“Who are you?” she asked.
He bowed low, gently shifting his hood to reveal his pale white face, nearly as white as Arria’s hair. He had a thick charcoal goatee. A sneer seemed misplaced on his face. A scar traveled from his nose to his upper lip. He held a dagger in his hand similar in shape to her flamberge.
“We are the Ethenchi, or souls of the dark.”
“What is it you seek?” Arria asked.
“We come to serve,” he said.
Arria watched in disbelief as each lowered their hoods. She noticed the figures of men, women, and children of all different colors, from the darkest of blacks to the brightest of whites. Some were tall and some short, but all held an aura around them of power. It seemed they held magic inside of them, a magic stitched together with dark power.
“Where do you come from?” she asked curiously.
“We come from across the sea, in a land far away, full of corruption. We seek new land to corrupt.”
Arria bit her lip excitedly. “My master will be pleased with you.”
On the morning of the sixth day, they safely arrived at Kazna’renth. Arria had a fever but continued to push the creatures, as well as the newly joined Ethenchi, forward. Cold sweat beaded across her forehead as she clutched her left thigh. She could no longer feel her leg, but pain overwhelmed her. The creatures she traveled with seemed oblivious to her pain, but she gathered the Ethenchi had noticed, though they hadn’t said a word.
The welcome was as expected, without cheer or sound, but eerie silence as they marched in. She dismissed the creatures as well as the Ethenchi to make her way to the large black tent by herself. Crows rested upon spears embedded into the ground at the front of the tent. Some picked at the decapitated human heads impaled on the spears. Arria smiled as she lowered herself from the panther, petting the kind beast before ushering it off. Her steps came slow as she dragged her injured leg forward toward the entrance of the tent.
She coughed a few times before clearing her throat with the intention to speak.
“Come in,” a raspy voice said from inside.
Arria entered the tent quietly to find Zergiel sitting in his obsidian chair. A woman in chains knelt half naked at his feet. Besides the slave, he appeared alone. He looked eagerly to her for the news. He frowned when she continued to limp toward him.
“Did the attack go according to plan?” he asked.
“Yes, master. I did hope to kill the strongest kheshlarn archer, but her human lover proved to be stronger than I thought.”
“Hmm … interesting. Could it be—no, I destroyed that village.” He shifted in his seat, doubt showing on his face for only an instant before his gaze turned cold. “Come closer.”
Reluctantly, Arria stepped forward. She watched as he held his zylek forward, touching her wounds. She cringed in pain as the energy pulsed through her body, sending an almost electric feeling through her veins. Once the pain stopped, she felt her skin, discovering her wounds were healed. Her heart beat furiously from being drained from energy. She sat on the ground in front of Zergiel. She crossed her legs in front of her as she stared at her leader.
“The army of nacropi isn’t ready yet. We have damaged the kheshlars, but soon we will dominate them.”
“Yes, master.”
“Now rest, my lovely. There is still much to be done … and you need your rest.”
“Of course, master.” She left the tent, striding at her normal pace once again.
Chapter 27
Whispers carried in the wind around Starlyn. Thousands of Ikchani crowded together in front of a podium built of stone raised a dozen paces above the ground. They stood silent, except for the whispers. No men stood amongst them. Starlyn wondered if their slaves were bound within tents or buildings elsewhere. Starlyn stood on top of the podium, preparing for an announcement, but before she could make it, she had to collect her thoughts. Too many things swirled within her mind; she could not seem to control them.
Beyond any other feeling, Starlyn felt fear and worry. She hadn’t been afraid of the Ikchani women. In fact, she had grown to respect them. At first she had believed them wrong in enslaving men to do their will. Their plans for domination throughout the kingdoms seemed a silly and futile effort. Starlyn understood now that much of these women’s views were correct. Without women in power, the land had been tainted by separation and battle. Men were too goat-headed to fight for alliances rather than conflict. They did not seek to ally the land under one banner, but instead everything had been separated. Separation would be the key to destruction. When a great force approached any of these smaller kingdoms, they could dominate, taking over with little effort. These Ikchani were about to prove the theory by taking over smaller nations, bringing them under their control.
