A Warlord's Lady

by Nicola E. Sheridan

  ‘They didn’t hurt her,’ Jürgen said softly. ‘It was me.’

  Not the answer Cain had expected. It took a second, but rage exploded. The thinly veiled panic that had dogged him daily since Sabra escaped erupted. ‘What?’ It was all he could muster before he gripped Jürgen by the collar and dragged him closer. They were face to face. Cain could smell the scent of Aufhocker oozing through the pores on Jürgen’s face. Canine, a bit human and a lot sour — the smell just made him furious. ‘Fuck you, Jürgen! How could you?’

  Jürgen struggled like a puppy in his grip, reluctant to fight but desperate to be free.

  ‘It was an accident.’ His German accent was guttural. ‘I was fighting with Maggie and Sabra opened the door. I swung my claws to catch Maggie, but your woman stepped in my way.’

  Sweat bubbled on Jürgen’s brow, the scent now rancid. Cain struggled not to tighten his grip on his neck and strangle the life from the damn Aufhocker.

  ‘I should kill you for this…’ Cain hissed. ‘I’ve killed men for much, much less. You know it.’

  Jürgen nodded, his eyes wide. Cain hesitated as the enormous form of Christy, the werewolf, grew in the reflection of Jürgen’s dilated pupils. Christy was rarely alone; wherever she went, she was usually followed by her band of brutal back-up. A mishmash of magical and mythical beings, they formed a large part of Cain’s best fighters. Christy’s pink lips curled in an evil smile, revealing teeth — white and pointed — that had never quite shifted back to human form.

  ‘What do we have here?’ she purred. ‘Your pet Aufhocker has made a boo-boo?’ An American werewolf from Connecticut, her accent was strong.

  Keeping his hand tight on Jürgen’s throat, Cain twisted his head and assessed Christy. Tall, broad and muscled like a lethal weapon, she wore a cut off tee-shirt displaying not only her impressive abs, but her beefy biceps. She narrowed her eyes at Jürgen and flicked an imaginary strand of her chestnut brown hair from her blazing yellow eyes. He turned back to face Jürgen, never releasing the grip on his throat.

  Jürgen’s nostrils flared and his pupils shrank.

  ‘My second-in-command has injured my wife,’ Cain growled.

  If Christy thought it was odd that he referred to Sabra as his ‘wife’, she didn’t let it show.

  ‘Did he? A very bad boo-boo then,’ she replied, delight featuring prominently on her chiselled features.

  ‘I’m sorry, lord. Let me fix it. I’ll get her back.’ Jürgen gurgled, choking drool dribbling from the side of his lips.

  ‘Like hell. How did you maim her?’ Cain heard himself snarl in return.

  Jürgen choked a little, but formed words that made Cain’s blood boil. ‘I…struck her throat with my claws. She lives! She did not die, but it was imperative we got her to a hospital. There was no one available to heal her.’

  Cain felt his hand itch. ‘Christy, take him to the cells before I tear his damn throat out.’

  Hot, spicy and wild magic boiled through him. He wanted to hurt Jürgen for hurting Sabra — accident or not.

  He continued to hold tight onto Jürgen’s throat, unwilling or unable to release him.

  Christy’s voice interrupted. ‘My lord, if I am to take the Aufhocker to the cells, you will have to release him first.’

  Cain felt his lip curl with a snarl and, with a brutal push, he released Jürgen’s throat. The Aufhocker staggered backwards, wheezed and leant over, hands on thighs, to regain his composure.

  ‘My lord,’ he croaked, ‘I can get her back.’ He looked up, his pale blue eyes wet and imploring.

  ‘Get her back?’ Cain snarled. ‘She’s in a hospital. There are precious few magical hospitals in the world, so I’ll assume it’s a public hospital, run by the government…I may never get her back. I could have made a deal with the mafia, we could have traded something. Now? The government wants me dead! I can’t trade them anything. You damn fool. Get out of my sight.’

  Jürgen looked lost — and it made Cain all the angrier. ‘Out!’ he bellowed.

  Christy cocked an eyebrow at her crew, and her large clawed hands tightened like vices around Jürgen’s lax biceps. He offered no struggle, and other hands gripped him and began to chaperone him from the den.

