Remnants of Night (Darkest Despair Book 1)

by Keri Salyers

  Climbing the wrought-iron steps of the handsome red brick building, I paused with a sigh. Turning, I snapped my fingers in quick succession to get Trinathe’s attention; the Zarhsha was admiring… uhg, who cares?! Blasted pointy-eared fluff-head. A few annoying moments later, I ushered the handsome fool into my abode.

  What can I say? Power doesn’t necessarily make one orderly. With a slight hitch of embarrassment, I snatched up the shirt, black lacy bra and lone sock that were on the couch. And floor. And lamp. Tossing them randomly in the bedroom, I scouted about for something comfortable to wear home.

  Home. I paused. Was I really going home? Did I really still consider Lehiras home? Slipping off my blouse, I tossed it on the bed and fetched a plain black sweater from its hanger. I replaced my gray dress pants with jeans, then pulled on a pair of comfortable low-heel boots. The home coming reunion could go either way; I wanted to be prepared. There was no need to try to physically impress the Pelthocians—they would know me no matter what I was wearing. I glanced around—was there anything else I should bring? A machine gun perhaps?

  Inhaling deeply, I evicted the butterflies that were considering moving into my stomach; I guess I was feeling a little nervous. Only a little, mind you. When I turned I found Trinathe standing in the doorway. “Oh, no. Get out of here. Elves aren’t ever to step foot in my bedroom.” When he blinked his large luminescent eyes, I followed up with, “It’s a rule.”

  Ushering the Zarhsha from my room, I bade him to sit on the leather loveseat while I prepared. Traveling via portal was no easy feat. It wasn’t like catching a cab to downtown. I pulled the small table away from one wall, took down the picture and rolled up the ornate rug. These things I sat aside. Taking a settling breath, I knelt down and sat back on my ankles with my hands loose in my lap.

  I began to focus my energies by shoring up any “stray strands”; my time in the human world, not feeling the need to hide, had lent me a bit of frivolity when it came to that. Okay, I’ve gotten lazy. Pulling in everything I had, I thought of Lehiras, specifically the cascading mountain spires that overlooked my lair. I thought of their craggy beauty, the lush green vegetation below that remained untouched by Pelthocians, Zarhsha or Sarkkrai. Well, had been untouched. I would be bringing that subject up in this ‘meeting’.

  The spell’s energies began to snap and break apart as my concentration wavered. Quickly I snatched them back, very conscious of my mage-talented onlooker. The glorious mountains that I had made my own flooded back to me—the scent of evergreens, the morning fog and the feeling of cold biting wind beneath my wings that lifted me higher, ever so higher. Wings? Ah, yes, I will tell you about that in due time…

  It is hard to describe what it is like to set a portal. I would say it as finding a memory, reaching through and grabbing it then pulling it toward you until it connects with reality. When the two meet, it’s like two drops of water colliding. Audibly, it’s more like a sharp crack of thunder. The sound reverberated around my living room. Pictures rattled but nothing fell. Before me, swirling like a hole cut into the very fabric of existence was the portal to Lehiras. Black vapor poured skyward—the residual magic of one realm burning from the connection to another’s.

  I straightened with a sense of accomplishment. I hadn’t set a portal in many a year—it’s a drain to set and would cause no end of an uproar were it discovered—but to my exacting eye, it was holding up fairly well. Trinathe however was looking dubious. “What? Think you could do better?”

  One elegantly arched eyebrow lifted; he pulled his eyes away from the dark swirling portal to meet mine. “I did not say that.”

  “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  Trinathe’s jewel eyes went back to the portal. “It is different than the one I traveled here through. The other was less… chaotic.”

  I frowned. Ok, so I was really out of practice. Sue me. “Alright, Elf. Let’s get this over with.”

  “I am ready. Where will we be arriving?” The Zarhsha stood and paced to my side; we both faced the portal. I could see the trepidation in his expression; he was trusting someone who was once his sworn enemy to bring him safely home. I could easily sabotage the portal and leave him in limbo forever but, to be honest, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind till then. It was a good thought (Hey! You know who I am!) but I’d learned temperance over the course of ten years away from Lehiras.

