by Meagan Hurst
It was, after all, a large house. Too large for her and perhaps that was one of the reasons she avoided it. “I take it Kitra’s house is unusual?” Shalion asked from behind her. She had known he was there, but his words surprised her.
“Not really. There are one hundred houses in the trees—as more trees become suitable for housing more will be built, but in the meantime? Houses are either like Kitra’s or hidden underground. A good forty percent of this city exists underground.” She closed her eyes and felt her balance weaken.
Arms caught her and she reacted without thinking; whirling she stabbed Shalion in the side—between his ribs—before she realized what she had done.
“I’m…I…I’m sorry!” she gasped as she backed up.
Shalion didn’t seem to register his wound. “Your constant warnings regarding contact have become clear,” he commented with a smile. “But you hardly touched your food, and you are already in poor condition. You need to sleep,” he added. “My race—as you seem to know—does generally sleep about two hours a night. We don’t require it, but we do it out of habit. It also helps us when we are wounded. Your race, however, requires sleep in much larger quantities. Let me escort you to your room.”
“I don’t need an escort, Islierri,” she informed him. “Go find your own room and leave me be.”
Departing before he could speak, Z escaped through one of her windows. Climbing down from her tree, she glanced toward the marketplace before shaking her head and taking a path that led to the outer edges of the city; the dangerous side of it. Having had enough social interaction for the year, Z was looking for alone time. Unfortunately, she didn’t get it.
“Where are you going?”
Spinning with a dagger in each hand Z glared at Shalion. “Out. Go back to the house.”
“I don’t take orders from a mortal,” Shalion replied, but his mood never shifted. He was curious and she could see he meant her no harm. She knew his men were pressuring him to kill her, but something about the heir led her to believe he wouldn’t make the attempt.
Ignoring him, she continued on her way—sliding the daggers back into their sheaths as she resumed walking. Shalion fell in step beside her while maintaining an acceptable distance from her. They walked in silence, but Z felt some of her anxiety fading as she adjusted to the Ryelention’s presence. The hike helped calm her as well, and Z found a small amount of her strength was returning as she heard in the distance the howls of the creatures she had come to fight. The walls of the city had faded and allowed her and her immortal guest passage as they had approached, but while the walls kept threats out of the city, they also attracted them. Z took pleasure in the fact she was both helping her people by hunting the creatures, yet able to help herself burn off some unease.
It was a large pack. At least fifteen of them, based on her inferior hearing. It had been a hard winter, and the typically small packs had started joining forces for more successful hunts. She wondered how many there truly were. She considered asking Shalion, but she didn’t know him well enough, and she had a feeling he would try to stop her if he suspected her intentions. She didn’t know why he cared. She was, as he and his men kept pointing out, a mortal. A mortal human child. Female at that, although that didn’t matter to most of the immortals. They had a hard time getting past the mortal part, much less her age. Most immortals allowed both sexes to fight. Like the Rangers. Although Rangers preferred to avoid bloodshed, and immortals would kill each other for power.
Eventually she arrived in the meadow to which she had been heading. Closing her eyes, she reached out with her senses and smiled lazily at Shalion as she turned to face him. Opening her eyes, she found that even in the scant light she could see his concern.
“I bet I can kill more of them than you,” she teased before whirling and catching the jaws of the young wolf that launched itself at her face. Razor sharp fangs tore through the skin on her hands, but since she couldn’t feel it, she didn’t care. Plus she liked to see blood on her hands—it made her feel alive.
Pushing the creature down and kicking it away, she grabbed her sword and began to ready herself as the rest of the pack followed the forerunner. “You’re going to want your sword,” she advised.
“What are these?” the Islierri wanted to know as he took in the wolves. It was a fair question. The Rangers called them wolves but, in all honesty, they were a cross between one of the largest wild cats in the world and one of the rarer types of wolves. Their claws made their fangs seem like a small threat, and they had the boldness of the wolves combined with the leaping power of the great cats. They seemed to stay in this area, and they had only shown up about four years prior. Z strongly suspected they had been created by Midestol. Sadly, they seemed to be thriving on their own.
“Wolves,” she told him with a shrug as the pack tried to encircle them. “I told you to go back to the house,” she added.
“You came here on purpose?!”
“I was bored,” Z explained before falling silent as the wolves began to attack.
Shalion stepped into position a few strides from her back. Something that both pleased her and caused her skin to crawl. She didn’t trust him, but she could tell he had no intention of attacking her. Instead he pulled a couple of daggers free and began to slash at the throats of the pack members that were foolish enough to attack him. He was good, and Z felt some of her unease fade at the sight of his skill.
“Interested in seeing which one of us can kill more of them?” she wanted to know as she killed a fourth one.
A smile touched the flawless features of Shalion. “Sounds intriguing.” He didn’t say she would lose to him, and instead he doubled his efforts as she increased hers.
After her fifth kill, the blade of her sword snapped in half as it got caught in a ribcage. Cursing, she armed herself with her daggers before eyeing Shalion’s sword. Without really considering what she was about to do, she grabbed it from his side—barely avoiding wounding him—and whirled in time to catch the wolf that was seconds away from killing her. The fight continued until all the creatures were destroyed and even Z’s inferior vision could count the carcasses.
