The Obsidian Arrow

by Craig A. Price Jr.

  A smile slipped onto Searon’s face, not only for Benedict’s reaction, but also for his claymore, which would soon taste blood. He rushed at a draeyk, pushing his blade hard against the creature’s small sabre. His face slid close to the draeyk, and it snarled at him. The breath of the creatures smelled foul beyond any stench Searon could think of. It caused him to take a few steps back to await the creature’s next attack.

  Another draeyk stepped forward, snarling at Searon. He was too busy noticing the large horns rising from its snout past its forehead to care about its snarl. Most of the draeyks he had faced before now had small nubs in different areas of their skull, but never as defined as the one he faced. In fact, the more Searon regarded it, the more he noticed larger horns amongst the draeyks in front of him. It appeared as if they had been mutated to be stronger, or at least look fiercer. A few even had horns below their chin, making them even more intimidating. He even saw draeyks with slight spots on their underside.

  As the two draeyks rushed him, he angled his claymore efficiently to block each blow with one movement. He backed away, kicking dirt at their eyes, affecting only one. He took the opportunity to toss his new throwing knife at the draeyk. It caught in its throat, and the draeyk crumpled to the ground. Searon frowned when the knife didn’t reappear in his sash. He wished he still had his magical throwing knife, but knew it had been more important in Starlyn’s hand. He only hoped she fared well.

  The horn-bearded draeyk rushed at Searon, attacking swift and fierce. Searon could only block the first two strikes. He tried dodging the third, but it slashed his arm. He backed away, feeling his arm sting as he glanced at it. The draeyk skillfully struck a spot between plate mail attachments, but thankfully Searon had chain mail underneath, which prevented the strike from being fatal. It would still leave a bruise. Searon became enraged.

  He ran at the draeyk, this time delivering three quick strikes, which became quite a feat for a heavy claymore. The first two strikes had been blocked with impressive skill, but the third succeeded in chopping off the draeyk’s left hand. The hand circled in the air, forcing Searon to duck to avoid the sharp nails from finding his face. When Searon stood, the draeyk did something he didn’t expect—it kicked him.

  Searon grew more enraged as he lay on the ground, two paces behind where he once stood. His men helped him to his feet, and he responded by grabbing a throwing knife out of one of their sashes. He glared at the draeyk, who seemed to be chuckling, before launching the knife at the creature. The blade lodged into its skull, next to a horn, and the awful clicking laugh of the draeyk ceased. Another second passed before the draeyk fell backward, crashing into several more.

  “Sir Searon. How do you fare?”

  Searon spun around to see his friend Andron standing in front of him with his helm secured. A smile plastered the warrior’s face as he pulled out his sword, quickly striking down a draeyk who tried to pass.

  “Shouldn’t you be with your men?” Searon asked as he blocked a few attacks from an incoming daerion.

  “And miss out on battling alongside you? Not a chance,” Andron exclaimed. “Besides, you were right. They are only attacking the south side. The only ones up to the east are the separated ones you’ve been letting through. I’ve decided to give you a hand in preventing them.”

  “Welcome to the party then.” Searon smiled.

  Searon sliced off the daerion’s left horn, followed by its head, before kicking the body into another pack of daerions approaching. He raised his claymore, tapping it against Andron’s sword, the clinging of metal echoing throughout the front lines.

  Kheshlarn horns rang throughout the city. The terrific battle cry of the kheshlars, which had probably been the first time the instruments had been touched in many years. Searon noticed Anaela approaching as arrows flew in front of him, killing several draeyks and daerions before they could reach him. She showed impressive archery as each of her arrows found the skull of an enemy. He could tell which arrows were hers, as they had green feathers and obsidian tips. The rest of the kheshlars used white feathers with steel or stone arrowheads. They were almost as impressive with their arrows as she, but not quite. Searon still saw plenty of steel arrows striking the same enemy, or some barely missing their target to bounce across the ground.

  The humans held a defense triangle formation, causing the draeyks and daerions to attempt charging the two sides to break through. They tried to break the front of the triangle, but with Searon and Andron at the tip, it proved stronger than they expected.

