The Elemental Union: Book One Devian

by Shanna Bosarge

  Sterling shook her head as she continued to look around, “No, only copper tubs to sit in. They are cramped and uncomfortable.”

  “How unpleasant,” Moira said. “The air and water are warmed by the fires from the kitchens and feed through a series of pipes into the bath.” Moira pointed out the intricate pipe system that lined the far wall, “As more water is added it overflows into the drains and empties in the gardens.”

  Sterling couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Never had she imagined a room such as this. She wanted to jump into the large pool of water and started toward the steaming liquid, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, “First, we must wash, and then we can relax in the pool.” Moira laughed before hanging her gown on a hook, “You look like a little girl in that gown.” Moira pointed to one of the low stools, “Come sit.”

  Sterling took a deep breath and pulled the gown from her bony frame and sat on the wood stool, “I’m not a little girl. I’m twenty-one.”

  Twenty-one? Moira smiled to hide her anger at the treatment Sterling had endured at the hands of the Severon. She looks much younger, thought Moira, her hip bones are protruding, and her skin is hanging loosely from her emaciated body.

  Moira cleared her throat. “We need to remove those bandages first,” Moira said as she started to unwrap the gauze that encircled Sterling’s arms, shoulders and waist. “These are mending nicely,” Moira mumbled, examining Sterling’s forearms. “They’ll be healed in no time.”

  “Thank you,” Sterling said, quietly.

  “No mind,” Moira said, “it was the least I could do.”

  “You’ve already done so much for me.” Sterling felt some guilt at having Moira fuss over her. She imagined Mother Anwell would lecture her about being grateful and accepting of the care she was given.

  Moira hefted a bucket of water over Sterling’s head. “Hold your breath and close your eyes,” Moira said before dumping the warm water over Sterling’s head. The water sloughed off Sterling’s shoulders revealing skin beneath the dirt and grime.

  Moira sat the bucket down and withdrew a large vial from the pocket of her dress. She showed the glass container to Sterling, “My mother-in-law gave this to me, but I think it would best serve you.” She uncorked the vial and sniffed, “Lavender,” she said before holding the vial under Sterling’s nose, “this will surely get that stench off you.”

  Moira poured a small amount of the liquid over the mass of matted hair and started scrubbing. The soap quickly lathered into soft white suds, but they soon turned a deep, reddish brown. She filled the bucket with water and poured it over Sterling’s head, who just sat there unmoving as Moira scrubbed away the filth.

  As the water washed away the suds Moira stood in shock at the dirt that remained in Sterling’s mass of hair. Moira swept dampened hair out of her face in preparation for a long battle with the dirt. She filled another bucket and dumped it, preoccupied by the dirt, without warning.

  Unprepared for the dousing, Sterling choked and coughed, “At least tell me when you’re going to try to drown me.” Sterling glared at Moira.

  Moira poured more of the lavender scented soap over Sterling’s dark tresses and dug in. She thought the color to be a dark brown, almost black but with the amount of dirt and filth there was no telling what Sterling’s natural color may be. “This may hurt a bit,” she warned Sterling.

  “Wha – OW!” Sterling tried to duck away from Moira’s fingers, but she held Sterling in place by the roots of her hair. Sterling wrapped her hands around Moira’s wrist, trying desperately to get her to release her hold. “Let go!” Sterling yelled.

  “Absolutely not,” Moira returned as she worked up a lather. Her fingers dug into Sterling’s scalp cleaning the dirt and filth. A distinctly metallic smell started to overpower the lavender scent. It was then that Moira realized Sterling’s hair was matted with dried blood. What had this girl gone through? Moira poured more soap on Sterling’s scalp and renewed her efforts to wash away blood, dirt, and filth.

  “You’re worse than Mother Anwell,” Sterling mumbled.

  “Who is Mother Anwell?” Moira asked, hoping to get some information about Sterling’s past from her. She needed to sit down with the girl and figure out where she’s been all this time.

  “She was the Head Mother at the Orphanage,” Sterling swallowed the lump in her throat. “She was like a mother to me, but the Severon, they killed her.”