  ‘Which cell boss?’ Christy asked.

  ‘You know which cell,’ Cain barked, narrowing his eyes at her and awaiting her response.

  For the briefest moment Christy hesitated, and a muscle on her smooth slightly prognathic jawline flinched.

  ‘You have a problem with that?’ Cain heard himself snarl.

  ‘No, boss.’ She replied a little too quickly for his liking.

  ‘C’mon, boys, let’s put this Aufhocker to bed.’ Christy’s crew followed, a silent but swift mass of muscle.

  ‘My lord,’ Jürgen began as stern hands forced him forward. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Shut him up,’ Cain growled. With a move as fast as lightning, Christy’s fist met with the side of Jürgen’s skull. There was an ear-splitting crack of fist against bone. Cain had little doubt Jürgen’s cheek was broken. The enormous blond slumped instantly and his knees buckled.

  Without missing a stride Christy’s crew lifted him, big and bulky as he was, into their arms and hoyed him from the room.

  When they left, Cain sank down on one of the sofas and conjured a crystalline glass of icy water. It appeared in a soft shimmer in his hand. The water trembled in the glass and he realised he was shaking. He heaved a breath of muggy air and sighed mightily. I should never have sent an Aufhocker to do a Warlord’s job, he thought. I’ll not make the same mistake again.

  ‘Veronica,’ he whispered softly into a spell. ‘Come now.’

  For a good few minutes Cain remained still and waited, the loud roar of insects in the jungle surrounding him the only distraction.

  The humming intensified, and Cain turned his head and gazed at the balcony. A cloud was coming closer, and closer. He watched impassively as it descended, the roaring of thousands of wings intensifying. The swarm was coming.

  The sky darkened, and the mass flew in through the open balcony door, blocking out all natural light. Within another moment every piece of furniture was covered in tiny writhing creatures, the temperature of the room had increased by several degrees and the humming of a million wings was hypnotic. To the unknowing the scene would be reminiscent of a horror movie, but Cain, he was among friends.

  ‘You called me?’ a tiny whistling voice chimed near his ear. Careful not to move quickly, Cain turned to face the speaker. A Thriae, a bizarre blend of human and bee, sat on his shoulder.

  ‘I did.’ Cain felt a smile curl his lips at the sight of her. No bigger than a jellybean, she stood with her segmented arms resting on the narrow flesh joining her tiny human-like thorax with her insect-like abdomen.

  ‘Thank you, and your sisters, for coming so quickly.’

  It was hard to gauge facial gestures in one so small and so inhuman, but Cain thought Veronica smiled. He studied her for a moment; she stood balanced precariously on two of her six legs — a stance the thriae usually took when trying to converse with humans, usually preferring to move on all six when amongst their own kind.

  ‘We divined your need of us several days ago,’ she whistled. It was incongruous that her strange whistling voice came not from her mouth, but from a spiracle breathing hole in the lower portion of her furry striped abdomen.

  ‘You did?’ Cain was impressed. Tiny and bizarre as they were, the thriae possessed significant prophetic powers. Any resemblance to humans in their upper half was entirely superficial. Instead of heart, lungs and intestines, her torso mostly contained large wing muscles, aorta, trachea, spiracles and salivary glands. Her gut and her heart were contained in her bee-like abdomen.

  ‘We did,’ Veronica chimed, and her million sisters tittered in response. ‘We are happy to serve you. The thriae have never known such peace and safety until we joined with you. We are grateful for your protection.’

  Cain ch
uckled at her compliment, and looked earnestly into her large, multifaceted, compound eyes. ‘You flatter me, Veronica.’

  The tiny thriae managed to look pleased, and the antennae situated on her forehead wiggled delightedly. ‘We aim to please,’ she replied, her tiny voice whistled from her rump.

  ‘I need help from you and your sisters,’ Cain began softly, looking around the writhing black and gold carpet of thriae that covered everything in his den.

  ‘It is as we divined,’ Veronica agreed.

  ‘I need to know…has the prophecy changed? The situation between me and Sabra has deteriorated.’

  An angry buzz arose from the thriae.

  ‘Changed?’ Veronica’s whistle was shrill, but her expression did not change. ‘A prophecy cannot change. It would not be a prophecy if it did.’

