They weren’t city kheshlars like the ones from Sudegam. She hadn’t thought of herself as a city kheshlar because they never had anybody to compare to. A faded history lesson came to her. There were wood kheshlars. For many generations, they were thought to be lost. The two races had an argument centuries ago, causing the wood kheshlars to leave. Without the wood kheshlars, the war against the dragons would have been lost. The tale told how the wood kheshlars were master archers. With a bow in their hands, there would be nothing they couldn’t hit.
Arria knew the city kheshlars would want to know about the wood kheshlars. She grinned. It would be fun to slaughter them, leaving the carcasses for the city kheshlars to find. The city kheshlars may learn of their existence, but still not know where they hid.
She silently leaped from tree to tree away from her discovery, returning to the dragons. Their force outmatched the wood kheshlars three to one. The wood kheshlars would be distracted by their celebration. They wouldn’t see Arria coming. Arria and her dragons planned to massacre the defenseless wood kheshlars.
“Misstress … can wee tasstee blood noow?”
“It is time.” She grinned.
She ordered them to hold their attack until she made the first strike. They would hide in the forest as she slipped into the kheshlarn celebration alone. She wanted to speak with the wood kheshlars before ordering the attack.
The forest came alive for the celebration. Leaves from the trees swayed in perfect harmony with the wind. Animals and insects sang in chorus with each other. Tingles crept down Arria’s spine as she observed. Arria heard stories about how the wood kheshlars could bring the forest itself to life. She hadn’t believed them, until now.
Arria strode into the camp, causing the dancing animals to cower away. A few kheshlars noticed her. They halted what they were doing.
“Where do you come from?” a male kheshlar asked.
His eyes were squinted at first, but grew wide at her approach. He studied her appearance, raising an eyebrow. “What are you?”
Arria stood inches away from him. “Your worst nightmare.”
Arria unsheathed her dagger, thrusting it into the man’s abdomen. His breath caught, he gagged, blood poured from his mouth. Arria stepped forward, pressing her lips to his. Arria’s power amplified as she drank his blood. Ecstasy filled her, causing her to nearly miss the oncoming short sword.
Arria ducked, barely escaping with her head. A large chunk of her hair drifted to the ground like a feather drifting in the wind. She unsheathed her flamberge, rolling across the ground. Dragons appeared around her in protective stances. The attack caught the kheshlars off guard. They struggled to find their bows and short swords.
She smiled when she tasted blood as she fought. The kheshlars didn’t stand a chance. Arria noticed one woman doing exceedingly well at the edge of an oak tree. Six dead dragons lay at her feet before she defeated another. She wielded a unique short sword in each hand, which caused Arria to pause to admire them. Her swords had a double-blade with a hollow center, only connecting at the top and bottom.
Arria smiled, clenching the hilt her flamberge tight. She stepped toward the woman slowly, studying her style. The kheshlar fought careful, her strikes steady and balanced, not drifting far from her body.
The woman’s ebony hair fell two centimeters above her shoulders. She was the first kheshlar Arria saw with such short hair. After a period of studying, she could see why. Her attacks were nearly flawless, clearly centuries of training with the weapons. The shortened hair made it easier to maneuver. Arria licked her lips, biting her tongue as she watched the woman battle three dragons. The fight didn’t last long as the three dragons fell.
Arria stepped toward the woman as all the dragons backed away. The woman stood, covered in the black ooze of the dragons’ blood. She breathed heavily as she stared at Arria.
Arria bit her lip. “You are very brave and powerful, but it will not save you.”
“Why? Why do you come here to kill us? What have we done?”
“I come seeking death. The sweet ecstasy of it, and I will have it. Now it is your time.”
The kheshlar steadied her short swords, turning sideways in a defensive position. Arria had to admit, the kheshlar had been smart. Arria attempted to provoke the kheshlar, but she only stood serene. The corner of Arria’s lip twitched in a smile as she thought about the ways she could kill her. She had no doubt of victory.