  Searon learned the weaknesses and strengths of his enemy. He became able to dispatch his enemies in short time, especially with Andron’s help. The two fought well together, with skill that outshone the swordsmen around them. Searon would often weaken them with his long blade, slashing their sabres or axes out of the way for Andron to deliver the death blow. They showed teamwork, which the draeyks and daerions lacked, being the selfish creatures they were. Searon prided himself in teaching his men to work together in battle, many doing so behind him, which kept their losses minimal. He always enjoyed training with his men, and often did so in two-against-one duels.

  The next draeyk who attempted to step toward Searon’s blade was blasted away by green energy. A draeyk filled its place only to be blasted by orange flame, which caught it, and several others nearby, on fire. Searon grinned as he turned to see the wizard rushing to battle, a large grin spreading across his face, holding his zylek in the air.

  “Would you like some mashed potatoes with your fried lizard?” Karceoles chuckled.

  It always proved to be scary to Karceoles how blasting something with magic put him in such a cheerful mood. At least he kept his eagerness for battle at bay, only unleashing his pleasure when necessary. Karceoles remained good as far as his morals. It enraged him to find his old friend Zergiel taking pleasure in slaughtering humans and kheshlars.

  The magic Karceoles saw Zergiel use seemed darker as well. Karceoles no longer considered Zergiel a wizard by any means. Once one left the magic of good to begin the magic of evil, especially to not return with understanding of right and wrong, they became a warlock. Karceoles hated to admit Zergiel was no longer of the wizard order—his morals and dark magic were that of a warlock. Admitting it had been hard for Karceoles, because once he found Zergiel to be a good friend.

  Outside of the battlefield, he used sarcasm to cope. In the middle of battle, however, he used magic to take out his frustration on his enemies, smiling as he blasted away draeyks and daerions. It made for such a better day.

  It would be more efficient to just use simple spells to blast draeyks and daerions away into the crowd. Karceoles knew it, but simply put, it wouldn’t be fun enough for him. He liked the thrill of crafting exotic spells to watch either sparks or flames. There was something about flame which he couldn’t deny enjoying. He smiled again as an orange fireball emitted from the end of his zylek. It collided with the skull of a daerion, setting its flesh aflame, but leaving its horns intact, to fall into the ash.

  Battle had always been enjoyable around Searon as the wizard felt he stood in similar company, enjoying the battle. Searon enjoyed it more for revenge … at least he used to. Karceoles knew when he brought the young human out of his depressed and fragile state, he would open up to be the man he’d always been. He was a champion, a hero of battle, a captain or general, if you will.

  Karceoles stood close to Sh’on, deciding to cooperate with his plan of teaming up their magical abilities. Although he wouldn’t be fully controlled by the mage. He still had to have fun. What would fighting for your life be without any fun? Each creature Sh’on skillfully blasted backward, Karceoles shot a bolt of orange lightning at. It was humorous watching the horror on its allies’ faces as they witnessed the chaos. Chaos is a battle’s best friend.

  “This is not what I meant by helping,” Sh’on said.

  “Ah … but help it is, my friend. Was barbecued lizard not on the menu tonight?” Karceoles asked.


  “No … it most certainly was not.” Sh’on laughed.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing out on then. It’s an exquisite taste.” Karceoles winked.

  Turning back to the battlefield, he noticed how effective the kheshlarn archers had been with their arrows. He suddenly got an idea. The arrows seemed to be destroying most of the creatures, while the magic stood second, and the blade remained third.

  “Let’s change these odds, shall we?” Karceoles whispered.

  Holding his zylek high, he chanted words inside his head, causing the tip of his zylek to catch aflame. With a smile, he shifted his zylek forward, letting small sparks of flame scatter through the air, catching each airborne arrow aflame. As each arrow struck its target, the victim caught aflame. The arrows which missed, striking the ground, set a small but growing fire on the surface. Their defense appeared impenetrable.

  “It’s about time you came up with an idea worth a spark,” Sh’on yelled.

  “You’re just mad that I came up with it, and not you. Do not fear, my friend; these good looks of mine do come with a brain!” Karceoles laughed.

