The Obsidian Arrow

by Craig A. Price Jr.

  Standing once again, she had to instantly leap into the air to dodge another blast from the redhead. Anger filled Arria’s veins as she realized she was being outdone by two mere kheshlars. The thought of their meager ranks defeating her became barbaric. She jumped onto a higher branch, circling around the tree to find cover. She sheathed her sword and armed herself with her bow. She withdrew her favorite arrow, a fire-oak arrow she had designed. The tip had been made of a fire stone. When it penetrated a target, the arrow would burst into flame.

  She held the bow and arrow in her right hand as she leaped from branch to branch, searching for the redhead and her blond mate. Finally, she spotted them. She held to the branch tight, securing her footing. The redhead quickly found her, sending a blast of silver energy her way. Arria grabbed a handful of black powder from her pouch, tossing it to intercept the blast, which it did efficiently.

  Arria focused, gripping the arrow tight as she aimed for the redhead. The arrow released in a flash, striking the redhead’s throat. She gagged for an instant before the arrow’s power ignited her body. She clutched the arrow, tumbling off the tree, into the forest below her.

  “Noooo!” the blond kheshlar yelled.

  With a raging passion, the blond released spell after spell toward Arria, forcing her to dive to a lower branch. Looking at the branch she previously stood on brought shock to her eyes. A pile of ash trickled to the ground in its place. She braced herself for another leap as another fury of magic headed her way. She leaped onto the next tree as several spells hit the branch where she had been, obliterating it as well.

  She used the sharp steel claws at the tips of her gloves to climb the tree to stand behind the blond kheshlar. Another blast of magic shot toward her, but she raised her flamberge in time to deflect the spell. She strode forward, blocking a few more spells before the blond unsheathed his swords. He had two scimitars with beautiful designs and words engraved on each curved blade.

  His fury shone, gaining respect from Arria. He appeared infuriated with her, and it was obvious why. The thought pleased Arria—she had taken something special from him. She deflected his strikes with difficulty. He seemed to be a gifted swordsman. She stumbled slightly. He leaped to take the advantage, giving her a slice on her left cheek.

  Irritation struck Arria when the taste of her own blood dripped into her mouth. She jumped to her feet, knocking one of the scimitars from the kheshlar’s hands. She stepped backward, feeling her bloodied cheek, tasting her own blood before stepping forward again. An expression of disgust spread on the kheshlar’s face when she tasted her own blood. It had been what she wanted, an opening. Arria sprang forward, disarming him before holding her blade against his neck.

  “Kill me,” he said.

  “Why do you wish to die?” Arria asked, smiling at his wish for her to kill him.

  “I have nothing to live for anymore. You took away the only reason I had to live, and if I cannot have my vengeance, then there is nothing for me here.”

  She lowered her sword at his comment, staring deep into his eyes. His eyes filled with passion, fury, and love. Hope in them diminished, as did his fear. He welcomed what would happen to him. It took all Arria’s pleasure away. She spat, sheathing her sword.

  “Better to make you suffer and live.” Arria grinned.

  “No!” He rushed at her with his hands raised.

  Arria removed her right glove and grabbed his jaw with her bare hand. He froze as the touch of her skin stole his energy. Veins popped all over his face as the life drained from him. Arria grew healthier with his energy transferring into her.

  “If not life, then a worse punishment would be to taint your love for her before you meet her in the underworld. Tell me, will she welcome you with open arms if your last taste is me?” Arria asked.

  Terror flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t have the strength to resist. Her black lips shined with delight as they brushed against his warm brittle lips. She grew stronger as his life transferred into her. Her lust took over. Her tongue began to play with his. His face showed surprise when his tongue returned the favor. He could only watch in terror as his body did exactly what she wanted it to. A tingling traveled along her spine to her groin, turning her desires on. It hadn’t been the fact he had been an attractive male kheshlar, but the fact he loved another. She forced his will to pleasure her desires. That fact turned her on more than anything. She shivered as she thought about it, biting his tongue hard, ripping it from his mouth before throwing him from the tree, watching him fall to the ground. She smiled when his mangled body became torn apart. In her teeth, she held his wiggling tongue. She spat it out before continuing to search the treetops.

