The Price of Survival (Journey of an Arbais Mage Book 2)

by Meagan Hurst

  Shalion rolled his eyes. “Fine, how many did you heal then?”

  “Not more than four,” was her cautious reply. Caution, unfortunately, rarely headed off an explosion. Sadly, the result was the more common response to her caution: anger.

  “Four?!”

  She glanced over at him as she began to attach her daggers to her hips, her back, and her ankles. She also added a set underneath her arms. Grabbing Kyi’rinn, she strapped the sword easily to her side and moved to find her boots. Boots which were her third set already. The damn things kept catching on fire—granted that was partially her fault since she had walked through smoldering ground to fight at the side of trapped comrades—but she was getting tired of explaining why she needed yet another set to the immortal in charge of outfitting her command.

  And it was her command. There wasn’t any excuse she could give to try to make it anyone else’s. When she wasn’t present the different forces listened and followed orders from their leaders, but when she was on the field they followed her orders. Only her orders. She’d given up trying to change that around day six after arguing with her command for most of the day. There had been a possibility that she could have won—in fact, she was positive she could have—but that would have involved another four hours of arguing, and she hadn’t been up for the extended length of time it would have required.

  Worse, it was a sore point for everyone other than Zyrhis and the two other Shades who had come to fight. None of the other large forces had one person in command; each group was run by their own ruler or an appointed leader. So far—to Z’s open astonishment—there had been no internal battles from this lack of organization, but she fully expected at least one, especially now that the Dragon was no longer around to intimidate everyone into submission. She had Veilantras still, but Veilantras didn’t have the ‘oh shit, it’s dangerous’ attitude that Nivaradros had, and the female Dragon wasn’t really interested in playing politics. Granted, her Dragon hadn’t been either, but Nivaradros instinctively made a chain of command occur with just his presence.

  Then again, she was also avoiding politics like a plague. The two younger Dragons would possibly be willing to take the reins of power, but Z didn’t trust them. Not to mention Mirvari and Criynlo were both still considered adolescents as neither of them carried the dros, dras, tras, and tros to their names that signaled they were adults. They hated the lack of their status, especially when Z had made it indisputably clear that they had no rank in her eyes without those endings on their names. She had placed them below everyone else present in her detachment of the army, and Z knew it irritated them. But it was just too damn bad.

  “Zimliya?” Shalion called. He sounded a world away, and she blinked to refocus her thoughts. He rolled his eyes at her again. It was, according to him, one of the only useful things humans had taught the immortals. “Thoughts trapping you much?” he teased before he handed her a wrapped bundle that was just over five feet in length, but only as thick her two thumbs together at its widest point.

  “What is this?”

  “A birthday present.”

  “We don’t even know when my birthday is!” she pointed out crossly. And she didn’t. She simply counted herself a year older when a year had gone by. It annoyed quite a lot of people, but it was another thing Z had done to distance herself from the age old pain Tenia had left her with.

  “Just open it, Z,” Shalion sighed with exasperation. “It doesn’t bite—well, you at least.”

  She scowled at him, but slowly untied the rough strings and then unrolled the soft hide the gift had been wrapped in. Into her hand rolled a coal black and slightly glowing bow.

  “Tresine,” she murmured in surprise as she ran her fingers over the flawless craftsmanship of one of the oldest bows known to still be in existence.

  It was a recurve bow, but it was powerful, magicked, and said to require similar qualities in its wielder as Kyi’rinn—though since no one but the sentient weapons knew what they sought from their wielders, it would be hard to confirm that for sure. She stared at Shalion as she let her fingers run over the smooth limb and cool feel of Tresine. The bow responded to her touch the same way Kyi’rinn had, and she felt its power testing her as she tested it.

  “I came across it in my travels,” Shalion said evasively. “It doesn’t like me, but I thought it might approve of you. You’re always borrowing a Syallibion’s bow—or any other bow you can get your hands on—so I thought perhaps you would want your own.”