  Moira didn’t know what to say to Sterling to ease the grief she heard in her voice, so she said nothing and continued to scrub Sterling’s scalp. In a more measured voice she said, “Close your eyes,” before pouring the water over Sterling’s head. As before, the soap slipped down Sterling’s shoulders carrying away the remnants of the silver eyed girl’s life as a prisoner of the Severon.

  After some time, Moira stared down at Sterling’s head and sighed, “I’ve done as much as I can.” Moira left Sterling for a moment to pull a string that was attached to a bell in the kitchen. “At least until Gilda arrives,” Moira whispered to herself. Moira returned to Sterling and handed her a soft cloth and the remainder of the lavender soap. Sterling used the cloth and started to wash her body. Slowly the dirt was scrubbed away to reveal warm olive toned skin. A Devian with the skin of a Kai’Varian, Moira thought it odd, with those eyes she should have the fair skin and hair of the Devians.

  “You said you were an orphan,” Moira started, “do you know anything about your parents?”

  “Very little,” Sterling responded. “My uncle told me before he died that my father was a Rin’Ovana, a Kai’Varian warrior named…”

  A hard thump on the door interrupted Sterling. The door was pushed open and standing in the doorway was Gilda Dolman. “Ah Gilda, you’re here.” I’ll question Sterling more later about her parents, Moira thought as she greeted Gilda.

  Originally from Paard, Gilda was a fierce and frightening woman that had been a maid for both Moira and Brom since they were children in Sela’Char. She stood as tall as any man and had thick muscular arms and a head full of long gray hair that was neatly coiffed in a bun. She was the one person that Brom avoided at all costs when she was angered. Gilda stared down at Moira with a frown and her furrowed brows that told her she was not happy that Moira had called on her for help.

  “What do you need milady?” Gilda asked, advancing into the room.

  “Gilda,” Moira smiled, “this is Sterling. She needs some…care.”

  Sterling looked over her shoulder at Gilda and stared at the older woman. She turned back around and continued to play with the ends of her wet hair. Gilda seemed somewhat more affected by Sterling’s presence. Shock at seeing Sterling’s silver eyes flashed across her face, but she was quick to compose herself, “Leave her to me, milady.” Gilda reassured Moira. “Very…” A soft knock at the door interrupted Moira, “Yes?”

  “My apologies milady?” The whisper came from one of the nursemaids charged with looking after her daughter.

  “What is it Raane?” Although the young nursemaid stood a safe distance from Sterling, her eyes couldn’t hide her fear of Sterling.

  “It’s the little miss, milady.” Raane jumped when Sterling turned her gaze on the young girl, “S- She has come down with a fever. We’ve tried what we could, but we cannot get the fever to go down.”

  “Sterling,” Moira said as she started to dry herself, “I must attend to my daughter, so I’ll leave you in Gilda’s capable hands.” Moira finished drying herself before pulling her dress over her head and straightening the skirts.

  “Gilda, please escort her to the room next to Brom’s,” Moira said.

  “Yes milady,” Gilda smiled with a curtsy.

  Moira gave Sterling one last glance, and a reassuring smile, before hurrying from the room.

  22

  Vesperrin

  “Report,” Orrven said as he entered the map room. He’d called his three Commanders along with Brom together to discuss the Severon. The object of their pursuit was w
ith his wife. Apparently, Moira planned to give the little girl a bath this morning.

  Brom stood in the dark corner and despite his large presence seemed to make himself as if he were not in the room.

  “Their camp is just east of Flint, milord,” Rory Dal’Rymple, his second in command, pointed at the large map spread across the center table.

  “Their numbers?” Orrven asked looking to his three Commanders, Leonard, Spencer and Winston, who oversaw the Left, Center, and Right Arms of the Vesperrin.

  “They arrived with just six, but after encountering Brom their numbers were reduced,” Rory answered, “but, their numbers have tripled since then.”

  “Eighteen men is concerning?” Leonard Kin’Mont, Commander of the Left Arm said examining the map. “You could sneak that many men easily over enemy lines.”

  “Aye,” Spencer Ar’Bethnot agreed, “they’ve tried many times to sneak past my men in the center, but we’ve pushed them back each time.”

