The Girl With Red Hair (The Last War Saga Book 1)

by Michael J Sanford

They all seemed to speak at once. It made the Gorax dizzy.

  “What are you?”

  “Wicked.”

  “Can I touch you?”

  “Look at all the arms and legs that thing has.”

  “Sachihiro, if you touch anything, I swear I will push you off this thing.”

  “Addy, stay close, hon, don’t get too near the edge.”

  “Wicked!”

  “I’m just taking a little grass to look at later, relax. It might be important.”

  “This is it? Not much here.”

  “ENOUGH!” the Gorax bellowed as its head swam and it began to lose track of the many threads of speech. “You are not Fae. Why have you come?”

  The Tannyl elf struck the Sachihiro of thick arms and stepped forward. He laid an open palm against his chest and bowed until his body was parallel to the ground. Still looking at the ground, he said, “We have come to speak with your All-Mother. We seek passage through your Wyld.” He stood up after speaking.

  “That is an old greeting, Alfurian,” the Gorax said. Its voice hinted at disgust, but it was impressed at seeing an old custom. “Only the ancient Druids of the Forest Realm use it still.”

  “I meant no disrespect.”

  The Gorax waved a dismissive hand and spit in an apology of its own custom. “The All-Mother will not see Outsyders, no matter how many of the twelve hundred and sixty-three Fae greetings you may display.”

  “It is very important,” the elf replied. The Gorax could smell the anger in his words though his face concealed it. He could also smell something else, but the elf kept it well hidden, as if he knew the way Fae sensed emotions.

  “No.”

  “But Erlen said we could,” the burly man shouted. He looked around, his posture made of confusion and worry. “Hey, where is he anyway?”

  “Erlen?” the Gorax asked. He smelled the response before the burly one could give it. “Dragontamer? Erlen the Dragontamer?”

  “Yeah,” the Sachihiro human said defiantly. “You know, he tames dragons.” The man smirked. Obvious disrespect. Even its eyes told it that.

  “You will leave now, Outsyders.” The Gorax spat the last word, desiring the human, elf, and offspring to fully realize its meaning. It wanted no confusion. Those that consorted with forbidden Fae were not wanted. And he was beginning to catch a scent from the elf that it did not like.

  The thick-armed one began to react, smelling of rage and defiance, but his words came in a jumble and were quickly deluded in the words of the tall one with thin arms and bright eyes. He smelled the most trustworthy of the whole lot, except perhaps the small thing, but her origin and entire being unnerved the Gorax. It hated enigmas.

  The tall one made to mime the ancient Druid greeting and failed, instead bowing as a Synadi would before a duel. “Please ignore Sachihiro,” he said, staring at the ground at an increasingly disrespectful angle, even for a Synadi. The Gorax allowed the ignorance out of pity. “He and the others recently lost their home and loved ones to a terrible tragedy. We want now only to help the girl, Adelaide, get to Wolverhampton, in the Empire lands. We were told this was the only way.”

  The Gorax climbed over the edge of its desk and covered the distance between it and the tall one with autumn hair. It had allowed the human to speak, but nothing of what was said or smelled swayed the creature. Bony spines began to slide out from every joint of its arms. Killing held no pleasure for the Gorax. It was merely a means to an end. Then it smelled it and immediately withdrew its spines, abandoning any thought of violence.

  “What did you say?” it asked, locking its eye on the pair on the burly one’s furry face.

  The man frowned and crossed his arms.

  “What. Did. You. Say?”

  The man stared back, unfazed by the increase in aggression within the Gorax’s words. Perhaps it had been too subtle. Oral communication was such a crude construct. Simple creatures.

  “I said dumb bitch and her shadow dragons. They destroyed our home and killed my uncle. Had nothing to do with you.”

  The Gorax turned and crawled back atop its desk, sending papers scattering in all directions. The words disturbed the creature. The smell of them disturbed it even more. The human spoke raw truth. It digested the words and arranged its own before turning back. It spat again. Another apology.

  “You will go and speak with the Council in Paladrix,” it said. “You will tell of what befell your home.”

  Its nostrils were assaulted with waves of both confusion and relief. The elf reeked of distrust, but still his face held firm. The group exchanged many looks. They were trying to decide whether to ask more questions of the Gorax. The scent was easy to interpret.