“Twenty-two,” she muttered. “The packs are growing. I should warn Kitra.” Mentally reaching out she found Kitra was in a testy mood; apparently the Ryelentions had gone to visit her upon finding out Shalion was missing.
“It appears you’ve won; although I am uncertain if I should count the ones you killed with my sword. A sword I did not give you permission to use, and one you shouldn’t be able to wield.” For an instant Shalion was a threat, and she could sense he was offended that she had touched his sword, but she didn’t bother to look up at him since he made no attempt to move toward her.
Z exhaled shortly and looked up to meet Ryelention eyes that were still pearl. “Sorry, I needed a weapon and I am used to fighting with mortals.”
“They aren’t alarmed if you steal their sword?” Shalion appeared more curious than angry and Z felt herself relax a hair.
“They’re used to it. Mostly.” She offered him back his sword—possibly the finest she had wielded—hilt first.
“I see you didn’t escape unpunished,” Shalion said with a nod at her bleeding palms as he took his sword back. “Let me tend to those, will you?” At her very tense nod, he carefully picked up her left hand and examined it. “You should be howling in agony.”
“I don’t feel pain.”
He handled the news well, and he didn’t doubt her. Instead he kept an eye on the dagger she had drawn with her free hand while he cleaned and bandaged the hand he held. He then switched to her right hand—and she switched her dagger to the hand he had finished tending—and repeated the process.
His gaze strayed to the creatures they had slain. “You’re not a bad fighter for a mortal, but you should rest. Come, Z,” he said in a very strange tone. “Let’s get you back home.”
Shalion stopped the chain from spinning and the memory returned slowly to the link
s of a certain section of the chain. “You were odd,” he said quietly. “It took me a week to realize you were damaged. It never crossed my mind that your quirks were due to insecurity on your part. You were confident—dangerous—on the field, and around your people you appeared to be aloof and over-trained. It wasn’t until you met my father that I understood your idiosyncrasies. The Shade’s vague warning seemed out of place before I grasped the depth of your fears.”
Embarrassed, she shrugged. “Sorry to be such a disappointment.”
“You’re not. You never were. You never will be.” Shalion wrapped the chain around his wrist. “I thought you were going to die in front of me when those creatures—and you really need to call them something other than wolves—attacked. Your sword broke.”
“I borrowed yours.”
“And seared your hands for your efforts.”
“You weren’t using it.” She shrugged and glanced at her palms. They were heavily scarred from multiple burns—from chemicals, fire, magic, and even rope—and she had a feeling if she ever felt pain again her hands would be senseless due to the damage they had incurred over the years.
The Ryelention heir shook his head. “What do your people say?” he asked.
Z kept her expression smooth. “They will permit the Ryelentions into their city, but only the Ryelentions. They also warn you that any misconduct will bring about death.”
Relief touched Shalion’s features. “They may do as they wish with anyone who breaks their rules,” he agreed. “I know how cautious they are, and I understand why they choose to stand back.”
“The Rangers have been fighting in the war since it started,” Z argued. “They are already out riding; trying to draw Midestol’s forces to a place we can engage him. It is the task I asked of them, and while they didn’t readily accept it, they nevertheless ride.”
Shalion stared at her in amazement. “I don’t know how you do it,” he whispered. “None of this—not even the Alliance—would have happened if you hadn’t made it. None of the heirs would have met each other, and had we, we would have been enemies. You knew all along what you were doing.”
“I knew what I wanted to achieve. Whether or not I succeed in my goal remains to be seen, but yes, Shalion, I had a plan; a very long-reaching one. I knew it could fail, but I also knew if it did fail the world would ultimately fall to Midestol. Every race was too locked away and angry at each other to form the army that is our only chance against Midestol.”
“And mortals say immortals have a long view of the world,” he teased. His eyes shifted to worried. “Come,” he murmured, “we might as well return before your Dragon—Z?” Shalion was beside her as she sank to the ground clutching her head as thousands of voices began screaming to be heard. Of course, the voices followed a massive feeling of loss that made things worse.
What happened?!
What’s going on?
Krienire, answer me! Can you get out?
Thousands upon thousands of anguished and frightened voices bombarded her and Z struggled to reach through them to find out what she could. Attacked. A Ranger city had been attacked, but she couldn’t pin down which one in all the chaos. Her senses were flooded and Z barely felt Shalion’s hands steadying her. She couldn’t hear his voice.
SILENCE!
Nivaradros’s voice broke through everyone’s panic and caused a harsh silence to fall as the last of the voices faded.
Someone—one someone—tell me what happened. I am not a Ranger, but I felt something, and Z is…sensitive to this in a way I can feel. Tell me what happened and tell me what you need.
Shocked, Z held her tongue but let her presence be registered to show she supported the Dragon. For a minute, she felt Nivaradros’s power pressing against hers, implying he planned to force her out of the mental ‘room,’ but his power abruptly subsided and she realized he had been attempting to do something, but it had had nothing to do with trying to force her from the conversation.
