Sharani series Box Set

by Kevin L. Nielsen

  “Then leave.” His voice was cold, his eyes ice.

  Would he really just let her leave? Lhaurel snatched her sword out of the air, opened the door, and hurled herself into the maelstrom.

  Sand assailed her, cut into her skin, tore at her flesh. The force of it blinded her, filled her mouth, and left her struggling to breathe. She stumbled onward blindly, one arm extended in front of her and the other futilely covering her mouth and nose. She stumbled into a wall, cutting open her hand. Sand filled the cut in moments, stopping the blood flow. With a muffled scream, she fell to her knees, which tore her robes and opened new wounds. Her mind screamed with the pain.

  What was this place? Who were these people? All the rumors were true—demons taking human form. Mystics. Magic users. And she had let them use her.

  She got to her feet unsteadily, fought the force of the wind threatening to push her over. She felt the skin peeling off her flesh, felt the sand tear it from her like thousands of hungry teeth. But she took one dogged step forward after another. She had to get away. Away from all of this. Away from the pain and the confusion and the blood. All the blood. What did Kaiden want with her?

  She took another step forward. Another patch of skin joined the debris in the air.

  How dare he accuse her of being one of them! She was no demon.

  She stumbled.

  Maybe he was right.

  The thought came small and dark, entering her mind like a thief in the night, leaving the footprints of a king. She coughed up sand, though more filled her mouth and nose than left. Why was she here? Why had the genesauri attacked early? Somehow the two questions merged in her overtaxed mind.

  She took another step forward and tripped against a promontory of rock. She hit the ground hard, sucking in more dust and sand. This time she didn’t get up.

  What did it matter? She was dead now. Her life with the Sidena had been nothing short of the first of the levels of hell. This had to be the second. Death would be a pleasant relief to the pain. A freedom from thought, confusion, and . . . and . . . where was her sword?

  It was gone. Oddly, she felt a twinge of sorrow at that. It had been a nice sword.

  Sand choked her, cut off her air. She struggled to rise but didn’t have the strength. She was dying, slowly suffocating with a mouth and nose stopped up with sand. The thought didn’t seem to sadden her. Though her eyes were closed, her vision lightened, and she caught a glimpse of a far-off meadow, the grasses green and verdant, calm and tranquil, like the Oasis would be about then. She smiled.

  A face appeared in the light, resolving into a complete form, one whose arms were outstretched, holding up a large metal plate like a shield.

  Kaiden?

  She slipped into unconsciousness.

  * * *

  Blackness. Blackness and the faint sound of raspy breathing.

  Consciousness was an elusive tendril of thought that refused to coalesce. Somewhere in the darkness, Lhaurel came aware of herself. The line between tangible and intangible was fuzzy. Thought, feeling, and emotion become one. A feeling of safety and peace washed over her. She seemed complete—whole.

  She was dead.

  The thought should have bothered her, but it didn’t.

  “Lhaurel.”

  The voice came from a great distance. It was muffled and weak, as if it passed through the thick morning mists that sometimes assailed the Oasis.

  “Lhaurel.”

  It came again, more insistent, forceful.

  She opened her eyes.

  Tieran looked down on her, face twisted in concern. Behind him, Khari peered over his shoulder.

  Lhaurel blinked. What was she doing here?

  Reality reasserted itself and her pains washed over her. She gasped, both from the pain and the sudden loss of perspective. The peace remained, though. The feeling of belonging, of being complete. Her mind felt fuzzy, as if it had not yet followed the rest of her consciousness back.

  “Where am I?” she wheezed.

  Tieran placed a waterskin to her lips. She gulped down water gratefully, feeling the brackish liquid clear the sand from her throat and ease into her stomach with welcome relief. A strange, tingling warmth ran across her stomach. Khari answered.

  “You’re in the healing chambers, deep within the warren.”

  A deep rushing noise reached her ears as if they had suddenly decided to start. It was a glorious sound, the gurgling, splashing sound of running water. It was the white foam of surf churned up by battling waves. The deep, blue-green tang of the sea and the sky. It was a transcendent symphony of hope, peace, and roiling emotion. Sea?