  ‘It is just…’ Cain was lost for words. What could he say?

  The thriae spoke for him. ‘We know how it is, Warlord, and we know that you alone must be the one to retrieve her.’

  ‘Only me…’ Cain mulled this over for a moment, kicking himself yet again for sending Jürgen to do the task.

  ‘With help,’ Veronica added.

  For a moment Cain considered taking Christy and her crew, but they were as tender as a pitbull with plush toy. He glanced at the writhing mass of tiny bodies. ‘Would you allow me to enlist some of your sisters to my cause? Their size and intelligence will be a great advantage.’

  The swarm buzzed and for a moment no human sounds were made. Cain wondered if he had asked too much.

  ‘Yes,’ Veronica eventually agreed. ‘They will be of great assistance to you.’ She paused, her head tilting like a praying mantis and the soft golden down that covered her body glimmered in the dim light. ‘But it is at great risk to my sisters. I must tell you, that by entrusting them to you, I am signing their death warrant.’ Her whistle was sad.

  Cain felt something squeeze in the region of his heart. ‘Then I will not take them. I won’t take your sisters to their deaths.’

  Veronica shook her tiny head, and her wings buzzed behind her. She floated up into the air and hovered before him.

  ‘It has been divined,’ she said, her voice soft. ‘They will go.’

  Cain shook his head. ‘No, no. I can’t allow that. I will be fine on my own, I usually am, you know.’

  ‘You will not be fine.’

  Cain froze and stared at the bee-like figure hovering so certainly before him. ‘Why?’

  ‘Much danger awaits you.’ The other thriae buzzed in agreement.

  ‘What danger?’ he asked.

  ‘Danger comes in many strange forms, Cain Dath.’ Her voice took on the eerie, mournful tune it always did when prophesising.

  ‘Can you see what form?’

  The tiny figure shook her head. ‘All we see is that you need us. I call two sisters to stand forward and join you.’

  There was a symphony of whistles; they were speaking in their own language now, and though Cain had a spell to translate it, he refrained and left them with their privacy.

  He turned his head as Veronica disappeared into the mass of thriae.

  Carefully, he stood and walked to the cupboard to the left of the room, and withdrew a large bowl of manuka honey.

  ‘If you require refreshment, I have honey here for you, and water.’ He pressed a button and a small water fountain bubbled to the right.

  ‘Business before pleasure…’ a particularly tiny thriae chirped as she zoomed by and disappeared into the noisy swarm.

  It seemed to Cain that he had to wait a long time for the thriae to come to a decision. He couldn’t blame them, of course; after all, they were sending two of their number literally to their deaths.

  ‘We have made a decision.’ Veronica appeared before Cain once again.

  ‘And?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Come forward, Peony and Hexa.’

  It took a moment, but from the swarm two thriae flew and hovered uncertainly before him. Even to Cain’s eyes, they looked elderly. The glossy golden fur usually seen on a young thriae was missing and theirs was sparse and pale; the larger of the two sported a damaged wing.

  ‘Do not be surprised by their appearance, Warlord,’ Veronica whistled softly, flying up and hovering beside them. ‘Peony and Hexa are clever, and have offered their services despite the fact that death certainly awaits them should they choose to leave with you.’

  Cain flinched. The thriae were good beings, much maligned by humans. Humanity treated them like the insects they resembled, no longer interested in their myths or prophecy. As a result, the thriae had suffered — until Veronica’s Queen Amaranthe sent Veronica as an envoy to Cain Dath in the hope of protection.

  Cain had given his protection freely, asking little in return. However, the thriae would often divine the future and guide him in his movements, which helped his success. Under the careful guidance of the thriae, Cain’s territory had expanded rapidly. The thriae were rarely wrong.

  Cain hoped they were wrong now.

  ‘Do not look so troubled,’ the larger of the thriae whistled. ‘We shall assist you. We do not fear death.’

  Cain nodded slowly. ‘Hexa?’ he asked. ‘Is that your name?’

  The larger thriae nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Hexa, Peony.’ He turned his eyes to face the smaller of the thriae. ‘Please, help yourself to some honey and water. I wish to leave shortly.’

