Chronicles Of Aronshae (3 Book Omnibus)

by J. K. Barber

  “Sorry,” Tomas said, much like a child that tipped something over by accident. Chyla rounded them all up, starting to gather the accumulated power herself, but handed the mental reins to Katya. The sorceress was surprised, but she had seen Chyla cast the spell before on the Glacial Palace’s crystal and knew she could repeat it. Katya calmed her thoughts, blocking out all that had transpired, all her regrets and fears. She focused on the crystal. She made the connection with the crystal, mentally linking her body to it just below the surface. She gasped as the disease and filth in the crystal threatened to overwhelm her. She thought about using her “burning” technique like she had with her father’s injuries, but for a giant “wound” such as this she decided to stick to the Nhyme way. Katya poured the energy into the crystal’s base, accelerating its natural healing rate a thousand times. Katya opened her eyes as she severed the connection. The crystal began to clear at its base, closing in even the holes where the eggs had been. The cleansing continued up the length of the giant gemstone until the black disappeared into the ceiling. The four of them walked briskly out the laboratory door and rejoiced as they watched the black continue to recede, leaving the crystal clear as glass once again in the spell’s wake. Tomas clapped.

  “Marvelous! Well done indeed,” the Administrator said. Katya smiled and put an arm around Tomas’ shoulders, while they watched the Nhyme launch into the air racing to the top of the tower, their wings a blur of movement.

  Epilogue

  Salamasca pulled her fur stole closer around her neck against the chill night air, glancing back at the giant crystal rising up behind her and her mount. A full moon hung low over the desert, painting its glow across the hills of pale sand as far as the eye could see. Walron was hesitant to walk on the odd terrain that partially gave way under his great bulk, but when his chest burned with agonizing fire from his old scar his uncertainty vanished. He took Roane’s corpse from his maw, where he had been delicately holding her while they rode the Ley Line, and placed her in a front claw before launching into the sky, beating his wings powerfully to gain altitude. The scorches along his wing and flank and the slash across his chest greatly pained him, but he did not dare to show weakness or infirmity in the Ice Queen’s presence. Sand constantly blew into the dragon’s face, and he had to squint his eyes to shield them from the irritating grains. It wasn’t until he was soaring high above the sea of dunes that he could fully open his eyes again. The Ice Queen tugged several times on his bridle, steering him east to the deepest part of the desert. The dunes slowly gave way to plateaus of wind-carved rock. The drake was mesmerized at the silent giants, each irregular pillar consisting of thousands of layers of orange, brown, and white bands. The Ice Queen had Walron dive into a canyon, driving him further and further down until he saw where she was guiding him. A giant cave mouth was set into a small mountain. Blackness bubbled out from the opening like a wicked tongue as the liquid leaked into the valley outside. Salamasca had Walron land off to the side where there was a decently-sized stone walkway that acted as a river bank confining the flow of ichor.

  “Follow me closely and keep your mouth shut. Do not react negatively to what you are about to see or I’ll have your hide as my first tent here in my new home,” the Empress of Ice said, her eyes fixed with Walron’s. Her smooth pale face was devoid of any expression much less fear. She was not afraid of her draconic steed despite his giant well-muscled bulk. His mistress was no taller than his elbow, but Walron knew her words to be true. She could kill him with a thought. Such power could only be bowed down to and revered. He lowered his head to her in acquiescence. “Since you happened to have grabbed my old companion, I plan to bring her back over to the world of the living,” she continued, her gaze on the crumpled form in Walron’s claw. The dragon straightened and his purple eyes brightened, visibly cheered at such news. His mistress’ words were clear; Roane would live again. “Bring her,” the Ice Queen said as she turned and walked towards the cave.

  The path that ran beside the murky black ooze was lined with faintly glowing green algae that lit their way. It was barely wide enough for Walron to follow Salamasca inside. He did as he was told, putting Roane carefully back into his mouth so that he could stride easily on all fours. Despite his best efforts, his teeth still scored shallow cuts in her soft human flesh even clad as she was in leather. Her raven hair was matted to her ashy face and dripped blood, leaving a trail of droplets behind them. The bank gave way under the dragon’s weight once, and his back foot slid into the dark-colored river. He quickly retrieved his appendage. Salamasca turned and narrowed her eyes at him with impatience. Walron bowed his head subserviently, lowering his mouth to the floor like a chastised puppy. The Ice Queen snorted and continued into the tunnel. Glancing back briefly, his foot was soaked in the sticky oily substance but unharmed.