  “Where’s the water coming from?” she asked, though she could somehow sense its location. Tieran and Khari gave each other a significant look, and Khari almost smiled.

  Then Lhaurel realized what she was doing. She had turned away from them when she had heard the noise. Neither of them was in her field of vision. How had she known that they’d looked at each other? How had she sensed it?

  Dread washed over her like an icy wash of reality. What had Kaiden done to her? At the same moment, deep within her, something cried out in triumph at finally being set free.

  “In the corner, there,” Khari said. “It’s a freshwater spring that feeds a lake deep beneath us. It’s so far down we just use this spring for water.”

  Yes, Lhaurel thought. There is a lake down there. I can sense it. It’s enormous. Almost as big as the warren itself. She cut off that line of thought. She didn’t want to know how she knew that. And yet, at the same time, she hungered for the knowledge.

  “What am I?” she whispered, closing her eyes.

  “Tieran,” Khari said softly. “Leave us, please.”

  Lhaurel felt the man rise and walk to the door. She could sense him walking, almost feel his long stride, the crunch of the sand beneath his boots. She sensed the cold metal in his hands as he turned the knob, the shift of his weight as the door swung inward. He left, but long after the door had closed Lhaurel still followed him in her mind, though the sense of him faded the further away he walked.

  The bed shifted as Khari sat, pushing Lhaurel’s bent legs aside to make room.

  “Well, you can stop feeling sorry for yourself, girl. The man is gone and it’s just me and you now.”

  Lhaurel didn’t even open her eyes. She kept her face turned away, ignoring the other woman’s presence. The bed shifted again, and Khari arose with a deep, exasperated sigh. The next thing Lhaurel knew, the bed was tilting, and she spilled onto the sandy floor in a tangled mess of bedding and limbs. Lhaurel struggled against the blankets that entangled her, but, before she could free herself, Khari shoved her over, knocking her back to the ground.

  “What in the seven hells are you doing?” Lhaurel demanded, her voice muffled by the bedding. She was tired of being pushed, dragged, and thrown around.

  “If you’re going to act like a child, then I will treat you like one.”

  Khari shoved her again and she toppled into the sand, rolling closer to the gurgling spring.

  “You spent the last fortnight after answers, and now, when you get them, you act as if the world is falling apart around you. You’re told you have a chance to be part of something greater than yourself. To finally find that family, that inclusion you’ve been hungering for since birth. And you throw a tantrum like a spoiled child.”

  Lhaurel managed to free a hand and pulled a blanket off her head. “Some family,” she said. “You locked me in a room with a demon, for sand’s sake.”

  Khari laughed aloud, a single great guffaw of laughter that held more derision than humor. “A demon? Kaiden? Not likely. He’s a mystic, and so are you. That’s why we took such great pains to recruit you. The mystics are what keep the clans alive. Especially us wetta.”

  “I am not one of you.”

  “Oh, but you are,” Khari continued over Lhaurel’s protests. “And you secretly have always known that you were different. That you were better than those aroun
d you. You’ve never fit in, never followed the rules that others gave you. It is the nature of a wetta. Like the sea, you cannot be unwillingly tamed. You are one of us, and you have the chance now to fight for that which you crave. Freedom isn’t given; it is conquered. You have to fight for it, for yourself and others. You have the chance to give life to the clans and protect them from the genesauri.”

  Lhaurel ran her fingers through her hair, listening to the intensity of Khari’s words.

  “Show them you understand that honor is more than just protecting and nurturing those that you agree with; it is also protecting and nurturing those with whom you disagree. That is what we’re giving you the chance to become—a bastion of honor in a world where there is none. Let’s face it. You’re a woman. You have breasts and bear children. In the eyes of the Sidena, that is the only thing that you will ever be good for. Here we will teach you to fight, teach you to use the powers within you. You will be as equal as any man. You will never get that chance among the clans.”