The Ikchani who stood before her were of every type. There were nobles who wore silk dresses in vibrant colors and garments enriched with embroidery, while others were peasants wearing brown or gray tunics. Starlyn wore a silk dress with lace embroidery highlighting her exposed cleavage. She was considered a noble of power, and her knowledge was greatly respected. It was due to the fact she was a kheshlar amidst their ranks. Even Ikchani held kheshlars in high esteem. Kheshlars were one of the races of the land that they were not able to snatch into their ranks, until now. There were many varieties of women. Their skin ranged from white to tan, ebony, and copper from the various lands of Calthoria. The majority of women standing before her were warriors. They only wore heavy metal armor from their waist down. Since they weren’t in battle, it left their top exposed to the breeze as it flowed through the camp. They did not consider it improper due to the fact they had no men in their ranks. Instead, it gave them pride, showing they were the warriors. The number of Ikchani warriors stretched beyond hundreds of thousands. At first the number had dumbfounded Starlyn. She couldn’t believe so many remained hidden from the outside world without anybody knowing. However, she soon learned these women were not surprised by men. The men who lingered close had been captured. Even the sorceresses were in the thousands in number. They weren’t weak in any manner either, but more powerful than Starlyn could have imagined.
Behind Starlyn stood two warriors, four nobles, and three sorceresses, all embroidered like royalty. The three sorceresses who stood behind her were Elainya, Viero, and Cerylia. They were the same ones who fought to break her, but she had grown to respect them now. Each wore no clothing besides the long stainless steel boots and fishnet stockings. Like the rest of the Ikchani sorceresses, they wore tight black collars with spikes around their neck. Starlyn had discovered the collars were a source of power. It amplified their magical ability somehow, but Starlyn remained unsure how they worked. Two wore red fingernail polish while the leader wore blue. No others wore such deep colors. Blue amongst so much red showed her rank. Elainya had been the primary one torturing Starlyn. At first, Starlyn despised the woman, but now she held nothing but respect for her.
The two warriors were captains of the Ikchani army. One she had met before—Adneiva, who was captain of the melee. She could be a hard woman. She wore a red cape with a bronze metal skirt, but little else. Even her helm rested at her side, allowing Starlyn to see her coppery hair on her tan face. The other captain was the leader of the ranged. Most women held crossbows for ranged attacks rather than longbows because of the easier pull of the weapon. Not all women were able to pull a bowstring with ease, but some became excellent marksmen. Crossbows were certainly effective amongst the ranks of Ikchani. The ranged captain was an ebony-skinned woman named Nyeverra. She held a bow, with a quiver attached to her back. Unlike many of the others surrounding Starlyn, Nyeverra wore a complete set of leather armor. She held herself with more confidence than most Ikchani.
There stood only four nobles behind her, but each had to fight for the position. A total of ten had constantly bothered her with politics of the Ikchani in order to prepare her for the speech. She understood most of it now, and she respected the Ikchani in a way. St
ill, she wished they had better ways to deal with men rather than death or imprisonment. If she lived long enough, she would discuss better ways to treat men, but her time didn’t seem as if it would last much longer. Three of the noblewomen dressed in red, and one wore a brown silk dress with embroidery. One had ebony skin and the other three were coppery with bright eyes full of hope. They encouraged Starlyn to begin, but she was not yet prepared.
Pain tore through her body, making her weak. Most were familiar with her condition, although they did not understand. She did not understand it either, but she could no longer worry about it. They had sent her sorceress healers to ease her pain, but none had been able to find the cause. It did not matter anymore. Soon she would die, but first she would direct the Ikchani in the right path. Perhaps Searon could form an alliance with the stubborn women, but it wouldn’t be likely. She flinched again as pain shot through her stomach to her groin. She felt blood trickling along her leg. She cringed slightly before standing erect once more. She had fought past the pain before and she could do so again.
