Perhaps, as a descendant of a temple witch, as Aegwin had noted, she could accept the pain of marking and claiming that would kill another woman. Unable to stay away from the female his Ki called to for longer than the two days, Dalaric left the palace on midday of the third day to seek her out.
Almost to Gilvern, Dalaric's nostrils flared. Blood. Hers. Emersyn's. Another scent assaulted his senses. Male. Akkadian. All thought ceased. His eyes shifted to black and he dropped from the sky.
∞∞∞
Emersyn stared dumbly at the male in front of her. "Um..." she hedged, feeling behind her for the steadying assurance of a tree trunk. Taking a deep breath, she tried to turn him down gently. "I'm sorry, but I'm already speaking with Lord Dalaric about this matter.”
The male looked unconcerned, though she could feel a hint of fear enter his Ki. "If you will not help me of your own volition, then I will take what I need." He darted forward, prepared to force her mana to the surface in her defense.
Emersyn's breath caught in her throat. She could not use mana! Paelia had warned her not to touch it before her barriers were healed. She closed her eyes, resigned to the attack. Her heart dropped into her stomach. Would he go away once he did not get what he wanted, or would he kill her for the refusal?
Jocale halted in front of the woman. She confused him. She did not look like an all-powerful witch. Eyes clenched shut and the scent of her tears clogging his nose, he could not complete the attack. He had seen her, Emersyn, in the bowl when Nialle had called the waters to show her and had not cared that he watched. This witch had not been like the others he had known. She was weak but still struggled through a role that had been thrust upon her.
He opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say but feeling the need to say something, anything, while the stink of her fear made his stomach roil. He was suddenly tossed unceremoniously through the air to smash into a tree.
Emersyn opened her eyes on a gasp. Dalaric had come for her! His broad, black silk clad back faced her. He stood in front of her, eyes on the youngling scrambling to his feet yards away.
The male glanced at his right arm. It was shredded from shoulder to elbow and hung limply at his side. Blood fell from his fingers to form a puddle at his feet. The little color he had drained completely from his face.
"Lord Dalaric," the male greeted without emotion.
"Take your lesson and leave, Whelp, before I decide to educate you on respect as well," Dalaric growled out. The witch collar on the youngling’s neck had saved his life. It was an abomination. A slave of Akkadian blood. Who had dared such an obscenity upon his lands?"
To Dalaric's annoyance, the youngling fell into a battle stance facing him. So be it. He would not allow such to pass unanswered.
Emersyn sucked in a breath. So far, Lord Dalaric had not made a move to engage the youth, but that did not mean he could not kill him with a flick of his wrist in a matter of seconds. His head turned to look at her over his shoulder. Emersyn paled. She had grabbed his bicep without thinking. She quickly pulled her fingers back as if burned. "I apologize, Lord Dalaric. But, can't you see he does not want to challenge you? He is a slave," she mumbled, courage failing her as he continued to stare at her.
In reply, a brow rose as if to say, "And?"
She swallowed. He was not seriously considering the boy a real enemy, was he? To her, he had been a threat but, now that Dalaric was there, things could be handled without loss of life.
Jocale trembled under the full weight of the Akkadian's midnight gaze once it turned back to him. Plans to overthrow the harpy that had enslaved him by foul means or fair, all his careful plotting, were ripped mercilessly away by the intimidating Ki pulsating around the tall Akkadian's impressive form.
It was not until the witch spoke and Jocale realized all could be lost that he regained some of his equilibrium. "Stop!" he yelled, voice cracking slightly.
Two pairs of eyes rounded on him. One pleaded with him while the other narrowed dangerously as the bitter scent of restrained Ki began to permeate the air once more.
Jocale swallowed as he recalled the Akkadian's ability to kill with only the oppressive weight of his Ki. It was said that Akkadians of supreme power could harness it in the form of a weapon that cut deeper than a sword and would not heal. How was the human standing so close to the male's angry Ki?