  “How were they able to get past you in the first place,” Orrven looked at Spencer for his response. “Weren’t your men responsible for this area?” Orrven pointed to the section of the Sarno where the Severon had easily crossed onto Kai’Vari soil.

  “I take full responsibility, milord,” Though the youngest of the three Commanders, Spencer was a man of honor and responsibility, “I had my men guarding the village while Brom and the other Veillen hunted the graekull.”

  “Damn graekull,” Winston Fan’Gorn growled. “That Streegar should have been here to protect the village.”

  “He’ll return with reinforcements,” Orrven said eyeing Winston. He disliked Winston’s mistrust of the Veillen, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  Orrven turned to his brother-in-law, “Brom has committed to staying here until Streegar returns,” Orrven reassured his Commanders.

  “With all due respect, Brom, but what can one Veillen do against a mass of graekull?” Winston scoffed at Orrven’s words.

  Brom stepped forward into the light and opened his mouth to respond, but the young Spencer beat him to it, “Have you never seen Brom fight? The man has more strength than ten of our warriors. He’s fast, blindingly so, and his blade, Tryg, I think you call it Brom?”

  “Aye,” Brom looked at Orrven, amusement in his eyes.

  “Tryg can cut through flesh and bone and muscle as if it were nothing. I’d trust Brom with a mass of graekull more than I would a hundred of Vesperrin.”

  Rory laughed at Spencer’s overzealous lauds, “Those are quite the accolades you’ve piled on Brom’s head.”

  “I’m sure most are true,” Orrven chuckled, “but the matter at hand is the Severon camped just across our border.”

  “Yes, milord, apologies,” Both Winston and Spencer said in unison.

  “I wouldn’t say double your guard,” Orrven shook his head, “but be vigilant none-the-less. I don’t want these bastards stepping one foot onto our soil. Your men have permission to engage and eliminate the threat if they cross the border.”

  The six of them turned when the door opened after a short rap on the wood, “Arl,” a young man bent over breathing heavy, “Arl, excuse the interruption.”

  “What is it,” Orrven asked.

  “Horns.” The boy looked at Brom, “Horns from the west.”

  “Damn graekull,” Winston cursed the demons.

  As Orrven followed Brom from the map room to the battlements, the three commanders were close on their heels. Brom took his horn from his belt and blew three short notes into the long curving horn. The horn bellowed a deep resonating tone that could be heard for miles. A long low moan from the west sounded in response to Brom’s call followed by a one short note from the other horn. Horns that belonged to the Veillen occupied the watch towers that dotted the Kai’Vari landscape.

  Brom returned with one long and then one short note. Orrven knew each note meant something to the Veillen, but he’d never bothered to ask Brom what they meant. “I know you’re in the middle of a conversation, but do you mind telling us what you just said?”

  Brom looked at Orrven and then to the Commanders that were staring at him with confusion. Brom sighed, “The three notes were asking them to repeat themselves. The long note they returned was to say they were starting over, which they followed with one short note, meaning there’s only one graekull.”

  “And what did you say in return?” Spencer asked.

  “I responded that one Veillen was responding to their call.”

  “It’s all a bunch of noise if you ask me,” Winston groused, “but nevertheless, if you need men to assist in the hunt, I’ll lend what I can.”

  Brom replaced the horn on his belt and turned to Winston, “Though I appreciate the offer, it would be best to keep your men here to guard the borders. I’ll meet up with the tower Veillen and take care of the problem.”

  “Brom!” Gavin, out of breath, came running up the stairs, “Can I go?”

  “Absolutely not.” Brom said in response as he left the rest to stare at his back.

  “Don’t be in such a rush.” Orrven rustled Gavin’s hair, and said to the others, “Go defend our borders from the Severon.”

  “Yes, milord,” They all said in unison.

  Brom rode Tor through the empty roads of Menarik. The villagers had found shelter in their homes. The wailing horns were a cue for any Kai’Varian to quickly find shelter.