Arria lunged forward, flamberge in hand, but the woman deflected easily with one sword. She struck again with a slash to the left, followed by one to the right, but each blow had been deflected with equal skill. Arria paused, waiting for an attack, but none came. The woman showed herself smarter than Arria imagined. She refused to use offensive strikes on Arria. She forced Arria to continue using slashes and strikes, but each had been slapped away with ease.
“Fight me!” Arria yelled.
The woman held her position with one sword held upright, the other by her forearm. Arria growled, rushing in. Her attacks grew vicious and sloppy. The woman retaliated, using Arria’s carelessness against her, striking true on the top of Arria’s hands. Arria stepped back, feeling her hands go numb. She had been glad her gauntlets were on to protect her hands from the worst of it.
The woman didn’t stop there as she pressed on, striking Arria’s armor several more times. She sliced the two straps holding Arria’s armor on. Her armor clattered to the ground by her feet. Arria stepped back, aghast at first, wearing only her ebony chain mail. She knew the chain mail would protect her from most strikes, but she couldn’t help but feel exposed.
She knew she should feel cold standing in the midst of snow with such scarce armor, yet she felt warm and stronger with less weight on her. She smiled, repositioning her flamberge, reveling in the fear she saw in the woman’s eyes.
Arria rushed forward to clash their bodies together. The woman had a hard time against the extra vibration Arria’s flamberge created. Arria had been able to nick the woman’s arms and face with her blade, but it came at a price. The two of them became full of fresh scars. Arria’s hair was no longer snow white, but stained scarlet.
Arria almost lost her balance, but overcame it, twisting her flamberge to slap the hilt of one of the woman’s swords. The weapon fell from her grasp. She became forced to put her hands on the hilt of her remaining sword. Arria pressed her attack strong, struggling to not give the woman a chance to grab her fallen weapon. Her opponent’s skill had been impressive with only one short sword, but the battle grew in Arria’s favor.
The woman tried something which Arria did not expect, she drove her short sword down Arria’s blade until the two hilts collided, causing their weapons to fly from their grasp. Arria cursed as her flamberge tumbled to the ground. Before Arria had time to react, the kheshlar slammed a closed fist into her jaw.
Arria fell backward. Before Arria hit the ground, the woman dropped on top of her, throwing punches. She could only block a few before getting hit in the face a dozen times. Arria rolled out of the brawl to stand in a defensive position. The woman charged her. Arria braced herself, jumping into the air, spinning her heel into the woman’s jaw, knocking her to the ground. The woman stood, wiping blood from her lip before they continued to trade jabs.
They passed by Arria’s armor on the ground. Arria dove for her dagger clasped in its belt. The woman trailed close behind. When Arria turned around, her dagger slipped into the woman’s abdomen. She cried out in horror, tears filling her blue eyes. Arria stared into her sparkling blue eyes, memories flooding her of her sister. The woman’s eyes closed before she collapsed onto the ground.
Arria’s victory became short lived as dying dragons shrieked around her. She tried to turn, but something pierced her lower back. A sharp pain shot through her entire body. She fell onto the ground. Dragons all around her fell dead from arrows. The pain in her back stunned her. She lay silent, watching through blurred eyes as a woman dove to clutch the one Arria had struck down mo
ments ago. Tears flowed as freely as a river down the brunette’s face while she clutched the near lifeless body of her friend. Arria pushed herself to her feet, lunging at the woman. She stumbled, watching as the hilt of her flamberge struck the woman’s temple. A tingling pain surged though Arria’s back before everything became black.
Chapter Thirteen
Starlyn walked by Shronan’s side. He fascinated her. Magic had been something kheshlars stayed away from. She never understood why. It intrigued her, she wondered what all it could do.
“Can you heal anything?” she asked.
“I am sure there are limitations to my ability, but I am not sure what.”
“My mother is sick, can you help her?”
“There may be something I could do, but I would have to see her.”