  The small one with power that carried a satchel of animal hide and vest of many pockets stepped apart from the group. He did not put forth any greeting. “All right,” he said. “How do we get there?”

  The Gorax twisted its face into a smile, the human sign of amusement, and pointed to the archway of white stone. It was the only archway on the Archway. Again confusion, this time mixed with doubt. Worry.

  “Step through,” the Gorax said, eager to be rid of the putrid bunch.

  The group encircled the Sachihiro human and began pushing him toward the archway. He resisted, jumped away from the others, and held up his hands.

  “I’ll go myself, thank you very much,” he said, and stepped reluctantly through the archway.

  The others exchanged many looks with the same scent. More doubt. The small offspring grabbed the hands of the humans. Trust. They vanished a moment later, leaving only the elf with the face of stone. He stepped toward the portal but stopped, turning back to the Gorax.

  “The old Druid tribes,” he said, face neutral, but scent rife with apprehension. “They still exist within the Forest Realm?”

  The Gorax nodded its large head.

  “The Na’ling tribe…”

  The Gorax nodded again, enjoying the rich scents emanating from the elf. It finally smelled what the elf had tried so hard to keep from it. And it was delicious.

  The elf nodded. Then he stepped through the archway and was gone.

  The Gorax crawled back into its chair and let out a moan of deep pleasure. Its pores opened and emitted a cloud of pheromones. What the elf had given at the last moment; they were two of his favorite scents. Love and shame, so perfectly intertwined it made the Gorax’s skin tremble. It purred with satisfaction and closed its eye.

  Chapter Eleven

  MAIRA STRODE INTO the throne room poised and confident, her naked footfalls silent and sure. The life she had taken from the farmer was strong and vibrant, more so than any she had tasted before. It made the transition far quicker and left her feeling energized. She had already decided she would taste of the son as well. No matter what He said. It was strange; never had she felt so alive. And she was never more clearly dead than now. She laughed heartily as she approached.

  You have defied me, wife.

  Maira knelt before the dais, but never lowered her eyes from the shadowy form chained above her. She spit silent defiance with her gaze, daring a rebuke.

  Long chains bound His arms and legs, pulling in opposite directions, embedded in the black obsidian of the walls. His form was humanoid, though often devoid of any features but a constantly shifting mist of black. Every now and again, however, the shadow at His face would disperse, revealing the stern eyes and features of a Noble elf. It did so now. For just a moment, His face contorted with an emotion Maira had not witnessed before. She let her gaze fall.

  “You are troubled,” she said, her previous vehemence gone. “I did not defy you out of anger or lack of love, dear husband. It was only in hopes of pleasing you.”

  Do not dare to think you know my emotions or thoughts, He said sharply. Then, Yes, I feel at ill at ease. The Chosen fell at Trefalls, just as you did, but the Guardians have claimed others for their game.

  Maira stood and slowly climbed the obsidian steps until she stood before h
er imprisoned Lord and husband. “You have always said the Chosen are merely for sport. Entertainment. A feeble chance, destined for failure. Does it matter if more have risen? They will fall just as they always have. You have said it is so.”

  The shadowy form contorted and pulled at its chains, but they held fast. Magic continued to leech from the surface and snake about His bindings, strengthening Him, but it was clear even to Maira that it was not yet enough to free Him.

  I spoke the truth, but the Guardians should not be here. They have never taken mortal form before. And the girl… It all troubles me deeply. I cannot see in this form. You are my eyes, dear wife. My ears and my hands. It is why I sent you to the others. Their Chosen.

  Maira noticed softness in the voice that was seldom exposed. Her heart broke at that moment and she wanted nothing more than to embrace Him. Instead, she brought a hand to His cheek. There was no feeling in her fingers as she displaced the shadowy mist. She doubted He felt it any more than she did.

  “Always, my love. Let me destroy them. It will guarantee your rise. Once freed, even the Guardians will not be able to stand before you. So what if they have come to bear closer witness to your victory? You will have it all the same and the world will burn.”