  “Well, we can’t exactly port directly to the Pelthocian castle, now can we?”

  “I believe you only have yourself to blame for that,” Trinathe replied, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Another of the changes the Pelthocians exacted to assure you wouldn’t be able to send a squad of heavily-armed Sarkkrai to their doorstep again.”

  I gave a small chuckle. “Fast learners, aren’t they?”

  Trinathe looked down at me with an admonishing, yet still amused, expression. “Something like that. Do not tell me you plan for us to port—”

  “You worry too much,” I said, waving off his words. “I will take us to my mountains. It should be safe there… unless there is something you would like to tell me?”

  The Zarhsha held his hands up before him. “As far as I know, after the Pelthocian scouts found the portal, no one has been there,” he said, then followed up, “With the notable exception of the magi who studied it and in turn sent me here.”

  Taking a moment to collect myself after picturing a half-dozen disgusting Pelthocian magi running amuck in my lair, touching my stuff, thumbing their self-righteous paws through my books, I suddenly had a new gusto for entering that portal and it had nothing to do with confronting that half-dozen Pelthocian magi. Alright, it did. Pelthocian were the worst sort of mages; there was no love-loss between me and those kind of people. “After you, Elf.”

  “Oh, no, ladies first,” Trinathe replied with a flourish. Heh, for being a Zarhsha, this guy was easy to like. Not because of any foolish notions of chivalry, but because he was still not fully convinced that I wouldn’t leave his ass in limbo.

  I couldn’t bring myself to see the remains of my lair just yet—hence why we stepped out of the portal onto a cliff overlooking the woods. It was a large cliff, clear of brush and saplings. Below us grew tree upon tree with nary a break. Taking a deep breath, I relished the fresh rejuvenating air. A fierce feeling came over me, one I had repressed for nearly a decade. Now remember what I had said earlier about wings? Now would be a good time to explain that.

  The form I took, the being known as Zofeya… well… that wasn’t really me. There was a reason why the Sarkkrai worshipped me, the Pelthocians feared me, and it wasn’t all due to the magic contained within me. I’ve never met another of my kind so I cannot say exactly what we would be called. Perhaps they fell asleep like I had so very long ago and just had yet to awaken? I honestly did not know. I chose to take the appearance of a Pelthocian on a whim (that, and the fact when you are nearly three meters tall at the shoulders, you don’t comfortably fit in most buildings). The Sarkkrai had accommodated me but I had grown fond of my diminutive alter-shape.

  Breathing in, I felt my lungs expand till they filled beyond that of my current form. They stretched and grew. When I opened my eyes, the mountains began changing as my vision acuity strengthened. My range of sight widened and I could see Trinathe without even moving. His form got smaller and smaller as mine got larger. Flying over the mirror surfaces of lakes had given me a good idea of what the Zarhsha was seeing now—sleek spiny sublime ruination, destruction on gilded wings.

  I could feel Trinathe preparing to defend himself and for a moment my tempered judgment was lost in a sea of ruthless primalism. The fear he was trying to wrestle control of was intoxicating and all of a sudden I wanted him to run so that I could chase him, so that I could carve into him with fang and claw, taste his adrenaline-spiked blood. I caught myself baring dagger-like teeth at the Zarhsha. Reining it in took a lot more willpower than it once had and left me feeling embarrassed and un-assuaged both. I shook
out the colorful keeled scales around my neck and forced my gaze to the trees below us. My hearing was a lot better so I could hear when Trinathe began to breathe once again after a long deep gulp. He was wrapping barrier spells around himself as ‘quietly’ as possible but I could feel each strand. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it is here.”

  “Indeed. I can see why you chose it. It is very remote and hard to reach by those who do not possess wings,” Trinathe said, wariness in his tone.