  They came to a large cavern that housed a pool of the greasy liquid. It bubbled continuously in the middle of the small lake, releasing gases that to the dragon’s sensitive nose smelled terrible. The algae that acted as their only form of light covered the entire ceiling, its green glow illuminating a robed form before them that was using a curved dagger to carve up an odd looking giant brown insect, resembling a scarab beetle. The room was arranged into what appeared to be half charnel house and half primal living quarters. Large desert beasts, mostly insectoid in nature, lay in a pile next to a giant scorpion pincer positioned as a bed would be against the cave wall, the blanket on top giving away its purpose. A few personal effects were laid out on a piece of contorted dry root. Among these items were another folded robe and several large volumes. One book rested open next to it on a makeshift stand as if in use. The mystery person was taller than the Ice Queen, his plain black robe hanging loosely on a wiry frame.

  Without turning he spoke, “Salamasca, so nice of you to visit. How long has it been since we last met? Two centuries at least I’d think. You have brought a friend and… blood.” The man turned, pulling his cowl back sniffing the air. His inhuman face was withered with age and covered in chitinous plates. His eyes were missing, leaving two gaping holes that were frightening to Walron. Despite the dragon’s might, he was still a babe amongst his own kind, seeing the world for the first time.

  “Greetings, Luzige,” the Ice Queen curtsied respectfully as she spoke. “I am in need of your assistance.”

  “Oh?” he said, a smile forming on his segmented lips. His unseeing eyes settled on Walron. “And what do you have to trade? Your monster perhaps? I haven’t seen one of his kind since I was a boy.” The dragon felt his skin crawl as if he had ants crawling on the inside of his scales. He shuddered and fell to the floor, causing the entire room to shake.

  “Your modifications are interesting… yes…,” Luzige began, the man’s strange face moving back and forth like a hound on the hunt, trying to pick up scents.

  “Enough,” Salamasca blandly stated, waving her hand at Walron just as he had started to rake at his body with his claws trying to rid himself of whatever attacked him. The dragon ceased his thrashing, released from his torment. He regained his footing and stood panting, without a word. “The dragon is not for trade,” she said. Luzige frowned.

  “A shame, I’d put good use to those scales. Where did your sense of humor go, young one?” he cackled, but ended up wheezing with a clawed hand clutched to his chest.

  “I find I don’t have the patience for humor, nor do I have time,” the Ice Queen replied, her tone annoyed.

  “Your plans were once again thwarted I assume,” Luzige said after he had regained his breath. “I have never understood your passion for conquest.”

  “With your power, you could conquer this world if you so choose,” the sorceress smiled sweetly.

  “Child’s play,” he waved his hand dismissively at her. She scowled but did not interrupt him. “One day, if you get to be my age, you will understand that there are greater treasures than holding a land and its people as your slaves.” His gaze was searching again. His focus landed
on Roane’s body. He gripped his dagger tighter, not with fear but with excitement. “Speak your terms or be on your way then. I am a busy man.”

  “Return the woman to this world,” Salamasca paused a moment, “your way.”

  “And what do you offer in return,” he asked, licking his scabrous parched lips.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  Luzige fell into the silence of thought, his gaze slithering over the Ice Queen and her belongings. “If not the beast, then your staff,” he replied.

  Salamasca threw her staff at his feet without care. “I will need to make a new one anyway, one more fitting to the sands. Take it.”

  “Our pact is sealed then,” Luzige answered, picking up her black staff sharpened to fine points on either end. The frost that had always radiated from the Ice Queen’s staff dissipated as soon as the creature closed his malformed fingers around it. Walron’s sharp hearing picked up the distinct sounds of clicking like a scorpion clipping its pincers as he did so. “Drop the woman, beast, or join her fate,” he said to the dragon.

  Walron released Roane from his mouth, her body falling into a lifeless lump to the cavern floor. Luzige ripped something from the beetle he had been slicing up and traversed the distance between him and Roane. Kneeling at her side, he pushed the long sleeves of his robe up to his elbows, still holding the dagger in one hand and the indistinguishable organic lump of scarab in his other. Walron was taken aback at the clear sight of the man’s appendages; they were plated like his face but at the wrist his finger bones were elongated into spindle-like claws. They clicked as his moved his hands over Roane’s body. Walron’s tail flicked angrily; Luzige’s hands were lingering longer than the dragon would have liked on her feminine features. Inspecting the cut that took her life, the man licked the blood off his fingers, pondered it for a moment and then quite suddenly stabbed into Roane’s chest, dragging his blade in a circle over her heart. Salamasca did not jump as Walron did at the sudden move; instead she smiled and licked her lips with anticipation. The blade cut through bone and sinew alike as if it were butter. Luzige set the knife down to pull Roane’s damaged heart from her chest, chucking it without care into the lake of oil. Raising his arms above his head and inclining his face to the ceiling, he whispered the single word “khepri.” A miniature whirlwind swirled to life about him, causing his hood to blow about and fall back. His bare chitinous head was hairless and monstrous with its insect antennae. The rush of air faded quickly. Glowing amber wisps of smoke rose from Roane’s mouth. With his free hand, Luzige wrapped his fingers around the rich light. He focused intently on it, his body quivering. Ever so gently, he released his breath and the light turned from amber to black. Smiling, but keeping his focus on Roane, he extended his arm with the scarab part in its grasp to the Ice Queen.