  “I cannot accept this,” Z whispered as she nevertheless held the bow out before her as though she were checking how it would fire. Catching herself, she grimaced and held it out towards Shalion—it was light enough to balance on a finger, and it was balanced enough that that was possible.

  “It likes you,” Shalion countered. “Look, Zimliya, Nivaradros was killed with arrows—if you find yourself being shot at, you now have something to counter fire with. I can see Tresine has no intention of being parted from you, so handing it back to me isn’t going to work. There is a string that I found with the bow also in the wrapping. You know how to make arrows, and you know how to shoot crooked branches if you have to. It would ease my heart greatly if you would carry that with you at all times.”

  Z eyed the bow with concern but sighed. It fit her hand perfectly, and she felt the power hidden deep within the ancient and blackened wood. Tresine had already claimed her, and she could feel it speaking with Kyi’rinn as the two weapons got accustomed to each other. She would not be able to simply put it down now.

  “Alright, fine, and thank you,” she added slowly, knowing she sounded entirely ungrateful.

  “You’re welcome. Come,” Shalion added as he began to shove things into his pack for the day. “I am certain the call to arms will come shortly.”

  “Since Midestol’s forces seem to hate playing in the dark?” Z remarked innocently.

  Shalion snorted and she hid a smile. That was entirely her fault, and both of them knew it. Day five had been slightly boring, so Z had come up with a solution that had turned into more of a curse than a blessing. Borrowing a small group of Ryelentions and Alantaions, Z had snuck into the nearest camp of Midestol’s warriors during the night while they had been out fighting. Slaying the remaining members, Z and her crew had completely destroyed the camp. All food was either ruined, scattered, or stolen, the weapons had been burned, shattered, taken, or thrown into the bottom of the nearby lake—which was helpfully at least one hundred feet deep in the middle—and the rest of the camp had been burned.

  The good news was it had provided momentary entertainment for Z and her small group of ‘bandits.’ The bad news was Midestol’s forces were no longer willing to come out and play in the dark. A repeat of the mission would require her command, and at least half of another if they planned to survive it, so there would be no more midnight burning of Midestol’s camps until his warriors outgrew their chicken state. As she thought of this, though—filling her pack full of supplies, and hooking Tresine snugly in a keeper designed just for that purpose—Z heard the telltale call to arms ring out.

  “Looks like another day on the battlefield,” she said with a warm smile towards Shalion.

  “Do try not to get yourself killed,” he retorted.

  Chapter 25

  Z strolled out of the tent with ease. She was almost eager to head into battle. She was exhausted still, slightly unsettled over the news Shalion had recently dropped in her lap, and she was hiding an injury from everyone, but this was something she was tentatively confident about herself and her skill. She had a rotation of warriors—a call-to-arms meant the enemy had engaged, broken through lines, or had gained reinforcements and therefore everyone but a small detachment would be on the field.

  She called a battle plan to mind instantly as she hurried over to the gathering troops. It would change as she got information, but it would be something to start with. As always, her force was waiting for her orders on their deployment. She grabb
ed a quiver of Alantaion arrows as she approached the awaiting ‘commanders’ that she had been blessed with. Wasting no time, she quickly broke the groups up so they could work to the best of their abilities. She kept the races somewhat separate with the exception of the five squads that worked flawlessly no matter whom they were partnered with. They’d worked with her the most of any of her command, so they had grown accustomed to having to play nice with others.

  She took the smallest group for herself: fifty Ryelentions. Shalion decided to join her as well, and she wondered briefly if he had spoken to the Mithane lately; the Mithane’s talent often had the direct effect of causing people to be paranoid about her death. Regardless, she was happy for his presence, other than the whispers it invoked, and she took her small group closer to the west border between the ground she was fighting to hold, and the ground the Thinyen was supposed to be protecting. He personally kept close to her borders with the rest of his people while the others he had been ‘stuck with’ fought throughout the rest of the area. She didn’t trust his intentions.