  Her smile transformed into a frown as she spotted her archenemy. On the tree across from her, Aliqua stared deep into her eyes. Arria’s anger increased tenfold as she leaped to meet the kheshlar head-on. Upon landing, she became surprised to find no magical attacks by Aliqua.

  “At last we meet again,” Arria said.

  “Yes … it seems you can’t stay away from your home,” Aliqua said.

  “Trust me … it is not the good memories that bring me back,” Arria uttered.

  “You will not find happiness in destroying us, Arria … it will not bring peace to your mind.”

  “We’ll just have to see about that.” Arria grinned.

  She unsheathed her flamberge, thrusting it toward Aliqua, who dodged with grace before pulling two unique daggers. Arria’s jaw dropped in awe as she studied the two weapons in Aliqua’s hands. They had black and brown hilts made of different materials. The split blade daggers had two separate blades the length of a forearm, connected in the middle. Arria had only seen such a weapon once before, in the dying hands of a wood kheshlar.

  She didn’t have time to ponder as Aliqua sprang forward, slashing the daggers for Arria’s flamberge to catch. The daggers didn’t seem as brittle as Arria would expect without a solid middle to them. They seemed stronger than normal daggers. They glowed violet, matching Aliqua’s purple robes. Arria spun around a few attacks, until she had an opening to take a slice at Aliqua’s chest. Surprisingly, the blade deflected off hidden armor beneath the kheshlar’s robes.

  Frustrated, Arria removed her last dagger from her sash, hurling it into Aliqua’s stomach. Aliqua shrieked in pain as she fell back, holding the dagger in her hand, grabbing it tight to be able to pull it out. Arria could hear the broken chain mail it penetrated. A smile sprang upon her face. She sauntered toward the injured kheshlar in an attempt to finish her, but her own dagger came flying toward her. Arria had to duck, feeling a strand of her hair fall into her face as it fell, sliced from her head.

  Without a moment to lose, Aliqua rushed toward Arria, jumping into the air. Aliqua stepped on Arria’s head, leaping toward the ground. Arria spun, watching as Aliqua landed on the ground by the entrance. The rest of the spell casters surrounded her. She healed herself before heading through the gate.

  Arria cursed under her breath. It wasn’t supposed to start like this. Their element of surprise had vanished, but there was no turning back now. Arria dropped from the trees, into the front of her army, which awaited her next order.

  “Charge!” Arria yelled as she rushed toward the gate.

  Chapter 21

  Starlyn opened her eyes as three sorceresses entered her cell. It seemed like a lustful dream and nightmare mixed all into one. One had medium brown hair, another blonde, and the leader’s hair shone obsidian black. The three of them wore black collars around their necks with metal spikes all the way around. They also wore stainless steel boots with spikes on the sides, rising past their knees. Besides the collars and boots, the rest of their body remained bare, except for black fishnet covering their entire body. The leader’s fingernails shone with blue polish, while the other two wore red. She casually strode over to Starlyn, darting her hazel eyes to inspect her from head to toe before smiling. Each held a long wooden scepter with a glowing glass ball at the top. Starlyn marveled a
t the beauty of the woman’s curves. Every fragment of the woman’s body could be seen through the fishnet, and Starlyn caught herself staring at the woman.

  “I’ve heard you’ve been very naughty in this prison,” the sorceress with black hair said softly, rubbing her fingers together.

  “I will not be a slave to your will,” Starlyn answered.

  “Oh … but you will. We are the last three to convince you. And if we fail … which we shall not … but if we do, the next to come in here will be the captain of our army. She will sever your head from its body and mount it to a spear for everyone to see what happens to those who resist us.”

  Starlyn gulped, feeling the most fear she ever had. It seemed to her the Ikchani were soulless. Shivers erupted along her body as she awaited her fate.