  Lhaurel pulled the last of the bedding free and got to her feet, wary and ignoring the pain as her skin stretched and the raw flesh screamed in protest. The pain was much less than she had expected, but it was a passing thought, a diversion to her present situation. The discarded bedding made a jumbled pile on the overturned bed frame, behind which Khari stood.

  Lhaurel didn’t know what to think. Her emotions were a chaotic mixture of anger, skepticism and, buried deep beneath layers of scars and distrust, a small flickering flame of hope. She wanted to believe. She really truly wanted to think that she could become what Khari was saying. But past experiences weighed heavily in the back of her mind.

  And the magic . . .

  What was this power? What would it do to her? The image of the dead rashelta dripping purple blood onto the sand flitted through her mind’s eye. Would she become the ruthless killer that she had seen in Kaiden during that moment?

  It seemed that some of the rumors were true, or at least partially true. Could the others have some basis in fact as well?

  Purple blood dripped onto the sand.

  Another image crept into her mind, an image that she remembered only hazily, as if through a filmy mist. A man, standing above her and holding up a thin sheet of metal against the storm. A man protecting her. Kaiden. He could have left her. He hadn’t needed to come out and save her. And yet he had. At least she thought he had. Why?

  “Is Kaiden alright?” As soon as the words escaped her, she bit her bottom lip. She hadn’t meant to ask that.

  Khari raised an eyebrow at the question, perhaps curious at the line of reasoning that had brought Lhaurel to ask it.

  “He is well. He and several others are out gathering information.” Khari looked at her, eyes narrowed, appraising her.

  Lhaurel realized for the first time how extremely pretty the woman was. Green eyes, short brown hair that hung just to her shoulders, and a slender build that belied her powerful frame. The grey that flecked her temples and the base of her hairline only added a grace and maturity to her beauty. She radiated strength and power more forcefully than Taren or Jenthro ever had.

  In that moment Lhaurel realized she’d made her decision. The realization both thrilled and frightened her. Questions still hung unanswered in her mind, questions that demanded answers. She wasn’t sure that she wanted them, though. She wanted what Khari had. Though she could barely admit it, even to herself, she longed for the promise of acceptance and freedom that Khari had dangled before her. And she was willing to walk this path to get it. She stood up straighter, the line of her jaw firmed. She looked up at Khari, who smiled at her.

  “Welcome to the Roterralar.”

  Chapter 8: Clarity

  “I have failed them. As they always thought I would. Our experiments have proven fruitless. There is some element missing—some means of combining the forces at work here that refuses to coalesce.”

  —From the Journals of Elyana

  Makin Qays tapped on his chin as he listened to the report. A good leader finds solutions. When presented with a conflict, the good leader resolves it. When presented with a dark, difficult situation, a good leader makes it light by breaking it down into smaller parts and delegating each task. But what was a good leader to do when presented with a situation he didn’t even understand?

  “The genesauri appear to be moving northeast, toward the Oasis.” Kaiden reclined in a chair at the other end of the table, his flight harness still attached over his dusty robes and his face stained reddish brown. He held a cup of wine in one hand, swishing it about absently.

  Makin Qays sat opposite him, trying hard not to let his emotion show on his face. A half dozen other cast leaders sat around the table, murmuring amongst themselves and occasionally glancing at either him or Kaiden. A low buzz of conversation hung heavy in the air, and the smell of dust and drink intermingled left Makin Qays slightly nauseated.

  “Go over it again, Kaiden,” Makin Qays said, leaning forward and cupping his chin with one hand. “From the beginning.”

  Kaiden stared down at his glass for a long moment, silent. Makin Qays cleared his throat and Kaiden glanced up, meeting the Warlord’s gaze.

  “What was that?”

  “Again, from the beginning.”

  “Right. Well, the cast and I went north, following the line west to where we’d last sighted the Heltorin and Londik. Their tracks met up a few leagues south of the Oasis and then simply disappeared. We found nothing. We spent the night there, and then in the morning we flew north, following the signs of a large sailfin pack. It had been following a westerly course but then suddenly broke northward, straight for the Oasis. We split up then, half cast going east and half cast going north in large sweeping patterns. Every track we found traced back northward, almost as if something was forcing them to change direction. Over twenty sailfin packs are headed straight for the Oasis.”