  Craning my neck, I spied deer and small rodents in the forest below. I could hear the tiny feet of birds on their tree branch perches. My ears perked at a sound I couldn’t quite place but felt like I knew. Searching with all my senses, I couldn’t find it. I began to get frustrated at this elusive something that was lurking in my woods. My claws dug into the hard soil and rock. When Trinathe finally stepped up beside me to peer down, I almost snapped him in half out of anger. But I didn’t have time to find this intruder; I was here for a different reason. Reluctantly, I turned my attention away. “Let us depart to Osiril before I change my mind.” Trinathe looked up at me, then back down at the forest, then off towards my lair. I suppressed a deliciously cruel chuckle. “I will carry you, little Elf. Feel privileged, for this isn’t an honor I bestow on just anyone.”

  ~*~*~*~

  CHAPTER 3

  Winging my way to the Pelthocian Capital City of Osiril—an atrocious place full of self-righteousness and inappropriate capitalization of letters—I was tempted to tuck in for a roll in the clouds. The chances that I would catch Trinathe before he collided with the ground below were good but even over the roar of the wind I could hear his whispered prayers to the Zarhsha patron Deity, so I took uncharacteristic pity. My lair was north of Pelthocia over many miles and many a mountainous region and took nearly an hour before the Capital came without view. Osiril was well fortified; surely a factor put in to effect due to the relative closeness of the Sarkkrai territories to the east. A siege of Osiril’s walls would no doubt fail however a blockade could effectively halt traffic in due to the city’s position carved into the rocky pinnacle of a granite precipice. At its back was the impassable near-vertical pinnacle, its sides were sheer cliff into a tumultuous river and the only entrance was an enormous carved bridge.

  When I came within view of the south towers, having flown around to enter from the bridge, I knew the guards would have spied me by then. Momentarily, I delighted in thinking of their panic, could see the horses sprinting down the causeway to alert the castle. I could see townsfolk rushing in to the safety of the stone gates. Touching down in the clearing outside the towers, I shook out my wings and let Trinathe slide to the ground as elegantly as he could, given the long flight. He stumbled, rubbing his thighs to restore circulation while I pulled in my energies and shaped them in to my humanoid form. I missed the sense of immensity immediately.

  Trinathe’s black hair was windblown as were his clothes, but he still managed to look dignified as only a Zarhsha could. Flicking back my own hair, I headed toward the bridge fully prepared to meet multiple crossbows pointed at my heart. Glancing up, I was surprised to see stern faces but no bared weaponry. The Pelthocians who hadn’t scattered like leaves on the bridge separated like water to let us pass. Pacing by their slack-jawed faces and staring eyes, I fought the temptation to see how many I could get to jump off the bridge. My amusing train of thought was interrupted by the sound of approaching shod hooves. The welcoming committee had arrived.

  I had never actually stepped foot into Osiril. It felt cramped but clean, and the keep at its center was much the same. Perhaps the Capital City had spent too much time under threat of war for its stark lines and sterile appearance… Wait, was I sympathizing with the Pelthocians? My enemies? I shook away those feelings and replaced them—balefire would certainly cure a good portion of their issues. Ushered quickly through hallway upon austere hallway, I found myself in the throne room amidst a small armed force. Were I not who I was, such a display would have made me nervous, perhaps even hostile. Good to see time hadn’t lulled them into foolhardiness. I could never suffer fools lightly.

  The Pelthocian King was no young buck but he knew his way around a battlefield and had the look of one who could still swing a sword. A little more gray on top and laced into his well-trimmed beard, a few more wrinkles around his sharp clear eyes and a bit of a developing paunch over his Kingly belt, Ostas Burend eyed me momentarily before dismissing his subjects, then taking a seat upon his throne. Directly behind him, his guards stood conspicuously. He studied me with an unreadable expression, leaving me to break the ice.

  “Ah, I see you still live. I had hoped the Creeping Scourge would have eventually taken you,” I said with a smirk and a mocking curtsey. “My Liege.” The Creeping Scourge was a plague that rolled in like a mist, killing and mutating beings into monsters. Yes, I know it’s not a pleasant topic but I had been doing everything to win.

  Ostas’ eyes widened and his face drained of color. Apparently my little surprise was still a source of fear. But the Pelthocian King was not a man of faint heart; he was on his feet in his next breath. “My advisors were against bringing you here. They said that letting you step foot to Pelthocian soil is an abomination against all we stand for and that we should be overjoyed to finally be rid of you.”