  Sh’on smiled, following the wizard’s ideas to begin catching his own chosen arrows aflame, although they appeared green rather than orange. He could only aim for one arrow at a time as a mage. Karceoles knew Sh’on wouldn’t mind having a zylek and the power that went along with it. Sh’on was much quicker than Karceoles, though, and he created a good number of fiery green arrows. An arrow hadn’t gone unattended. Sh’on changed his tactic from fire to ice. With ice arrows penetrating skin, it froze the creatures solid, creating a barrier the others had to find a way around.

  Karceoles noticed Arria, whose eyes were lit with rage. She easily slashed through humans one by one on the west flank. He could feel her stare deep into his soul. A stare of pure anger. He knew she would be ready with some kind of counter. He only feared what it would be, and if they would be ready for it.

  Anaela raised an eyebrow, impressed the wizard came up with such an idea … especially Karceoles. She stared in disbelief as her arrows caught aflame, causing more havoc amongst the invading army. From what she’d heard about the wizard—especially the remarks her friend Starlyn made about him—he seemed to have no sense. He seemed a fool in brown robes with a long walking stick. Relief filled her when she realized he actually had some skill, especially during a tough battle.

  She watched in awe as her arrows changed from orange to green as the mage took over the magical effects of her arrows. Anaela smirked as they froze draeyk and daerion alike solid. With such effects, she studied her target further before releasing an arrow, making sure to hit specific areas which rendered more than one creature frozen. She also loosed a few arrows to create a barrier in front of Searon to help protect him. Anaela didn’t know why she felt the urge to protect him, but it lay in her heart, hidden beneath her emotions.

  The arrows worked well for a while, until Anaela noticed Arria approach the other side of the battlefield. At first the undead kheshlar had kept busy slaughtering humans and kheshlars alike by flamberge, but now she seemed to realize where her attack had failed. Arria ran straight for the archers. Anaela changed her focus toward Arria, but her flamberge held a blackish-purple glow and deflected each arrow she released. If there would be anyone quick enough to dodge or block an arrow, it would definitely be Arria.

  Fear overcame Anaela’s emotions. Arria approached too quick. Nobody could stop her. Even with the changed focus of dozens of kheshlarn archers, Arria still charged at full speed. There was no mistaking that Arria was Starlyn’s older sister. Her cunningness matched Starlyn’s beyond any other’s.

  She gained territory on them. Anaela signaled for the archers to scatter, creating more difficult targets. Yet, it did not seem to matter—as Anaela suspected, the only target Arria had in mind was her. Arria closed within a meter. Anaela quickly secured her bow to her back before withdrawing a sword, the emeralds shining in the silver hilt.

  Her attempt of self-defense proved futile as Arria tackled Anaela to the ground. Through the rush, Anaela’s sword dropped to the ground a span out of reach, clanging loudly before coming to a rattling stop. Desperately, Anaela searched for the comfort of her sword, but Arria stood in front of her, kicking the sword even further from reach. A gentle smirk found its way onto Arria’s cold face as she prepared for the death blow. Anaela gulped, closing her eyes.

  Chapter 23

  Arria grinned as she inspected the trembling wood kheshlar. She should have finished the woman a long time ago. Years had passed where she had been unsure if any survived her massacre. Only one had survived. And now, Arria had the chance to correct her mistake …

  Chapter 24

  Starlyn could hear faint whispers in the dark, which would have once been unsettling. Now it made her smile with pleasure, because she knew the whispers were about her. Never before had an outcast of the Ikchani been brought up in the ranks so quickly. Starlyn had paid a high price for such recognition. She had the scars to prove it all across her body. They were healing, but much slower than it normally would take a kheshlar. The pain of whippings remained fresh in her mind. Despite her pain, a smile came upon her face. She would get back at those who had beaten her. It was the way of the Ikchani. They knew it was coming. Starlyn would no longer be a kheshlar … for there were no races within the Ikchani.

  She sat at her desk, skimming over scrolls and treaties on lands. Strangely, the Ikchani paperwork disregarded anything about draeyks or daerions. It stated they would first take over the humans, one capital at a time, before facing the kheshlars. Before she had willingly joined their ranks, she wouldn’t have thought it possible for such an act to be completed. However, no longer did doubt cross her mind. They had the power in their ranks as well as thousands of male slaves. The most impressive had been their ranks of sorceresses, who held no mercy. There had been no mercy when the sorceresses visited her in the prison cell. The three women had been determined to make Starlyn obey. After much foolish reluctance, Starlyn finally bowed to the will of the Ikchani.