  ‘I feel I should tell you,’ Veronica chimed in. ‘Peony does not speak humanese.’

  Cain looked between them. Peony’s expression didn’t change, but her multifaceted eyes glittered. ‘Doesn’t she?’ Cain replied, surprised.

  ‘Do not be concerned,’ Hexa replied. ‘She can understand but simply not speak it. Not all thriae have the desire to learn the human language. Cumbersome and difficult for us as it is.’

  Cain could believe it; blowing sounds out of your abdomen in order to speak did not seem like a fun exercise.

  Without much further comment the swarm stirred, and a thought occurred to Cain. ‘Veronica? Who is staying at the hive to protect Queen Amaranthe?’

  Veronica appeared from the writhing mass of insects, licking honey from her tiny hands. ‘It has been some time since you visited our hive.’ She continued, ‘The flowers in the jungle are good, our numbers have boomed. The swarm who accompanied me today, are just a fraction of our number. Life is good in the jungle.’

  Cain glanced again at the mass of tiny bodies. He had been neglectful, his distraction over Sabra was weakening him.

  ‘Do not chastise yourself,’ Veronica whistled knowingly. ‘The thriae like peace and you have given it — at least for a time.’

  Cain frowned at the cryptic note but said nothing, as there was little he could say anyway that the thriae couldn’t already divine. There was some loud chirping and whistling, and the thriae moved as one.

  Veronica hovered before him. ‘We leave you now, and wish our sisters safe passage to the next life.’

  Cain felt awkward. How was he to answer that?

  ‘And Warlord?’ Veronica added.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your seed will strike if you make it to your woman in time.’

  Her words filled Cain with hope, and something a lot more carnal. It had been 18 months since he had eased himself between a woman’s thighs. Eighteen long, lonely and achingly hard months.

  ‘Thank you, Veronica, I will do all in my power to protect your sisters. Perhaps we can defy at least one of your divinations.’

  If Veronica had a facial expression, Cain supposed it would have been sad.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Her tone was wistful. ‘Perhaps.’

  Chapter 11

  The next time Sabra awoke, she had been moved into a private, locked room. It was startlingly similar to the room in which she’d been incarcerated by Faustus and Mags, yet beyond the half-closed venetian blinds dressing the window, Sabra could see buildings and in the distance the somewhat fami
liar-looking streets of Fremantle.

  Fremantle Hospital still. That was a relief. They hadn’t transferred to her to the Cerebral Management Facility — yet.

  There were heated voices coming from behind the locked door. Hollis’s she recognised. Dr Elliot’s, too. She tentatively tested her neck; it still stung a bit, but was improved. Her stomach grumbled and she realised it must have been quite some time since she’d last eaten.

  She inhaled and gently pressed the buzzer to summon the nurse. Transfer to Cerebral Management pending or not, surely they didn’t intend on starving her.

  There was a rustle and a hissing sound, and something fluttered from the shadows in the corner. For a second she thought it may have been a cobweb or something, but then her stomach tightened.

  Shadows.

  She watched, praying that the shadow would remain just that, and not shift into something more corporeal. Alas, as she watched, the shadow grew, leaching across the floor like an evil mist and oozing into human form before her eyes. Wide-brimmed hat, long coat — the Shadow Man — Felix.

  ‘I can’t get a break.’ She groaned and pressed with greater urgency on the call button to summon a nurse.

  ‘I grow hungry.’ The shadow hissed, his face obscure.

  ‘Yeah, well, me too,’ Sabra replied with much more bravado than she felt.

  ‘You touched me.’

  ‘By accident, not design.’

  ‘Matters not.’

  Sabra’s finger worked furiously on the call button. Come in here, damn you! She could still hear the voices outside the door arguing.

  Felix kept coming, spreading and dropping in and out of corporeal form like a black fog.

  Sabra felt a scream claw its way up her throat. She knew she mustn’t touch the shadow again or let him touch her. The danger with shadows was that with too much contact, the shadow became a person and the person became a shadow.

  ‘I didn’t touch you purposefully!’ Sabra heard herself squawk.

  ‘Matters not,’ Felix hissed again, ‘you touched me.’

  He was little more than a centimetre from her skin, and his clawed misty grey hand reached out as if to stroke her cheek.