  NO! He bellowed, the force of the voice felling Maira to her knees. Tears came to her eyes, but she stopped them from falling. I must know why the girl is here. She is not one of the Chosen, but something else. Something they created with purpose. Stay near these new Chosen, love, and soon you will have my blessing to destroy them.

  “And Penthos to follow?”

  The face appeared once more, lingering longer this time, and revealed a smile. He was beautiful. Yes, my dear wife, vengeance will come in all forms in due time. And for Penthos most of all. All of the Six will curse the mistake that led them here.

  “And I can go back? Back to…” Her voice trailed off as she struggled to recall lost memories. They flitted away and she was left wondering why she had spoken the words.

  Return to them. Become a terror that will keep them awake at night. Feed off their fear and anger. But keep them alive, for now. The Harbinger must be allowed to bring my Other and begin the War. Then the end shall come. Wicked laughter echoed through Maira’s mind.

  She stood again. “Yes, my love.”

  She nodded and turned to leave, but at the bottom of the steps, something stopped her. She turned back to Him. “Is there something more, Husband?”

  The changing figure of shadow seemed to think for a moment. Then it answered, voice resolute and confident. It reminded Maira why she loved Him so.

  You may kill the one called Alexander.

  The part that called itself Decay watched Maira leave the throne room. It reveled in the way her hips swayed. Her beauty was intoxicating in the most primal of ways. It was one of the things Decay loved most about being mortal.

  Decay twisted and contorted, releasing the image of the elven man from its face. It shuddered at having to wear such a grotesque visage for the woman. But it was what she needed to see and so it was what Decay gave her. But still, an elf? It shivered, shaking the chains that held it suspended. The pain that resulted from being suspended there for so long was excruciating, yet another thing it truly loved about being mortal.

  It sent out a call that was little more than a thought. It didn’t even bother to imprint words on its target, just intention. It would be enough.

  Vyncis Gewralt entered the room a moment later. He strode toward the dais with confidence unfitting of a corpse, his footfalls clanging loudly off the obsidian. The man never went anywhere without the full splendor of his silver armor. It covered near all of him, leaving only his square-jawed head visible, topped with a tight crop of blond hair. A long scar ran from his left temple to right jaw, the flesh puckered and purple. Decay had seen to it that Vyncis’s head was reassembled, but even in death a wound like that… well, some things transcended even death.

  The long-dead Emperor stood at rapt attention before Decay, a gauntlet pressed to his chest. “Yes, High Lord?”

  Decay dispersed the inky shadows from its head for just a moment and twisted its face into that of a human man. A rough white beard grew below a deep-set frown and violent golden eyes. The face was strong and commanded respect. It was a face that had seen battle and won wars.

  You will ready the spawn to invade the Fae Wyld.

  Vyncis nodded, but his face flashed doubt. For just a moment.

  Please, speak your mind, Emperor. You have my ear.

  He cleared his throat. “Milord, it’s just… We cannot breach the Fae Wyld; not even the weakest of the Shade spawns. But we have holds in Alfuria. Your prince has opened—”

  Yes, I know, it said forcefully. Hilaros thinks she keeps the Fae lands protected, existing in between worlds, but in truth, that only makes her more vulnerable. The Guardians’ presence continues to unnerve me and, separated from my godhood, I fail to see their purpose in being here.

  “You have a way in?”

  The gleam that shone in the Emperor’s eyes was something Decay never tired of seeing. It was one of the reasons it had chosen Vyncis. He was ruthless. And he was also single-minded. That served it in many ways as well. Orders were always followed, and the Emperor made an excellent listener. He seldom understood anything he was told above a simple kill order. And he never wanted more.

  My dear wife will see to it that a way is opened. Soon. Undoubtedly, it will only allow the passage of a handful of the weaker spawn, but enough to get Hilaros’s attention. And the new Chosen. It is time they know I am here.

  “Of course, Milord. I’ll see that it is done.”

  I know.

  The Emperor spun and marched stiffly from the throne room just as he had come. Decay let out a deep sigh and fell again into shapeless shadows. It inhaled, bringing in some of the magic that leeched along the surface of its chains. It felt invigorated for a moment, but it was not nearly enough. But things were progressing far faster than they usually did. It had the Guardians to thank for that. It was their presence that added so dramatically to the pool of energy that it fed off of. Decay laughed. Perhaps the Guardians binding to the world as mortals would benefit it in the end. It had always dreamed of being freed from their oppressive presence. Always watching. Always judging.