“I have been searching for a cure, but I don’t know what can help her. My sister has resorted to black magic. I know there always has to be a balance to everything, is yours the magic which balances the black?”
Shronan chuckled. “I do not know if I’m that strong. Black magic is a powerful substance. Though there are always alternative ways to solve a problem than resorting to it.”
“I’ve tried everything I know, even had our herbalist take a look at her, but there seems to be no cure.”
“Hold on a second. Your mother … a kheshlar … tell me, how is it she’s sick?”
“I do not know … but that’s how this all started. Arria left to seek a cure, and found black magic. I was forced to kill her, but somehow she’s back, and her skin is no longer pale blue. Now it’s a soft shade of black. I checked my mother for poison, even gave her a strict diet, but nothing changed. Kheshlars are only supposed to die from poison or battle. It is not supposed to be like this.” Starlyn’s eyes filled with tears.
Shronan stopped walking, embracing her in a hug. “It’s alright child. I will see if I can get to the bottom of this. Logically, it doesn’t make sense.”
Starlyn gulped, wiping her tears. “I’m sorry, I’m a kheshlar, I should be strong.”
“Nobody is that strong, it is okay to shed your tears. If other kheshlars find this a path of weakness then shed your tears here with me. I understand your emotions even if they do not.”
Starlyn nodded. They continued north to find her companions. She assumed they traveled back to Sudegam after her disappearance to get help, but they found their tracks moving forward. It had been foolish, but it was like Vil’ek. Vil’ek would not rest until he found Arria, despite the cost. They needed to return to Sudegam soon, Starlyn wanted Shronan to see her mother.
After a few days of travel, they found the small kheshlarn camp. Vil’ek stood watch while the others sparred with their weapons. Starlyn watched them for a moment with Shronan before they stepped into the clearing.
Vil’ek dropped to an attack stance, drawing his two curved swords. Once he noticed her, he lowered his weapons. He didn’t sheath them as he watched Shronan at her side.
“It’s okay Vil’ek, Shronan saved me from captivity.”
He nodded, sliding his scimitars in their scabbards, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Shronan. When the two of them met Shronan held out his hand but Vil’ek only stared at it.
“My name is Shronan Onderon. I am a mage.”
Vil’ek backed away, his hand feeling the hilt of one of his weapons. “We don’t need your magic here.”
“Where would I be better suited?” Shronan said.
“Leave, you don’t need to be here,” Vil’ek said.
“He saved and healed me. He is staying. His magic is not bad,” Starlyn said.
“All magic is bad,” Vil’ek said.
“Correction,” Shronan said. “All magic is complicated. It may seem bad or ill if you do not understand it, few people do. I promise you this, I will not use magic against kheshlars. It is against our oaths as mages to use our power for anything but good. Let me tell you something you may not know. The creatures you fought are not dragons, but much weaker creatures called draeyks. There are hundreds of thousands of them. A war is coming—you will need me if you hope to survive.”
“I don’t believe you.” Vil’ek gritted his teeth.
“Take me to your king, he knows the truth,” Shronan said.
“Perhaps we will, but we are scouting these … draeyks as you call them? We will find where they reside soon,” Vil’ek said.
“That my friend is a dangerous task.” Shronan raised a brow.
“Only to the inexperienced,” Vil’ek said.
“I will come with you until we find their camp, but then we must return. If you wish to succeed against these creatures you will need numbers. We must speak with your king for an army. We must wipe them all out before they have time to organize,” Shronan said.
“How can they be a threat with no weapons and organization?” Vil’ek said.
“They have weapons now … and a leader,” Starlyn whispered.
Vil’ek turned to her in surprise. “Who would lead them? Surely one of them isn’t smart enough.”
“It isn’t a draeyk … but someone much smarter.”
“Who?”
Starlyn became afraid to tell him, she felt unsure how he’d react. She needed his help. In her heart, she felt her sister could be saved, and she was willing to do anything to save her.