"Kill me," he begged, fighting the whimper threatening to spill from his throat in response to the suffocating Ki inundating him. "Do not let me return to her a failure." He closed his eyes, waiting for the death strike to come.
"Her?" Emersyn asked gently, peeking around Dalaric's broad back. Her eyes were soft with compassion. "Who would do this to you?"
"Nialle," he whispered. "My mistress is a witch of great evil. Give mercy to my undeserving soul. Let it finally fly free." He swallowed and fell to his knees before the Akkadian Lord. "Please," he begged. He had given up even the smallest hope of freedom without death, but he would not leave the clearing alive to continue as a slave.
A tug on his throat that cut off his air answered his broken plea. Uncomprehending green eyes stared at the twisted metal of the collar that thumped into the dirt next to him. The ends smoked and sizzled.
Comprehension was swift to follow when the Akkadian growled and Jocale squeezed his eyes shut. He would die free. It was more mercy than he had ever been granted.
"State your name," Dalaric demanded. The collar had hidden much. This was no youngling.
"I am known as Jocale, Lord," the former slave whispered. He kept his eyes down.
"The witch who crafted the collar. Where does she live?" Dalaric would erase the foul scent of her from the earth.
"Her lair rests beneath The Red Sorrel," Jocale quickly answered. His lips twisted bitterly. "It is the easiest way to acquire fresh bodies to weave twisted mana spells."
"The Red Sorrel?" Emersyn broke in.
The male finally looked up. His face was longer. His cheeks and lips were less round. The unleashed Ki had already begun the job of maturing his artificially immature body into the young but fully matured male he really was. "There are many who visit The Red Sorrel. It is a whore house renowned for its well-connected clientele. The ledgers include witches like you."
Emersyn gasped. Her stomach roiled and threatened to purge its contents once more. Witches were defiling themselves in numbers enough to be known in a place like that?
Jocale's head jerked to the side with the force of the backhand delivered to him by the lord.
"You disrespect her with association to those bitches. Speak with respect or lose your tongue," Dalaric ordered.
Emersyn's fingers wrapped around his wrist. Dalaric was surprised at how cold they felt against his flesh. He summoned enough Ki to warm the air around them.
"I do not know what you went through, Jocale," Emersyn gently stated, fingers gripping Dalaric's hand to stay any more blows. "If any witches hurt you all I can do is say how sorry I am. They deserve no mercy for allowing you to suffer for the darkness in their hearts."
She meant it, Jocale realized. He felt his jaw. It was swollen but not broken. Lord Dalaric had been swift in punishment for his transgression but had tempered the strength behind it. "There is a coven who use the offspring of the breeding whores for their blood spells," he disclosed. "Nialle is only one of many," he ended with a respectful bow of his head.
Shame coated Jocale’s heart in ice. She had not deserved his spite. He had sworn long ago not to become as those who enslaved him. Some slaves had become twisted and broken and would hurt any that came under their power.
"Where will you go now?" Emersyn asked. She knew Dalaric would let him go. He had to. It was the only honorable thing to do.
Jocale stood slowly, prepared to accept whatever blows the other male might choose to bestow upon him. When none came, he set his jaw. He felt the skin of his arm slowly knit together. Where could he go? He had been so busy plotting his escape he had not taken the time to consider where
he would escape to.
The wind had changed and with it came the stench of the dark witch who had befouled herself with evil and left her scent upon the collar. "She comes," Dalaric informed the two who stood unaware of the approaching danger.
Without hesitation, Dalaric enveloped Emersyn in a barrier of his Ki. Nialle's foulness would not touch her. Jocale grew pale again and dropped into a low stance. Emersyn reached out to touch the barrier. The Ki sparked in reprimand and she pulled her hand away, shaking it to bring feeling back to her fingers.
Good, Dalaric thought. She would not be going anywhere near the witch. The last thing Dalaric needed was for her to lose control of the mana again.
Emersyn was about to ask what he was going to do when a slumped figure stepped into the clearing. The hem of a dirty robe of indeterminate color dragged in the ground behind her. A bag half her height was clutched in her right fist.