  Twenty packs. Makin Qays wondered at the sheer number of the creatures. Even a small pack of sailfins generally numbered well into the threescore or fourscore range. Twenty packs were well over a thousand sailfins. Even with all forty aevian warriors they currently maintained, the Roterralar would never be able to stand against that many.

  But why were the sailfins headed toward the Oasis? The massive stone wall had repelled dozens of previous packs over the decades. It had something to do with the magnetic rocks suspended in the sandstone, according to the mystics. Single packs happened across the area, but it was still an impenetrable defense as far as the clans were concerned. Thankfully the rains had stopped early this year and allowed the clans to take refuge in the Oasis despite the early Migration.

  Not all of the clans, Makin Qays corrected in his head. Two were still missing.

  They’re dead. Makin Qays pushed the thought away, though it echoed on in the shadows. They’re all dead.

  “Do you have any idea what caused them to change course?” Rhellion asked.

  Next to him, Kaiden shook his head. “No. We didn’t see anything out there.”

  “Could someone be behind it?” Rhellion pressed, turning to Sarial. “A mystic gone rogue?”

  The question sparked whispers throughout the room.

  Sarial, however, snorted. “No one is that powerful. None of us can affect a single living genesauri, let alone twenty packs.”

  Makin Qays glanced down at the table. There was a mystic who might be powerful enough, but he never left the warren. And Makin Qays trusted him.

  “How long?” one of the cast leaders asked.

  Kaiden shrugged halfheartedly and leaned back further in his chair. “A fortnight, maybe a day or two longer,” he said. “They’re moving at a steady pace. Took us three whole days to catch sightings of them all.”

  “Numbers?”

  “Well over a thousand strong, but we didn’t get accurate counts. We had to avoid being spotted.”

  A note of emotion crept into Kaiden’s voice at this, a hint of resentment and frustration. Makin Qay
s let it pass. He wasn’t about to start the same old argument again, not when he needed to think with a clear head.

  “Thank you, Kaiden,” he said with a curt nod. “That is all we need for now. Senior warriors please stay. Everyone else is dismissed to their duties.”

  Several of the warriors, including Kaiden, stood up and shuffled out of the room. There was a measured reluctance to Kaiden’s retreat, as if he longed to stay and participate in the council. Or perhaps it was simply the wine. The glass still in his hand had been filled more than once while going over the initial report.

  Makin Qays met his gaze. For a moment, a transient flash of either anger or pain flickered in Kaiden’s eyes. Then it was gone. He nodded slightly and exited the room, closing the door behind him.

  Almost as soon as it closed, however, it opened again to admit Khari. She moved with the lithe grace of a warrior and the air of one used to being in command. Before she had taken over care of the eyrie as the Matron, she had been one of the best warriors they had. Now she cared for the aevians and assisted new warriors in learning to ride the magnificent creatures. She was equally skilled in both these endeavors. Which was one reason that Makin Qays had grown to love her.

  He turned away from the door and looked back at the assembled warriors. They were all cast leaders, except Sarial, and all but her and Tieran had enough years beneath their belts that wrinkles stretched across their faces. His senior council.

  His eyes strayed to their exposed forearms, each one covered in tattoos. Kaiden wasn’t the only one experiencing difficulty severing ties. More than one of his senior warriors had tattoos that favored one color over the others.

  He sighed. Divided loyalties were something he fought every day. He made a mental note to ask around about where loyalties lay. And he’d need to check in on the mystics. Maybe he’d get Khari to help him with that since she was one herself. He didn’t need any more headaches.

  A cleared throat brought his attention back to the matters at hand. He placed his hands flat on the table and gazed around the room once again, this time with purpose. Sarial sat at the far end of the table, a few chairs away from her twin, Tieran. Odd how they never sat together. Two of his other senior warriors, Gheinghal and Rhellion, sat opposite Khari. Tornan, a quiet cast leader with a sharp mind, filled the last chair.