Two more. Then another. Each death sent chills racing through her. Nothing would stop her until they all burned.
Even as she continued killing them, she reached into the darkness with her mind and called for him. The Ancient One. “Are you pleased with my work, my dark master?”
Pleasure like nothing she’d ever felt before filled her mind and sent tremors through her body. She panted as she dispatched three more of the non-servants. Three of the two dozen remained, and they fled. She gave chase, desperate to finish her task and please her god.
“I will not fail you!”
† † †
The distance between Savric and the flashes of green fire had been too great for his tired, old eyes to recognize the source of the fireballs, but Eshtak confirmed his suspicion and fear.
“Pretty lady shoots fire!” exclaimed Eshtak. He hopped from foot to foot and pulled on his cheeks. “No, no, no!”
“My Reni…” Savric’s spirit sank into despair as he lamented over what she’d done.
He would’ve gone to face her and keep her from killing others, but he knew the fight would be to the death and he couldn’t face that truth in his current state. In fact, he didn’t think he could face that truth in any state. How could he ever raise a hand against the love of his life, especially knowing she had no control over her actions?
Dear Ƨäʈūr, what will I do if I must face her in war?
Would he be able to subdue her without killing her? Would she give him the chance, or go for the kill without pity? He knew the answer and refused to contemplate it.
And Qotan…
Have we lost the war before it has even begun?
“Mr. Savric?” Pear tugged on his robe sleeve. “Will you protect me from her and those like her?”
A hard, sick, twisted clarity washed over Savric. No matter how difficult the task, he served the will of Ƨäʈūr. If that included facing the only woman he’d ever loved on the battlefield, he would do what must be done. People like Pear depended on him to be their defender.
Savric peered down at Pear. “As long as I have breath in my lungs, I will do everything in my power to protect you from all harm.”
She smiled and took his hand. “Then I’m sticking with you.”
Eshtak grabbed his other hand. “Eshtak too.”
“Good.” He took their hands and joined them together. “Now that we have settled that, I must speak to the people and encourage them to go back home.”
Savric cleared his throat and held out his right hand, palm up. “Əllíʈ ʊb.” An orb of yellow light formed above Savric’s palm. With a simple gesture he pushed it into the air where it floated over him, Eshtak, and Pear, creating a dim circle of light that extended several meters around them.
He cleared his throat once more and then spoke as loud as he could. “Citizens of the Ancient Realm. Those of you who have ears to hear, gather around and listen to the words I speak and ponder them thoroughly.” Dozens of people came out of the night and gathered around the outcropping.
Savric waited a few minutes and then continued, “As I am certain you have noticed, the people you love and care for will not be swayed into going back home. Hinder them, and they will take your life. It might not seem like it right now, but the best thing for you all to do is return home.”
“We must know what’s happening to them,” said one woman. “Can’t go home without knowing.”
“I’m scared,” said a young man. “Too afraid to stay but too afraid to go home. Home has nothing left for me.”
“Me neither,” said several others.
“We’ve nowhere else to go,” said an older woman.
Savric held up a hand and waited for the chatter to die down. “I can only offer advice. If you refuse to go back home, then at least stay back from the horde of infected. Give them space and do not hinder them from reaching their destination.”
“We can do that,” several of them agreed. Others nodded their consent. No one spoke against his advice.
“Then we are of one accord. Thank you.” Savric closed his palm and the orb of light fizzled out.
His stomach rumbled and hunger panged his side, but his thoughts remained on Zerenity.
There must be another way.
† † †
Calen had stumbled through the camp for a good hour, fatigued but desperate to find his aunt, when the fight broke out between several dozen men and an older woman deeper in the camp. That fight hadn’t lasted long. The woman dispatched all of the men with green fireballs. He’d never seen anything like it, and it’d scared the wits from his mind.
But then he caught sight of a man in flowing robes standing atop an outcropping. A yellow orb of light floated over his head. The man stood with his back to Calen and held a walking staff in his left hand. At first, he’d thought for sure that it was Master Savric, but then he noticed the silhouettes of two children at the man’s side.
Master Savric has no children.
Then the light had gone out.
Calen’s heart sank, and his legs gave up the fight to go on. He fell face-first in the dead grass. The dry blades bit into his flesh, but he no longer cared. Aunt Tahmara would never be found.
I’m alone in this world.
Tears formed in his eyes as the pain of existence took hold of him. Why had he bothered coming so far? A hated, unwanted child, he had no reason to continue on. His father had always been right. Everything wrong in his life stemmed from him and his failures. He’d killed his mother, drove his father to jail, and his aunt into madness.
And I drove Master Savric away as well.
He figured he’d just lay there until death came to take him. It wouldn’t be long. Death always found its target. He rolled over and stared up at the night sky. Once upon a time, he could see the vast sea of stars and it’d filled him with wonder, but the only thing he saw now was a blurred mess. He never wanted to wear spectacles, but he would’ve given anything in that moment to have seen the stars one last time.