  Starlyn shivered as she remembered the sorceresses. She sat at her desk with the haunting memories tormenting her mind. She had only seen three, the most powerful, but now she knew there were thousands. The three she had seen, she would never forget. The leader of the sorceresses, Elainya, with black hair past her shoulders. Viero, the blonde, who proved to be the most bitter of the sorceresses. And Cerylia with medium-brown hair, the mellowest of them all.

  She hadn’t confessed everything to them; in fact, far from it. As a kheshlar, she couldn’t lie, but she had gotten good at choosing what she said. She merely said she had been getting sick and traveled to seek a cure. It proved to be as close to the truth as she could get. Nobody questioned her, especially after the trials. Shivers ran along her spine as she thought about the trials.

  The memories faded as Starlyn finished her paperwork and stood. She stared into the mirror. Her weak face was reflected, drained of energy. Every day she spent with the Ikchani, she grew weaker and weaker. Starlyn knew if she stayed much longer, she would diminish, but it became out of her control. After being forced to kill the four men to survive, she had been sworn to the Ikchani with strong vows she could not betray.

  A knock startled her. She turned to glance at the black iron door. The room she resided in was small, but luxurious compared to the cell she had spent time in. She was one of them now, but they continued to keep a close watch on her.

  The door opened, and a woman wearing scarcely any clothing stepped inside. She wore a bronze helm covering most of her face besides her silver eyes and luscious red lips. A crimson satin cape was chained with gold around her neck, draping to her ankles. She had tall bronze shin guards past her knees, but opened toe sandals on her feet. Bronze gauntlets kept her forearms and elbows protected, but didn’t cover her hands. Metal pierced her belly button. Starlyn had never seen such a thing until meeting the Ikchani.

  “Captain
Adneiva.” Starlyn bowed.

  Starlyn tried not to stare at the woman’s uncovered bosom after curtsying. She flashed her attention back to the woman’s eyes. It had been odd for Starlyn to find these women held no embarrassment for their lack of clothing. They had claimed the humidity too great to bother with clothes unless in battle.

  “I caught these wandering our cities.” Adneiva lifted three heads by their hair to set on Starlyn’s desk.

  All three of the heads appeared male and middle-aged by their graying beards. Each wore an expression of ultimate horror with eyes wide and mouth agape. Starlyn could only imagine Adneiva slowly decapitating each one while they lived. Starlyn glanced to the tanned oily woman and smiled.

  “Well done, Adneiva. Perhaps they will think twice before spying on us again. Place their heads on spears at our front gates for everyone to see how we deal with spies.” Starlyn smirked.

  “As you wish, Duchess Starlyn.” Adneiva bowed before leaving the room with the heads.

  When the door closed, Starlyn sank in her chair, clutching her chest and stomach. The pain came back strong now. She didn’t think she had long before she would suffer the same fate as her mother. Tears streaked her cheeks as she gritted her teeth. She gazed at the ceiling, wishing she could see the stars to pray upon them.

  Chapter 25

  Everything remained quiet in the blackness inside of Anaela’s head. The loud battle cries of kheshlars and humans alike surrounded her, seeming to fade into oblivion. Her head ached. She wished her last moments could be in peace and not despair, but it would be too much to ask for. Blood streaked her face, trickling into her eyes and mouth. The taste of it was foul to her own lips, but she knew to anyone else it would taste like bloody watermelon.

  Memories flooded her mind of good times spent with her friend Starlyn. Anaela truly missed her. There hadn’t been any other kheshlars who understood Anaela as much as Starlyn had. Even though Starlyn was a high kheshlar in the large city, she had still been an outcast to her race. Anaela stayed in the outskirts of the city as a wood kheshlar and she had been truly alone. She didn’t even know if any more wood kheshlars were out there, or if she were truly the last. The feeling of being alone always tormented Anaela’s mind. Elsargast had taken her in when she was a lost young woman. She remained grateful for his hospitality. However, now he lay dead, and the one who had been like a father to her faded to only a memory.