  My smirk faded into a frown matching his.

  “M-my Liege Burend,” Trinathe said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. He glanced between us both and I swear he gave me a look of exasperation. The King focused on him immediately.

  “Trinathe. Your Trine had told me that this creature,” he waved a curt hand in my direction, “from our past was pivotal to our current situation with the Sarkkrai. Obviously they were correct in assuming she had escaped through that portal.”

  “Hey!” I cut in. “I did no such thing.”

  “Then please, enlighten me. The Sarkkrai were repelled, chased back to their lands with tails between legs and you—you—were nowhere to be found,” Ostas said, looking down his imperial nose at me.

  He had me and he knew it. I could either come clean or I could lie like a plain-faced human at an upscale club. I chose the obvious route: diversion. “Chased them back to their lands, did you? I believe you underestimate the Sarkkrai Warlord if you thought that would be the last you’d hear of them.”

  Ostas grunted in distaste. “Lehiras will only breathe easy when that vulgarity is dead and his skull adorns Osiril’s gate.”

  “One of this alliance’s biggest mistakes will be underestimating what he can and will do. They’ve never had a Warlord quite like Ve’Sath; he is a prodigy. I take it he is still calling the shots?”

  The Pelthocian King’s eyes narrowed as he examined me again as if not quite sure I really was who I claimed to be. He said something but I was suddenly distracted, as if part of my mind had wandered off and it was not simply because Ostas Burend was an atrocious boor. I could sense something coming like a storm building in the distance. My eyes were drawn to the door. Apparently I had been vacant for more than an acceptable moment, for now both the King and Trinathe were staring at me. Then the door to the throne room opened.

  Let me tell you something about Ianarius Nalach; I despised him with a passion. He was ugly on the inside, the same as I—don’t let the Pelthocian exterior persuade you into thinking otherwise. But despite that he chose to involve himself with beings of which the words justice and right were commonplace—one of the many reasons I loathed the man.

  I had tried to do away with the slimy worm back at the height of my reign in our last battle. Ianarius had been protecting the Pelthocian King with the assistance of three underlings. When I attacked and we squared off, the three banded together to protect him and in the end sacrificed themselves to save his life with a very powerful soul-shield. Somehow the shield snapped and knocked us all flying. Shards of the spell embedded themselves in our suddenly unshielded and wide-open minds. It created a connection between us; it was like having a small chunk o
f the other deep within our minds. I couldn’t hear his thoughts or predict his movements, but I was inexplicably very aware of his presence. I could feel him—shock, dismay, anger—a lot of it directed at me, the rest at himself.

  Judging from the less-than-game appearance from the irritatingly fastidious man, I deduced that he had probably been napping. Ianarius was a tall thin man, towering over the average if only in height. He had a good set of shoulders to him and a frame that said if he chose to, he could be quite the physically intimidating sight. Instead, he chose to devote himself to magic, to improving his mind. His eyes had gone from the hazel green I recalled to a strange inky color; they had a shiny brightness to them reminiscent of polished marbles. When the light hit the irises just right, they gleamed like oil on water. Those were a mage’s eyes; one who mastered the art of energy manipulation to its fullest.

  His hair was an unremarkable brown, cut an inch or so below his ears. The temples were going gray, not from age but from stress—I knew how old he was and also knew how magic utilization effected Pelthocians. Stress could change their hair, bow their back and break down their mental faculties but with regular magic use—having these energies pass through you like a conduit—kept their bodies youthful. Minds stayed sharp even in those that were eventually driven insane.

  Yup, our ill-fated connection had awoken the sleeping bear from his little nap. And the bear was grouchy.

  Ianarius paused when his eyes lit upon me. There was a moment of surprise before I could feel the energies in the room swoop in and wrap him up tight like a blanket, masking his presence entirely. If I hadn’t been looking at him, I wouldn’t be able to sense that he was even in the room at all, so hidden was he. He then rolled his strange muddled-colored eyes away from me and to the King. There was no mistaking his disgust, nor did he try to mask it. “You let that in here without wards? Into our city and into the throne room? Why wasn’t someone sent to notify me?”