He closed his eyes, and that’s when he heard it. The familiar, unmistakable sound of Master Savric’s chuckle. He’d know it anywhere. His heart raced in his chest and pushed the fatigue from his aching muscles.
Calen sat up and then stood. He called out to Master Savric, but his voice caught in his throat and failed to travel past his lips. With abandon, he bolted across the dry grass, dodging the infected and stumbling several times as he headed toward the outcropping where he’d seen Master Savric standing.
Wheezing and out of breath, Calen reached the top of the outcropping and fell to his knees before Master Savric. “Master. Savric,” he managed between breaths.
Sparks of happiness lit Master Savric’s eyes and his arms spread wide. “My dear boy!”
Savric leaned forward and embraced him. Nothing in the entire universe could’ve filled Calen with more joy than those three words and Savric’s firm embrace. Fear fled from his mind, and the pain of loneliness withdrew from his heart. Three words filled his head and repeated incessantly.
I am home.
Chapter Twenty-Six
After spending several weeks at sea and out on the ocean, the sights of Trivers Lake and Vallah Harbor were much welcomed when they came into view. Morcinda jetted south, up the final leg of the Hotah River, and coasted into the harbor. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve felt a sense of relief pulling up to the pier and into her assigned dock position, but this day would be anything but normal.
She dropped anchor, exited her vessel, and moored it to the wooden piling that rose up from the pier. Several men and women worked on various boats and ships along the pier, scrubbing or repairing various items. Every last man stopped what they were doing and watched her every move as she strode down the wooden-planked pier.
She’d grown used to the attention her blue hair and pale skin attracted, but she still didn’t understand what they found so fascinating about her. She drew her h
ood over the top of her head and stuffed her hair into it. All but one of the men got the hint and went about their business, but that last one dogged her with greedy eyes.
There’s always one rotten cabbage in the garden.
The lanky man, dressed in stained trousers and filthy rags that looked to have been neglected for years, stepped off his boat and blocked Morcinda’s path just before she walked past. His bloodshot eyes were of different colors, one brown and the other yellow. She’d only seen mismatched eyes like his once before, but they’d belonged to a scroungy mutt.
Perhaps they’re one and the same.
She doubted it though. Shifters were rare, plus the mutt had taken his last breath a dozen years back. She’d held him close and cried over him when it’d happened. She hadn’t had a companion of any sort since.
The man held a bottle of ale in one hand and a maimed cigar in the other, his arms spread wide. “No need to go farther, lass. I’ve got all ya need right here.” He smiled with parted lips, exposing a mouth with few enough teeth to be counted on a single hand, and his remaining teeth looked to be on the verge of vacating his dirty mouth as well.
Morcinda pushed his arm aside as she walked past, but it only emboldened the man. He grabbed the back of her cloak and yanked hard. She let the cloak slide off her arms, and then she spun into action. She whipped around to face the man, drawing her ivory-handled dagger from its sheath in the process. She held it with the blade facing down, ready to slash his throat if he breathed wrong.
“Feisty one, ain’t ya?” His breath reeked of stale ale and rotted fish. “Reminds me of me ex-wife.”
Morcinda’s lip curled. “I’m certain she’s your ex for good reason.”
He lifted the right side of his shirt. A bloody bandage wrapped his middle. “Evil, black-eyed wench took a blade to me gut fer no reason. Slit ‘er throat and dumped ‘er in the lake.”
“Walk away, or you’ll find yourself joining her.”
He lifted her cloak to his face and took a long whiff of it. His eyes turned wild. “Wife ne’er smelled so good.”
The man whipped her cloak at her and managed to hook it around her wrist. The move surprised both of them. She hadn’t anticipated a fight. He yanked the cloak hard and spun her around backward, and then he tangled his arms around hers.
She kicked backward as hard as she could and connected with the man’s groin, but he only grunted.
His hot breath crawled on her skin and his cigar scraped against her cheek with every word. “Me likes it rough, lass.”
With a single thought, several tentacles of water rose out of the lake and wrapped around the man’s legs and throat. Another tentacle fought its way into the man’s mouth and snaked down his throat. He released her and reached for his throat, but two more tentacles rose up and restrained his arms as well.
Morcinda turned and faced the man. “Men like you never learn.”
The man tried to speak but only spewed water.
Morcinda sheathed her dagger and retrieved her cloak off the pier. It’d need a thorough scrubbing after being touched by his filthy hands, but she didn’t have the time to do so right then. She slid her arms back into its sleeves as she pulled it onto her shoulders.
“I warned you what would happen if you didn’t walk away.” She lifted the hood back over the top of her head and situated her hair. “Take him to be with his wife.”
The man’s eyes bulged from their sockets, and his mouth opened in a scream, but he only managed a gurgle. The water tentacles pulled the man off the pier and dragged him down into the depths of the lake where he’d never lay a finger on another woman again.
Morcinda looked around. Several people had stopped working to watch the spectacle, but none had made a move to help her. None ever did. They quickly moved on when her cold gaze met theirs.