The hag wasted no time in getting to the point. Malice dripped from every word. "We finally meet, Dragon. I see you have met my naughty little pet, Jocale."
The Akkadian remained silent. Emersyn glanced between the two opponents, fingers twisting together as she tried to stay calm. He stood tall and strong. She did not know any human man who could manage to look upon the dark witch with such unconcern.
Dalaric felt every century he had seen settle on his shoulders when the witch stepped closer and the secret the bag held carried to his nose on the wind. The scent had clung to Emersyn repeatedly. Even now she was covered in the scent that radiated from the bag. There could only be one reason for the witch to bring such a foul offering.
"Emersyn," he ordered lowly. "Turn around."
"No, no," Nialle objected. "I went to all the trouble of arranging a show for the little girl, why not let her enjoy it?"
Dalaric turned his head and met her eyes. He snarled out, "Now!"
Emersyn felt her limbs obey him. It was not what he said but the way he had looked at her that forced her compliance. She turned and dropped to her knees and squeezed her eyes closed, holding her hands over them as another assurance that she would not betray those eyes of his.
Dalaric forced his Ki to swarm over the barrier, blocking all sounds from penetrating it. He turned back to the witch. Her eyes were barely slitted orbs of malice.
"You think she will not know? You think she will not wonder if you could have saved him, if you hadn't been off when you said you would be back days ago?" Nialle questioned. She shook the bag. Red seeped through the bottom. "She loved the little boy so, so much. You are not proving such a proficient provider, are you, my Lord," she sneered.
Jocale's eyes widened. He had watched the human child in the scry bowl. Had she always intended this? Had he only served as a distraction from her true purpose? The boy was another life lost to the wickedness of her maniacal search for revenge.
"I wonder," the dark one murmured, "if she will ever forgive herself for leaving him all by himself. He called her name as he died. You cannot hold her together forever, Dragon. She will be ripped apart by the mana that was meant to save your blood. Just as she was always meant to be."
Nialle's laughter twined through the darkening shadows long after she disappeared in a flash of smoke that stank of sulfur. Jocale slowly backed away from the Akkadian as the large male's fangs grew to overlap his bottom lip. A silent snarl turned his features into a terrifying mask of savage rage. Blood trailed from Dalaric’s claws where they bit into the palms of his hands.
The bag Nialle brought to the woods had been left behind. Drawn by a morbid sense of curiosity, Jocale walked to it and kneeled before the burlap sack. He took a deep breath then snapped open the flap. Hair matted with blood and grey bits stuck to the boy's caved in forehead.
Jocale did not fight the sense of kinship he felt to the murdered boy in that moment. As he turned to look over his shoulder at the tall Akkadian and watched as his eyes took in the desecration of the boy's body, Jocale prayed the boy had been dead before Nialle removed his eyes and the other bits he saw were missing but doubted it. How many times he had listened to the screams of her victims while she butchered them for parts?
Dalaric vowed to find the bitch, Nialle, and return every bit of pain on her that she had forced upon the boy. She had used the cruelest form of torture to inflict incredible pain.
Not only would Emersyn face the boy's loss, but the pain that led up to it. Dalaric did not even know the name of the boy who had been sacrificed for his failure to anticipate an attack so foul.
Dalaric forced his temper to calm and willed his Ki to the fore instead. He would need everything he possessed to handle what would come. He was not his father. He would not see a female under his protection broken by her loss. The barrier surrounding Emersyn fell.
As she turned around to face him, Dalaric kneeled before her. "There is something I must tell you, but you need to keep yourself calm," he gently ordered.
Emersyn's lips wobbled. "What is it?" she tried to brace herself. "Please. Just tell me," she begged.
Jocale looked between the two of them. Perhaps the lord did not know who the boy had been to her, so he could not explain fully. He pulled the sack closed and cinched the top carefully before standing. He looked over at the woman. "Your young one, Will, was killed by Nialle." He looked her straight in the eye and lied. "It was quick. He did not suffer." His eyes met Dalaric's. A wealth of knowledge passed silently between them.