  The lead sorceress tipped her scepter at Starlyn. A chilling energy circled around Starlyn before entering her flesh. Every bone in her body felt as if it would break. She shrieked in pain. Pythons appeared from nowhere to circle around Starlyn’s naked flesh. The rough scales sent shivers through her cowering body. Vibrations came from inside of her body, spraining her wrists as well as ankles. Tears clouded her eyes. For the first time in many years, tears trickled heavily from her face.

  Her body lay torn and helpless, bleeding across the floor. Whip marks penetrated her skin from her shoulders to her ankles. They had left her face untouched, but with the magic now surging through her, each wound opened to spill blood. She couldn’t tolerate any more pain. After two weeks, they had finally struck her breaking point.

  “Stop!” Starlyn cried.

  The sorceress gripped her scepter tight to her bosom, staring at Starlyn. Her black hair blew to her left from the wind circling inside the chamber, her face remaining firm. Soot covered the skin around her eyes, matching her black collar.

  “You have broken,” the woman said.

  “Yes … yes, I will do as you command … please no more,” Starlyn begged, tears escalating along her face in thick streams.

  “You will be taken for your vows. Trials will begin for you to become an Ikchani.” The woman smiled without teeth before nodding to the blonde woman. “Bind her.”

  The sorceress with blonde hair stomped forward, grabbing leather cuffs, which she bound eagerly and tightly against Starlyn’s hands behind her back. The woman helped Starlyn to her feet.

  They dragged her out of the cell to the torch-lit hallway. Starlyn kept her eyes closed for several minutes until the women stopped, pressing Starlyn hard against a stone wall.

  Elainya, the lead sorceress, only gave her a sip from a waterskin before tossing her into a dark room, along with a short golden dagger. Starlyn clutched the weapon in her hand before glancing back to the shutting stone door. The ground beneath her felt wet as she got to her knees, glancing around. Nothing could be seen. All she could hear was the slow dripping of water on stone. She rose to her feet, still feeling the fresh blood dripping from her wounds. Her body hadn’t been at its full strength. The soreness which kept her weak during her journey slowed her. The illness, which could not be healed, still tormented her.

  Torches erupted in the darkness, creating light, followed by snarls in the darkness. She clutched the dagger closer to her naked flesh as she glanced around. The immediate area surrounding her became viewable in the torchlight, but anything farther than fifteen paces showed pure darkness. Feet shuffled across the ground in the darkness, putting Starlyn on edge. One hand clutched the dagger, while the other held her stomach tight where a sharp pain shot to her chest.

  Out of the darkness appeared four men with heavy weapons approaching her. She glared from one to the other and at the various weapons. A broadsword, mace, axe, and flail. Each flaunted their weapon, slashing the air, showing their knowledge of the weapon. None wore helms, but each had leather armor protecting their body, while Starlyn wore nothing.

  “Ah, at last … after years of you taking advantage of us, it is time for us to take advantage of you,” a bitter blond man spoke, holding a spiked round mace.

  Starlyn took a step backward, clutching her gold dagger until her palm turned from light blue to red to white. A man with flaming red hair and a flail in his grip approached her first. The large ball-spiked flail swung toward her head. She dropped out of the way, feeling the wind brush against the top of her tangled blonde hair. There wasn’t much time for a reaction afterward, as an axe struck near her head. She had barely enough time to uppercut her golden dagger to deflect the blow. The strength behind the axe caused her to drop the dagger.

  She lost focus for a moment, only seeing everything before her as swirls of confusing colors. Her body felt weak from head to toe. She felt like she held no more strength. The man with long blond hair hanging past his shoulders stepped forward, striking his mace into Starlyn’s shoulder. She cried out in pain as she collided with the ground, clutching her shoulder. Two large gashes in her shoulder poured blood down her side. Somehow, despite her failing strength, she stood, dodging a few swipes of a broadsword. She had a burning desire to wield her own hammer.