Morcinda made her way across the pier and over to the massive, milky-white city gates. Each of the four ironwood gates stood twenty-five feet wide, thirty feet tall, four feet thick, and were reinforced with compounded steel. However, all four of them stood closed. Never had she seen the two gatehouses closed before. King Zaridus had established an open-gate policy the day he’d become king.
He must know of the threat already.
A small gate, just wide enough for a single person to squeeze through, stood open to the far left of the gatehouses. A dozen soldiers dressed in black boots, shirts, and helmets, white trousers, and teal leather armor bearing the king’s coat of arms flanked the gate. Morcinda approached the gate, and the soldiers moved to block her path.
“Halt,” said one of the soldiers. Morcinda obliged. “State your business in Vallah.”
“I’ve come to see King Zaridus,” she said.
“Then you’ve wasted your time,” barked the soldier. “The king will not grant an audience with anyone. Go back home.”
“I’m afraid you don’t understand.” Morcinda pulled back her hood. “He’ll most certainly want to see me.”
As with most of the king’s soldiers, the young man knew of her and of her reputation. His wide eyes proved it. He turned and addressed his fellow soldiers, his voice a bit shaky. “Two of you fall out and escort this woman to the palace at once.”
“Yes sir,” said the two closest to the open gate. They turned and went through the gate.
The other soldiers moved out of Morcinda’s way, and she entered the lower city. More soldiers roamed the city roads than she’d ever seen. Several of them were rounding up people and taking them to the underground prison.
“What’s happening?” asked Morcinda.
“King’s orders,” said one of the soldiers escorting her. “Anyone who has been infected must be rounded up and put into the prison.”
Such an order surprised her. Perhaps King Zaridus had grown wiser, but she doubted it. More likely, he’d become paranoid of contracting whatever illness or disease those with white skin and black eyes had. Either way, it served him well.
By the time they arrived at the fifth level of the city, where the King’s Palace stood, the sun had begun to dip in the east. No matter how many times she stood in front of the palace, its beauty and majesty overwhelmed her.
Massive, fifty-foot-tall marble columns held up the front entrance of the King’s Palace. Their white color, swirled with blues and grays, complemented the perfectly cut, four-foot-square granite tiles that created the walkway and the slabs of grey and tan flagstone that paved the road. From the walkway rose forty marble steps that led up to the palace entrance.
Morcinda thanked the two soldiers for escorting her and then made her way into the palace. She’d been there enough times over the centuries to have the layout memorized. The turquoise flags that bore the king’s coat of arms—a black lion’s head on a shield and crossed swords—hung throughout the palace.
She’d known many kings in her time, but none as kind yet pompous as King Zaridus. He had a way of connecting with his people like no other king she knew, but his policies on war and other such things like mezhik and prophecy were pathetic at best. Peace throughout the Ancient Realm for the last dozen decades had made the last few kings soft.
He will toughen up when he hears what I’ve got to say.
A dozen soldiers stood outside the doors to the Royal Court, pikes held tight in their left hands. Morcinda lowered her hood and needed no introduction.
“Lady Morcinda.” Captain Bart greeted her with a curt nod. “The king isn’t expecting you, is he?”
“No, but he will certainly want to hear what I have to tell him.”
“He has retired to the Royal Bedchamber for an afternoon nap. Would you like me to escort you to his receiving room while you wait?”
Morcinda sighed. “What I have to say cannot wait. Is Prince Rictar or Princess Zelanora available for me to speak with?”
“Certainly. Prince Rictar is practicing archery on the rooftop.”
“Then we shall start there.”
† † †
Morcinda stood at a distance, admiring Prince Rictar’s form as he nocked an arrow and drew back his bow string. The string thumped and the arrow whooshed through the air when he loosed it.
Sumph!
The arrow sank deep into the center of the wooden target.
Morcinda clapped her hands lightly. “A perfect shot, if I’ve ever seen one.”
Prince Rictar turned quickly, another arrow nocked and ready and the string drawn back. The scowl he wore softened as recognition filled his eyes. He eased the tension on the string and lowered the bow.
“Lady Morcinda, to what do I owe this pleasure?” He shoved the arrow back into the quiver slung over his left shoulder.
She’d put up with the title of “Lady” from the palace guard and staff but never from the royal family. “Please, call me Morcinda. As I’ve told you and your father, I’m no lady.”
Prince Rictar’s blue-eyed gaze ogled her as he approached. “You oft say such things, but I know a lady when I see one.”
His plain, white tunic, cinched at the waist with a silver belt, clung to him, enhancing his muscular features. Silver sandals hugged his feet. Their straps climbed up his chiseled calves and wrapped his muscular legs.
He’d always had a thing for her, even from a young age, and had continued to hold out hope that she’d eventually come around to appreciate the things he might offer her. But she never would. No man would ever hold her interest. No one would.
“I’m certain you’re aware of the infection that has afflicted many of your kind?”
“Yes, of course. My father, the king, has assured me that everything is under control. He’s taken certain measures to round them all up so that the disease doesn’t spread further.”
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