  She knew he was still holding a grudge—if she decided to understate it to the max—against her immortality. Still, the war had to be fought, and she wasn’t about to hide in a tent because a couple of the immortals decided they wanted her dead and he was one of them. Granted a few of her allies would have preferred she had done just that, but they knew better than to try to contain her—so they sent Shalion as her unofficial guard, since she was willing to tolerate his presence. He took the position of her second with ease—the way he always had when they had fought together with his people—and left the orders to her. Grateful to be working with someone who knew her well, Z hand signaled to the rest of her troops to assign them their positions.

  With silence only the Alantaions could truly match, the Ryelentions vanished into the surrounding tall grass with relative ease. They were both scouts and combatants, meaning Shalion and Z had spent the better part of seventeen hours hand picking them from Shalion’s warriors. None of the other Ryelentions were young; Shalion was the youngest Ryelention, while Z was just the youngest period. With over seven centuries of scouting and war experience on the next youngest after Shalion, Z was confident that this group would be able to accomplish the goal she was setting out to achieve. She sought to flush out the immortal behind the death of Nivaradros. She was using herself as bait.

  Not even Shalion knew that part of the arrangement. What the Ryelentions knew was that she had needed an elite group to close the distance between their forces and Midestol’s. They would be picking off small units of his men at a time, thinning the ranks the others had to come up against, while they waited for the part of the mission she hadn’t told them. It was well known in all the ranks that she was taking a small group out to thin Midestol’s army down as she could.

  It wasn’t unusual or unheard of for her to take such a risk—it was something she was good at after all—which meant the so-called ally who had killed Nivaradros wouldn’t suspect she was on to him. If it worked, the biggest threat to this battle would be neutralized, if it didn’t, well, she would be dead, but it was a small price to pay in her mind. No matter what, their internal enemy would be revealed to the rest of the army, and that was good enough for the Ranger in her.

  Or she hoped. She vanished into the tall grass herself—splitting from Shalion with ease, though she could almost taste his reluctance over the separation in the air it was so powerful. He was taking his deal or promise to the Dragon seriously, and she knew he suspected she had an ulterior motive; he just couldn’t figure it out. Listening to their surroundings, Z slowly slid her hand to her back and pulled Tresine free from its bindings. Stringing the bow with ease, she felt a whisper of power course through her in the same way she’d experienced when she had first carried Kyi’rinn into battle. The sensation would fade with time as both weapon and wielder grew more accustomed to each other, but Z missed the sensation with Kyi’rinn, and she relished in the feeling Tresine awarded her now.

  Sliding an arrow free from the quiver she carried on her shoulder, Z put the arrow to the string and listened to the world around her while her other senses reached out as well. For all the headache immortality had caused her, she had to admit she was starting to like the increase to her senses. Her abilities no longer overloaded her system, she was finally in control.

  Even now she could taste the air and tell a storm was approaching from the north, and that it would bring the first heavy snowfall to Istuion for the year—though Nivaradros’s lair had already had its first, second, and fifth heavy snowfall. She could also sense the presence of her Ryelention soldiers; their magic, sounds, scent, and feel were all entirely different and identifiable as such. Shalion was still near her, but he was keeping his distance. She had made it abundantly clear she intended to fight solo unless she summoned aid. He had drawn his sword and one of his throwing knives, and she could feel his concentration on the approaching enemy riders narrowing into a single target as the group rode closer.

  They were astride Midestol’s latest monstrosities. Wrinkling her nose with annoyance, Z decided to discover just how frail or otherwise the creatures were. Standing up, she stepped out of the tall grass, and loosened the nocked arrow in one fluid motion. She aimed for the creature’s eye for two reasons. One: she wanted to see how it reacted to an arrow in the eye. Two: she wanted to see if the brain was easy enough to reach through the eye sockets. Tresine had a fair amount of power, and it was happy to be used at long last by someone it considered both powerful and competent. Z’s arrow went whistling through the air at a speed that made the arrow’s flight hard to follow for even her immortal eyes before it landed dead center in her chosen target.