She did not hold the same hatred of men the rest of the Ikchani held. It might have been possible had she never met Searon or Noraes. Searon was not a foolish man, or perhaps he was, but he had been steadying himself. She could tell his emotions no longer revolved around revenge. He was more of a general now than ever. She had known he was a leader before from what knowledge of his past she could claw from him, but he was greater now. His leadership stretched beyond her own as far as she could tell. She was able to rally the kheshlars in a previous war, but she held nothing compared to the grip Searon now held on the humans. He would soon have the kheshlars entwined with him. Regret filled her. She could not be there to aid him on his quest. Perhaps with these Ikchani, she could point them in the right direction to go to his aid. If they could only see past their selfish goal to enslave all men, perhaps they could see the greater good.
Noraes filled her mind with a flood of warmth, causing a smile to grace her serene face. Never before had she met a man so warm and understanding in all of her travels. Yet, she hadn’t traveled to see many of the humans, besides the few she came across in her journeys. Searon was strong and singled-minded, with only one purpose and goal. At first it had seemed he would be where her heart settled, because they each held the same goal: destruction of the draeyks. It seemed logical at the time. She knew better when she glanced upon Noraes for the first time. He hadn’t been as savage as Searon, showing more of a baby face, reminding her more of a kheshlar. Magic filled him, which she felt in his presence, but he was in complete control.
The touch of his lips on hers gave her warmth. She felt giddy when she thought about it. It hadn’t been foreseen what would happen between them, but when they were left alone, she could do little to stop it. They talked about Searon, life, and everything between. Beyond any other, he seemed to understand her intimately. Anaela was one of her closest friends, but there were things Anaela didn’t even know which Starlyn had confessed to Noraes. His presence had melted her knees to butter, and she didn’t understand it. She wondered if it could be fate which brought the two of them together. He seemed to gaze at her as passionately as she looked at him when they first met. At first she thought it had been because he had never seen a kheshlar before. After they talked, she realized she wasn’t unique. He’d met hundreds of kheshlars in another journey of his life, a journey Searon hadn’t even known about. Starlyn remembered stroking her hands in his dirty blond hair, feeling his brown birthmark on his forehead. His face sat hard with a thick jaw. Slight facial hair gave him masculinity. Yet, she considered him beautiful rather than handsome, with thick brown eyebrows and extra-long eyelashes dwarfing her own. He was proud beyond any other she had known. Even Searon seemed unsure of himself. Noraes remained proud and confident, and it showed on his beautiful face. She longed to be in his embrace again, to feel his strong hands grasping at her naked back.
Shivers shook her entire body. She had to shift herself again to reject such thoughts. How dare she be thinking about being in Noraes’s bed as she stood on a podium for a speech. It wasn’t proper, but oh did she crave it. No, she would keep her head in the right place, even if her body wasn’t. It still writhed in pain beyond any other she had known. She would have gladly taken a battle scar rather than this absolute pain.
“Welcome,” she said softly, nervously scanning the crowd.
Chapter 28
Searon stepped outside, feeling the brisk wind brush across his scruffy face. It felt like he hadn’t shaved in weeks, although it had only been a few days. He let out a heavy sigh, brushing his thick brown hair away from his eyes. Kheshlars scurried in the streets in every direction, cleaning the disaster left behind from the battle. Some gathered the fallen to provide ceremonies for them later in the night.
Searon eagerly fought his way through the crowd toward the kheshlarn infirmary. Normally, the tree was empty, except for the time when Searon had been injured. Kheshlars were seldom in battles. They never got sick either, so there hadn’t been much use for the infirmary other than a beautifully crafted building. It almost seemed the trees would grow to accommodate the kheshlars, creating an immaculate sight. When he stepped inside, he had to dodge several kheshlars who cluttered the hallways. For the first time in a long time, injured kheshlars sat in the infirmary. Their friends and family gathered to help bandage and give medicine. Most carried flowers or herbs to bring in or out of the rooms.
Searon continued past the chaos in the first few levels, until he reached the urgent care rooms. There weren’t as many in urgent care as in the rest of the building. He recognized the hallway and rooms as the ones he had been in himself when he was injured. The door he stood in front of, holding his breath, was the same room he had recovered in. It would be different this time, the situation reversed. He exhaled the breath he had held for several minutes before pushing the door open.