  Memories circled in her mind, her face growing cold. The first thought entering her mind was Sudegam and the few kheshlars she had been close to, but soon she realized there hadn’t been many. She had grown apart from many of them, except for Anaela. The archer became the first to enter her mind. She hoped the wood kheshlar had stopped being so stubborn and accepted Searon’s love for her. Searon, the first human she ever came in contact with, entered her mind next. His leadership had really turned her into a stronger kheshlar. The desires and torments which haunted him every day could barely scrape the surface of what he still had to endure. She imagined the wizard only for a moment before dismissing the old man in place of the mage she had known for so long. Sh’on had proved a great ally to her and a great friend.

  She pictured Andron for a moment before despair sank into her veins. He had died to save her. She regretted every moment of it. Often, she wished she had been strong enough to save him, but the nacropis had completely outmatched her. These humans standing before her were nothing compared to the strength of the nacropis. The last face entering her mind was Noraes’s. A smile graced her lips as she thought about him, replacing the frown that had tainted them for weeks. She hadn’t thought of him often, but she had been truly happy during the time she spent with him. Perhaps one day she would be able to see him again, and thinking of him gave her strength, which surged through her body.

  A man with wavy long black hair approached her, slashing his sword to slice each of her arms before she dodged, tackling him. Wrestling on the ground, she shoved her right palm into his jaw, dislocating it. She slid his sword from his grip, grabbing it. She heaved it above her and through the heart of the redhead wielding the flail. Sliding off the injured warrior, she fought the last two with weapons.

  The axe and mace slashed at her fiercely, but she deflected each efficiently with the sword she had acquired. Weakness still consumed her, but she found her strength in her friends, and she held onto it for dear life. The battle raged on for what seemed like an eternity until she finally slashed one in the neck before stabbing the other through the heart. She watched with satisfaction as each crumbled to the ground.

  Slowly, she sauntered forward to the last warrior, who still lay on the ground, panting loudly. She dropped her knee on his groin, staring at him before dropping the blade on the ground, causing it to ring into the darkness. Sweat beaded across the young man’s face, and his eyes were dark with fear.

  “Have mercy,” he begged.

  “Funny … I thought the same thing when the four of you rushed upon me.”

  Without another thought, she grabbed his head, snapping his neck. The crunch echoed through the darkness. Her smile faded at what she had just done. He had been defenseless. It wasn’t like her to murder someone who could not defend themselves.

  A bright rectangle appeared in the darkness with clapping sounding through it. She gripped the sword in her hands
, rushing toward the light, which blinded her. When she neared, the sword in her hands grew scalding, forcing her to drop it. Her hands burned with steam. She stared at them in horror. They appeared red, scarred with burns. Through the doorway strode the three sorceresses, flaunting their perfect bodies through their fishnets. The scepters they held glowed with power. They grabbed Starlyn, forcing her through the doorway.

  Chapter 22

  Searon stood with his men near the south entrance of Sudegam, waiting for his chance to strike down some draeyks. He knew they were going to come from the south entrance and already had everything coordinated to deflect an attack. He made sure to let Aliqua know of his suspicion regarding their attack. He had been correct assuming the kheshlars only concerned themselves with the north entrance. Luckily, Aliqua listened to him, placing scouts in the trees on all sides. It came as no surprise to Searon when a scout returned from the treetops in the south to gather the rest of the spell casters.

  It became a waiting game as the spell casters eliminated as many as they could before being stopped. Searon suspected it would be only a matter of time before Arria would be amongst the attackers. It did surprise him how long Aliqua and the other spell casters fought them outside the city before they came dashing back. Searon hoped they hadn’t lost too many. However, the expression on Aliqua’s face was solemn when she glanced to Searon.

  “Benedict, warn Andron and Etherond of the army’s breach of the gate,” Searon whispered.

  “Sir, they have not broken through yet,” Benedict responded.

  Within moments, a scourge of draeyks and daerions came crashing through the tree walls. Searon withdrew his claymore, ready to charge. Benedict beside him appeared worried now, his face in shock. Searon chose him to be his runner since he was young and fast. Searon also hoped because of his lack of experience, it would cause less injury for the young man.

  “At once, Sir Searon. My apologies.” Benedict shivered as Searon’s prediction came true.