  The arrow buried itself halfway up the shaft and the creature didn’t fall dead instantly—so it was clearly a no to her second question. The creature did, however, start thrashing from the pain by rearing up and colliding with those nearest it. The riders began to yell in alarm and anger, and Z heard the telltale sound of accusations rising up from those in the back while the ones in front—who realized they were under attack—couldn’t get their mounts under control long enough to attack, block, or warn their fellow comrades. This was definitely going to be fun.

  She let out a sharp, short whistle and the rest of her force slipped out of hiding to attack. They were slightly outnumbered, and their opponents were mounted, but they had the advantage right now, and Z made good use of Tresine’s power by continuing to target the eyes of the creatures Midestol’s forces were riding. It made the enemy easy prey as their mounts thrashed around in anger and pain, and it also kept her people safer. It was a brief fight—though Z had been forced to run close to the enemy, grab an arrow out of the eye of one of the dead creatures, and re-fire it without being attacked herself, since she’d loaned her quiver mid-battle to a Ryelention. When the skirmish ended, Shalion’s flat disapproving stare focused on her; she focused on anything but him.

  Not that it helped. “Zimliya,” Shalion said coolly as he approached her. “May I ask what that was about?”

  It was the typical immortal question, there was no right answer and the only response her words would bring would be vexed, pissed, or past-the-ability-to-form-speech furious. However, not answering wasn’t an option either.

  Mentally sighing, Z fixed Shalion with a dark stare. “You damn well know what it was about. I was trying to save lives. Which I did. Is anyone on our side dead? No. So, goal accomplished. If you have a problem with that, Soldier, you are welcome to file a complaint with me later. Right now, we need to check over the dead for information, reform up, and move locations.”

  Shalion exhaled loudly and grabbed her by the shoulder. “Z,” he warned coldly, but she broke free of his grip, nocked an arrow, and brought Tresine up until the arrow was at Shalion’s throat.

  “Not. Another. Word.”

  Shalion raised a brow, but nodded curtly, and held his hands up slightly in surrender. She lowered the bow slowly, but a
touch on her senses caused her to spin and loosen the arrow in a fluid motion where her back had been a moment before. There was a loud curse, and then a familiar figure stood up in the grasses. Midestol’s eyes met and held hers while his right hand went to his left shoulder to pull out the arrow she had buried into it. He had had enough time to dodge the arrow to a point—she had been aiming for his heart—but he clearly wasn’t fast enough to completely avoid being hit.

  “Zimliya,” Midestol greeted through clenched teeth, as he examined the arrow he’d yanked free briefly before tossing it to the side. “You are starting to annoy me, and the day has barely begun.”

  “It’s a gift,” she replied calmly. Holding up a hand as her Ryelentions tensed and shifted into their battle stances, she strolled forward a few feet until the gap between herself and Midestol was much smaller than it had been. “If you don’t want to lose soldiers, you shouldn’t have sent them to these lands.”

  “You have a habit of killing my men no matter where I send them,” Midestol countered coldly. His orange eyes glittered dangerously as he took in her small force. “On a special mission?”

  “Yes, not that it’s any of your business,” she added stiffly. “What do you want?”

  Midestol’s eyes burned, but he said nothing for a long moment as he took in her fifty Ryelentions, Shalion, and her. “A word, if you would be willing to grant me a minute’s time,” he said at long last. She stared at him; felt the rest of those around her do the same. “I wish to negotiate a retreat of my forces for now, if you are willing to consider wasting no more of your precious immortals on the field.” The scorn in his tone was thick, but the offer was genuine, and Z couldn’t afford to pass it up.

  “Where?”

  “Not outside of the sight of your troops,” Midestol answered quietly. His stance relaxed a hair, but Z knew how fast he could throw magic, so she didn’t believe his charade for an instant. “Just outside the range of any immediate strikes. You have been known to get testy at times in negotiations with me, and I don’t want your heightened tone to be a sound that inspires stupidity in the immortals.” He offered her a hand, and just waited as though he had all day to stand there with his hand out.