air.
Vil’ek stopped attempting to back away from her. He stepped forward, placing his two scimitars in their scabbards. Arria grinned, strutting toward him. She put her arms around him, feeling his warmth against her chilled body. Her hands traveled, finding themselves on his muscular arms, sending chills to her groin. A burning desire came across her as she touched him, no doubt from the times they’d shared before.
Her hands trailed across his face. She brushed away the long brown hair blocking his eyes. Most of his hair was tied behind his head in a ponytail, but a few strands found their way into his face. Both her hands rested behind his head. She pulled him to her, feeling his lips press against hers. The small flame inside her ignited with desire as she climbed onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing him passionately.
Through the haze, she caught herself and released her grip, slowing sliding back to reality, and she placed her feet b
ack on the ground. “My love, come with me and together we can rule.”
Vil’ek remained speechless. The dark magic had him under its control. He looked to his scimitars and back to Arria’s lips. He smiled and gently placed his hand on Arria’s cheek.
“I will always love you,” he said.
Arria smiled a true and heartfelt smile for the first time as an undead kheshlar. She grabbed his hand in hers and continued to the door. A scream echoed through the air from within the castle. The spell on Vil’ek broke, and he glared at his ex-lover’s hand in his. His face twisted and he ripped his hand free, pulling a scimitar from its scabbard, slashing his weapon across Arria’s face.
She screamed and felt her bloody cheek. She glared at Vil’ek, realizing the spell was fully gone. She knew it was too late to use more black powder. She would make him hers one day, but that day would be later. She’d lost sight of her mission the moment her lisp touched his, and she could no longer afford the delay. Removing her flamberge, she slashed his hand, causing him to drop his scimitar. She leaped at him, knocking him unconscious with the hilt of her flamberge.
She took a step to his sleeping body and sat him upright against the wall. Kneeling, she touched his face, feeling its warmth one last time. Kissing her middle and index finger, she placed them upon his lips and smiled. One day … he would be hers again.
Finally breaking in through the double doors of the king’s chamber, she secured the lock behind her. She removed a steel staff and barred the doors before turning to saunter toward the king. The red carpet felt soft underneath her feet as she followed the path to the throne. The white marble sparkled around the red carpet, but she hardly noticed. She glared at the golden chair with red satin cushions, where the king sat, watching as she approached.
“Hello, my sire.” Arria smirked.
Chapter 12
Starlyn reached for her waterskin, swallowed a few drops, and gazed to the stars and moon. Her thirst was quenched but her stomach continued to grumble for something to eat. She glanced to Snowflake with envy as the tiger tore through a boar one piece at a time. Before now, Starlyn would have watched in disgust, but for some reason the fruit lying on her lap no longer sufficed. The fruit and vegetables she found no longer felt like enough to fill her bottomless stomach. They no longer gave her the energy they once did. She wondered if her hunger had something to do with her illness and grew curious if there was something more she could eat to gain strength.
The Obsidian Arrow Page 5