"No," she whispered. "No!" She jumped to her feet and would have sprinted to the bag but Dalaric caught her and wrapped his arms around her trembling form. He pushed her head against his chest and enfolded her entire being in the crushing grip of his Ki as her mana surged to the fore.
She wailed. "I left him with Paelia! It isn't him!" Her voice cracked. "He isn't, he can't be-" Dalaric pulled back enough to meet her eyes. The truth stared right at her. Great wracking sobs shook her slender body.
The young male cleared his throat. "Lord Dalaric, Nialle's dark mana will draw predators. I will lay the boy to rest where none will ever find it."
A half-truth. A gift to the boy he would never know to protect the woman in the lord's arms. The boy could not be given a proper human burial. Emersyn would never know the truth of Will's suffering.
Arms around the woman, Dalaric focused on keeping her soul from disintegrating with grief. Dalaric gave the male a nod of understanding. "Seek Gilvern after you have completed the task," he ordered in a low growl.
Jocale crossed his chest with his right arm and bowed his head. He lifted the sack in his arms as respectfully as he could and spirited the body of the boy once known as Will away from the clearing. He had not known him except for a few glimpses through the witch's scry bowl. But he would see him properly buried with enough stone on top of the mound to prevent disturbance to his rest. Will's fate would have been his if not for the mercy of Lord Dalaric. He would do no less for one his savior protected.
Dalaric wrapped more of his essence around the sobbing woman. Her face nestled in the crook of his neck; he stroked her hair from her face while allowing her grief to spill onto his skin while his Ki maintained tight control of her mana.
He damned the fates that would visit such grievous harm upon so tender a creature.
∞∞∞
The vile witch cursed her failed plan. She cursed Jocale, but most of all, she cursed the Mother who had allowed the Akkadians to continue to breath instead of killing them all.
He should not have been able to control mana! She had rushed to her scrying bowl to partake of the woman's glorious death and had instead been forced to watch the whoreson Akkadian destroy all her hard work.
"Your anger is refreshing," a voice slithered across her from the darkness of the corner of the small room she used for her sleeping space.
"Who is there?" Nialle demanded. "Show yourself." The witch gathered the oily essence she had beautifully darkened over time from the pits of her rotten soul. She would destroy the one who dared to invade her sanctum.
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A chuckle that grated against Nialle's ears with sharp claws echoed in the room. "Your anger is misdirected. I have come to offer a bargain of sorts. An answer to your prayers."
"What prayers?" Nialle asked. She sneered, "If you knew me you would understand I stopped praying long ago."
"You cursed me for your weakness. You cursed me for the death of your beloved daughter. This, I understand. This is my reason for seeking you out. I did not ignore you for want of caring, Daughter. I was bound away from those who would call upon me. Bound for the sake of the ones you truly blame for the death of your beloved Louisa."
Nialle felt her knees grow weak. "No. It isn't possible," she whispered. "You are gone. Dead to us," she said in shock.
"Not gone. Never gone. Detained," the voice continued, "but not for long. With your help and the help of my other children I will rise again."
A figure stepped into the dim light of a few flickering candles Nialle had hastily lit upon her return. "Your Mother never abandoned you."
Dark energy skated down Nialle's spine and scraped against her mind. She felt the breath leave her lungs and dropped to her knees. It was the truth she had been seeking since the death of her Louisa. It filled her blackened heart with fervent glee. She scored her face with her own nails and she cried out in joy, "What do you need of your servant?"
"Servant? No. I do not seek a servant. I desire something else. Something more."
Nialle felt her rage rise to the fore. Revenge! She lusted for it. "The Akkadians will not fall easily." She scowled. "The male, Dalaric, bent mana to his will."
The cloaked figure shrugged. "Kill him. The woman he protects is the key to my freedom."
Last of the Temple Line Page 12