Inside, the room glowed bright with white walls and sheets. A lone rocking chair sat alongside the bed. He strolled over to sit. His grip loosened on the book he held in his hand until he laid it on his lap. The black leather cover was worn, and some pages were torn, but it was the only book in his possession. It was the same book he used to read to his son before bedtime on the nights he could be home. He opened it to chapter twelve where he had left off, beginning to read softly, enjoying the silence of the room. The book’s title read Everlasting Journey. It was a tale about a young boy who saved mankind from dragons well over a century ago. It was a sad tale as the boy died at the end. While most of the book was journal entries from the young man, the ending had been completed by those who were with him on his quest.
The sheets on the bed stirred next to him. He shifted to see Anaela twitching slightly. A smile lit Searon’s face for only a moment before he continued reading. He’d stayed by her side for four days now, reading aloud to her with hopes she would come out of her deep sleep. There hadn’t been much he could offer for healing, but at least he could try to comfort her. Several times a day kheshlars would come in to give her herbs and medicine, but nobody stayed with her. She had been there for Searon, taking care of him while he lay ill; he knew it was the least he could do to be there for her.
“Anaela?” he whispered.
She shifted again. Searon folded the corner of a page before closing the book. He watched her for any sign of movement, noticing she breathed swifter than normal. Her head tossed frantically from side to side, as if she experienced a nightmare. He reached for her hand to clasp in his own. He felt as her hand clenched his with more strength than he imagined her having, almost breaking his bones. Suddenly, her eyes opened. She thrashed up, screaming, nearly pulling him off the rocking chair.
She turned to face him, her grip on his hand loosening. Her eyes swelled, tears beginning to fall uncontrollably. She dove off the bed and into his arms. He showed surprise, but embraced her fully, holding her tight, never wanting to let go.
Chapter 29
Sunlig
ht entering the tent awoke Zergiel from his slumber. With a cruel smile, he got to his feet, peering through the window of his blank tent to glare at the red sun. There had been bloodshed, which brought him warm thoughts. For the past week, there had been red suns to awake to, which he found the most beautiful sunrise. He wanted to keep it red every morning. Little happiness could be found for him, but a red sunrise was one event which sparked his softer side.
Once, he had happiness in the arms of his beloved, but those times were long past. He could still remember the sweet scent of lavender in her blonde hair. The memories of her sparkling blue eyes still haunted his dreams, making nightmares. Without her, he was nothing but an empty shell. It took such effort to fill the void inside of his chest. He chose to fill the void with pure hatred, hatred toward his former friend, Karceoles. If it had not been for Karceoles, his love might not have died.
He pounded his fist on his cedar desk, making it rattle in objection, startling his slave in the corner. She shivered in her chains as Zergiel glared at her. A glint found his eye as he motioned her toward him with his finger. With a gulp, she complied and shakily crept toward him. When she stood in arm’s reach, he pulled her to him. Even with a slave and all the lust he could muster, there was still no comparison to his love’s touch. The woman before him was beautiful, even now with the scattered scars all across her body. Zergiel had to put them there to make her listen. If there was one thing he couldn’t tolerate, it was a resistant slave. She was not supposed to have a mind anymore, but only do his bidding and anything he required to make his life easier.
She had been a gift from his draeyk army after storming a selection of villages. He was careful in choosing which villages to destroy. Some had been far enough away from others that they could be destroyed unnoticed. However, one of them was important to his cause: Anevrea. He had foreseen a warrior in that pathetic city who could destroy everything he planned. It hadn’t been a prophecy, as there seldom was any such nonsense. It was only the knowledge that a man who lived there could rise to greatness. Still, Zergiel made sure to use his magic to his benefit to find if any such person could be strong enough to destroy him. His answer had been hazy, as he thought it would be, but it did show danger would come from Anevrea; therefore, he made the only logical move. He destroyed everything in the village. Everyone … except his slave … the draeyks kept her as a prize for their victory. She did not matter, as he couldn’t even remember her name.
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