  Thankfully there was no traffic along the road as Brom turned Tor to the west. He’d rendezvous with the tower Veillen and they’d hunt the graekull as a team. Normally this would be Streegar’s hunt, but the damn fool up and left Pan’Dale without any protection. Pan’Dale would be in trouble if a large hunting pack emerged from Abaddon.

  Unfit for the likes of Empyrean, graekull were demons born from men who were corrupt, greedy, and had treacherous hearts. They were doomed to rot in Abaddon forever. However, with Moraug’s death, the gates of Abaddon stood open and the graekull escaped their torment to hunt and kill the citizens of Kai’Vari.

  The Veillen were tasked with keeping the graekull in check and to protect Kai’Vari from their random appearances. They hid in deep wells, ravines, and gorges. Any hole that was deep enough for them to find their way to the surface. The graekull would continue to use the passages until they were discovered and closed off.

  Brom entered the western Sandori and unhooked his horn from his belt. He blew a long tone into the horn followed by a short tone letting the tower Veillen know he was close.

  A response resonated through the forest that they had heard his call. Tor deftly navigated the large bareqs of the forest until they came to the clearing where the tall Veillen tower stood watch over the forest. Well above the trees, the tower was made of stone and housed two Veillen at a time. They lived in the tower for two months and then rotated with two other Veillen that would arrive from Var’Khundi. Every Veillen had their time in the towers. Brom was just coming back from his assignment in Sela’Char.

  “Here!” Brom pulled up when the tower Veillen called Brom from the base of the tower. “Torre Ar’Bethnot,” the Veillen introduced himself. Torre had the regal look of an Ar’Bethnot but most Veillen that came from the prestigious Tohm had lost their air of superiority in their six months of training.

  “Brom Da’Gaihen.” Brom reciprocated the introduction.

  “Honored,” Torre said, “The beastie is north of here,” Torre said mounting his horse. “Vez is watching it from the treetops.”

  “Do you know where it emerged?” Brom asked following Torre.

  “We first noticed it to the south, and it ambled its way to the north.”

  “Have any other come from the south,”

  “Not on our watch, but the logs do show one from six months ago, but they found the well it used.”

  Troubling, Brom thought. If it was a new well that was dug or a possible sink hole they would need to find it and fill it in.

  Brom smelt the graekull before it came into sigh
t. The smell of rotting flesh was synonymous with the demons. Brom squeezed his legs into Tor’s side and the horse came to a stop next to Torre’s mount. Dismounting, Brom pulled Tryg from its scabbard and followed Torre. They each took up positions against the trees and waited.

  “It’s small for a graekull,” The voice came from a limb above Brom. A nimble man jumped down, “Vez Dal’Rymple,” he introduced himself.

  “Brom Da’Gaihen,” Brom said, and then continued. “Let us take care of this beast,” Brom had already fought a mess of graekull this week and did not want to spend more time than needed on this one. Kerbodia for’velki, all three men said the chant and faded into the Veil. All three of them stood together in the bluish hue of the Veil, “We’ll surround it and then attack all at once.”

  “Aye,” Torre and Vez agreed.

  They advanced on the demon and moved into a triangle formation. Brom, the more senior of the group stood to the front and Torre and Vez with their sparse tanak took up the left and right rear of the demon.

  With their weapons at the ready, Brom nodded and all three said the command to release their Velkuva. As they faded from the Veil into the mortal world they brought their swords down piercing the graekull. Unprepared for the attack, the graekull spun its long arms in a sweeping pattern and nearly knocked Brom on his rear, were it not for Brom deflecting the blow at the last moment.

  “Watch it,” Brom said, ready for the next blow from the demon. He shifted his stance so Tryg was vertical and at shoulder height, the blade poised over Brom’s head. The graekull turned on Brom and charged. It is fast, Brom noted as he jumped out of the way, slicing Tryg through the graekull’s arm. “Now!” Brom shouted when he had the graekull’s full attention.

  Torre took the opportunity and attacked, slicing through the graekull’s thick skin and bone. Its head rolled off to stare sightlessly at Vez. “Damn graekull,” Vez said, kicking the head away from himself. Vez smiled, “I never thought I’d get to fight alongside the great Brom Da’Gaihen.”