“A smart woman from what I saw, soft black skin with white hair.”
A kheshlar appeared out of the bushes on the north side of camp. Sweat dripped from his brow, which was abnormal for a kheshlar. His face paled more than normal, his eyes bouncing left to right toward Vil’ek. He stood silently as he regarded Starlyn and Shronan.
“Speak, Erenyuh! What have you found?” Vil’ek asked.
“You won’t like it, they are still too far ahead of us … but we did find—” Erenyuh paused.
“What, what did you find?” Vil’ek asked.
“Kheshlars, lots of them. They are different, their skin is green and their ears are shorter…”
Vil’ek’s eyes bulged. “The wood kheshlars? We’ve finally found them? Elsargast will be pleased. We must—”
“Captain,” Erenyuh interrupted.
“What?” Vil’ek snapped through gritted teeth.
“They’re all dead.”
Chapter Fourteen
Arria awoke in a quiet dark room. One small candle burned on the table next to her bed. She blew out the candle as she smiled with half of her mouth. Darkness, absolute darkness. It had been how she liked it, yet something seemed wrong to her. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there. The last thing she remembered had been being in battle, killing kheshlars. Her memory slowly came to her, patching itself back together. She had killed all the kheshlars except one.
Her back throbbed but the arrow had been removed. The pain radiated across her back, fresh, as if the arrow still sank deep. She struggled to her feet, searching for books on healing with black magic. Healing had not been commonly done with black magic; it took serious effort. Death would be much easier.
Footsteps stomped outside her tent. A creature stepped inside. Its eyes crossed when it gazed at her. The creature coughed before dropping to its knees.
“Misstress. I wass noot exxxpecting youu soo sooon.”
“How many did we lose?”
“Misstress. It mayy noott bee wisse tooo bring youu ill newss sssoo ssssoon.”
“How many?”
“Threee hundreed forrty.”
“How many did we kill?”
“One hundreeed thirrty.”
“So many casualties for such few victories.”
“Manny archerss they haad. Wee did capturre threee.”
“There are three prisoners?”
“Yess.”
“Bring them to me.”
“Misstress … arre yoou strrong enoough?”
She bit her lip as she pondered the question. Normally such a question would offend her and she would retaliate with the beast’s head, yet she knew
it had a point. She nodded, pulling a pouch of powder from her desk.
“Yes, I will be.”
“Asss yoou wisssh.”
After the creature left, she enchanted a few words, sprinkling the power all about her. She knew the relief would be temporary. She needed to keep guards nearby, but there were a few things she could do to make the healing permanent. It all depended on how the prisoners would act.
She sat on her bed, breathing slow; she didn’t need to breathe, but it soothed her. The tent flap opened as six dragons brought three kheshlars in chains. All three were male, two had black hair and the last had light brown hair.
“I want three guards inside and three outside,” Arria said.
Without argument, three of the creatures marched outside as the other three steadied their curved axes.
“What are your names?”
The men didn’t respond. Arria became enraged, stalking to them, backhanding each in turn. They fell to the ground with bloody lips. They glanced at her from their knees.
“I will ask you one more time.” She grabbed her dagger. “What are your names?”
“Jerrek,” a man with thin eyebrows and pointed chin said.
“Breemurh,” the man with rounded chin, dimples, and thick bushy eyebrows said.
“Lemnur,” the brunette with dazzling green eyes said.
“And you are wood kheshlars?” Arria said.
“Yes,” Jarrek said.
“Where are the rest of you?”
“Why, so you can kill them too?” Breemurh said through clenched teeth.
Arria stepped forward, backhanding Breemurh. Her hand didn’t strike as hard as the first strike. She glared at him. More blood trickled down his chin, but he didn’t wipe it.
“This would go a lot easier for you if you would answer my questions. I am familiar with the forms of torture to break your will. I know all about the kheshlar’s anatomy … I used to be one.”
The Chronicles of Starlyn (Calthoria Chronicles Book 1) Page 6