“You alright?” Shalion called, seemingly from a distance.
Arentria was destroyed—there are no survivors.
“No,” she whispered in horror, answering both Shalion’s question and speaking to her Rangers at the same time. How?
Midestol’s forces managed to shatter the wards somehow…we haven’t determined how.
Others wanted to speak, but Nivaradros’s command appeared to be holding. Z inhaled, but didn’t open her eyes. Are we certain there are no survivors?
I was in the area; there is a giant sinkhole where Arentria was. I know there are no survivors because Midestol decided to make a point. Every single Ranger and refugee were slaughtered before being neatly arranged to make that point known. He means to kill anyone who opposes him, down to the last child.
How many beings were in Arentria? I know you pulled refugees from several kingdoms…
You don’t want that number. The size of force he would have needed to succeed is alarming.
I do.
Hesitation and grief warned her before the speaker answered. One million, three hundred and forty-one thousand, five hundred and sixty-seven.
Her mind felt like it was going to explode from the multitude of voices that cried out at once. This time Nivaradros didn’t get involved. She could feel his shock and—to her astonishment—she could feel his horror. Opening her eyes, she glanced up at Shalion and forced her legs to support her.
“One of our cities is gone,” she told him. “Midestol’s gathered his forces. We have to ride.”
“Casualties?”
She shook her head and whistled for Shanii. “You don’t want to know. Trust me, Shalion. You really don’t want to know.” Because now two races existed only of their warriors. Two immortal races. One of which did not have female warriors, and one that had already been doomed.
They rode back to Arriandie in haste. Z assured Shalion his people were still welcome in Virensa, since that was the first thing that came to his mind when she had ended up on the ground clutching her temples. Z was damned grateful for incomprehension of pain; everyone else had experienced parts of it while she had only struggled against the sensation of millions of Rangers in her mind. She needed personal space; sharing your mind with a group of humans meant occasionally there wasn’t any to be found.
By the time they reached Arriandie, guards were out in full force, scouts were leaving in masses, and the Mithane was waiting for her return with a very neon-eyed Dragon at his side. Swearing loudly as she jumped off Shanii, Z headed their way as Shalion left to return his mare to the stable. Trotting up the stairs, she glanced at the Mithane for half a second before Nivaradros was granted the whole of her attention.
“You suspect something?”
“I suspect what Daryien does—Midestol has slaves or warriors who have figured out how to do what you can do: latch on to someone else’s magic and seize control of it.”
“Hack it,” the Ranger added as he appeared at the Dragon’s elbow. He glanced at her and she nodded slowly.
“That’s the term the Rangers came up with,” she explained to Nivaradros and the Mithane. “I ‘hack’ other people’s magic when I use their spells against them, or take their power over completely. It’s been done before, but we believed it was only a Ranger talent. We knew eventually it would escape…but we didn’t expect it to be this soon.”
Daryien frowned. “Midestol would have to have hundreds at his disposal to have dissolved all the protections around Arentria.”
“Or one very talented one; I could do it,” Z admitted. “As could Nivaradros,” she added after a lengthy pause. “It’s not just a matter of using someone else’s magic either. There are several…factors that also determine how much of a danger the person is.”
“It can get worse?” the Mithane asked sharply.
“Well, yes and no. It depends on what their goal is. You’ve seen what happens when I just piggyback on someone else’s power, obviously, but I can also lie undetected on it, stealing small amounts
of power without the target even knowing. I can record or learn from them without being noticed, and I am technically untraceable if I choose to be. Granted, all of that depends on skill sets, but it is very, very possible to accomplish. It’s almost like eavesdropping on someone mentally; you can tweak things without being detected, but if you need access you have it…if you are powerful enough.”
The Mithane was rubbing his temples. “You should have told us about this,” he chided. “But let’s go brief everyone about what has happened, and what you plan to do.”
“We ride to war,” Z declared. “Midestol’s got my attention, and his army must be united or he wouldn’t have had a force large enough to destroy that kingdom. I’ll contact the other Rangers that have experience in…hacking.” Glancing at Daryien, she sighed. “I do not like that term.”
“Too bad for you.”
The three of them—her, Daryien, and Nivaradros—were sharing a private moment of grief. Private as in shared with the millions of Rangers who were likewise grieving. Dying on the battlefield was considered an honor; being slaughtered while protecting the lives of the small beings and other races was not how things should have ended. But the expense of the war they were involved in was just beginning.
Excusing herself, she headed to her rooms. Nivaradros followed, but he gave her space—using some Dragon talent she still didn’t know about to dull his presence in even her senses.
“You don’t have to do that, Niv,” she murmured without thinking. “I don’t mind you.”
He didn’t respond, but by the time she made it to her rooms, she felt the pressure of the world pushing her down. Fighting her grief, guilt, and anger she struggled to ground herself. The Dragon moved to stand behind her when she staggered slightly as another smaller attack against her people was successful. “Nivaradros, we have to leave,” she whispered hoarsely. “We have to leave now.”