  The moment faded quickly and it shuddered violently. It needed to know why they came. It had never been done before. Lacking its godhood rendered Decay with far less of its normal power and knowledge, but one thing it always kept in the transition was the memory of all the wars past. The Guardians had never dared walk along the world they created. And the Chosen never rose again. It all troubled Decay, something he could not admit to even Vyncis. And especially not to his wife. Maira was far too fragile. Its grasp on her was weak at best. It was unsure how long the woman would be of use. Sending her after Alexander was simply a way of maintaining its control over her a while longer, for it knew she would kill him regardless. It was beginning to wonder if Maira had been a mistake. She was filled with such vengeful anger that it thought her useful at the time, but now she seemed a liability. No matter. Whatever swatch of destruction the woman left in her wake would serve it in one way or another. The end was inevitable.

  But what concerned Decay the most was the girl. It looked at the black glass of the domed ceiling and inhaled. It could sense her. It could taste the magic that ran off her being. Still she was unrecognizable. Even in its mortal bonds, Decay knew every creature that existed within every world, in every instance, in every life. Nothing escaped it. It had been there when the world was formed and it would be there when it was destroyed. But the girl was a blind spot to the part that called itself Decay. And a distinctly mortal emotion took root and began to fester within the inky shadows.

  Fear.

  Chapter Twelve

  SACHIHIRO STUMBLED AS his feet hit the ground, but he didn’t fall. The journey had been far more enjoyable as well. Instead of twisting and tumbling head o
ver heels in the wind and color, he had remained upright. He couldn’t wrap his head around what magic had transported them, and he didn’t bother to even attempt to understand it. He had learned to accept most anything that happened as it related to magic. Jaydan had taught him that much.

  “That was amazing,” Jaydan said as he suddenly appeared next to him.

  Alexander and Adelaide were there as well. Alexander looked about, wide eyed, and Adelaide was grinning ear to ear.

  “That sure was something,” Sachihiro said with a nod to Jaydan. He could only imagine the many thoughts racing through the Healer’s mind. Where Sachihiro was glad to remain in ignorant bliss, Jaydan was the opposite, always seeking an answer to every mystery. No doubt he had concocted several ways to attempt the feat himself. And it wouldn’t surprise him if he did.

  A sharp curse alerted the group to Tannyl’s arrival. The Hunter stepped from the air with grace and skill, directly in front of Sachihiro. He looked past them and cursed again. There was a murderous edge in his tone. More so than usual.

  “Don’t be so moody,” Sachihiro said as he turned to see what Tannyl was transfixed by. A curse of his own left his lips before he could stop it.

  A few steps away, the grassy patch they stood on gave way to polished stone and a city that jutted high into the blue sky. Sachihiro craned his neck, trying to follow the twisting streets that wound around the mountain-side. He couldn’t determine how high the city rose, for the peak was lost in the clouds that floated lazily all around them. Like the Archway, it was clear they had landed on another floating island; the edge was a couple of paces behind Sachihiro. This, however, was an entire city. It was even more majestic and imposing than all the stories combined.

  Tannyl cursed again and then said, “I hate cities.”

  Adelaide let out a sound of awe and clasped her hands together. “Oh, it’s like home.”

  “No, it is not,” Tannyl said firmly.

  The group stood in silence for a time after that, each lost in their own thoughts. Sachihiro had never seen anything like what lay before him now. He’d spent nearly every night in the tavern of Woodhaerst, gathering stories from any traveler willing to share. He had even bartered extra drinks for those too reluctant. It wasn’t unusual for there to be at least a couple herbalists or hunters from the Civil Empire that stayed in the village, but never had they described anything as majestic as the Fae city of Paladrix. Buildings of stone stood many stories high, and every road he could see was made of shiny white rock. Everything about it seemed impossible. And that was discounting the fact that the entire thing seemed to be floating in the middle of the sky. A certain part of him felt uneasy, as he knew Tannyl did, but a larger part was growing increasingly curious. The ballad in his head continued to grow. No one’s going to believe this, he thought. But he didn’t care.