  “Fill it at the pool, quickly now,” he instructed. Salamasca took it, dipped it gingerly into the oil so as not to soil her hand with the viscous liquid, and handed it back. Luzige was lowering his hand containing the corrupted light back towards Roane’s mouth, forcing it to return from whence it came. That procedure complete, he took the oily mass from the Ice Queen and shoved it into the open chest cavity before him. Walron finally realized that the piece of beetle had been its heart, as it began to beat in the Ice Queen’s chancellor’s torso. Blackness spread across the still form, first turning her veins black but then the skin itself darkened to the color of midnight. The dragon’s eyes widened as he watched every inch of her grow shiny black like a beetle’s shell. The chitinous substance closed over the wound in her chest as well. Her body jerked violently and then began to spasm wildly. Luzige paid her no mind, standing and pulling up his hood again.

  “Feed her often. She will desire flesh constantly at first, but the cravings will fade in time. From your earlier comment about creating a new staff more suitable to the sands, I am guessing you’ll be staying in the Aishe Desert for the near future. If you have any problems with her, bring her back and I will see what I can do to fix her.” The Ice Queen nodded her thanks. Roane’s body finally came to rest and became very still. Luzige continued his instructions, “Stand over her now. The first person seen will be revered as her master.”

  Salamasca straddled Roane from a standing position and with one hand pulled the remnants of Roane’s tattered leather bodice upwards until the Ice Queen’s pale nose almost touched the other woman’s newly charcoal-colored one. Roane’s eyes flicked open, as she gasped for breath. Her irises were fully black, a quaint compliment to Salamasca’s own eyes. Roane smiled up at her mistress, her yellow teeth grossly sharpened to fine points.

  “I am pleased,” the Empress of Ice said simply then began to laugh harshly, her voice gaining volume and turning fully into a wicked cackle. Despite Roane’s shocking new appearance, Walron cracked a toothy smile.

  Oathbound

  Book Three

  For Gabe

  Prologue

  Ra’thet grinned, spitting blood from between his teeth. The globule spattered on the floor next to the other dried and drying blood stains, a growing constellation of various shades of brown and dark reds. The battered general looked up at the large man, standing before him, as the question was repeated.

  “Where did she go?” Branden said, his voice quiet but dripping with menace and a fair amount of impatience.

  Ra’thet chuckled. “How many times do I have to say this before it finally penetrates your thick skulls?” The defeated warlord’s icy blue eyes glinted with a wild light and a hint of madness. “The Empress told me nothing of her escape plan. She abandoned me!” There was a fleeting tone of sadness and disbelief, as he screamed the last sentence into Branden’s face. He took a shuddering breath and then continued more calmly. “I don’t know where she is or what her strategy is now.”

  “What about the assassins in Valshet?” Talas asked, his voice calm but firm. “Surely you know about them, seeing as how you hired them.”

  “I told you already,” Ra’thet retorted, impatience coloring his words. “I hired the Easterners through an agent in Valshet. I never contacted them directly, just gave my man the instructions and the gold. The sorceress was to be taken unharmed, anyone else, even the sister, was to be killed if they interfered.”

  Branden slammed a huge fist into Ra’thet’s gut, the force of the blow carrying the black-haired general over backwards in his chair. Ra’thet hit the stone floor hard, his hands bound behind him, unable to break his fall. Talas placed a hand on Branden’s massive chest to keep him from advancing and then grabbed the back of Ra’thet’s chair, levering him back upright. As the pale-skinned man was righted, his long black hair, stringy and caked with blood and grime, covered his face. He shook slightly. At first Talas thought the man was crying, finally broken after several days of interrogation, but soon the priest realized the prisoner was quietly chuckling to himself. Ra’thet threw his head back, doing his best to shake his dark locks from his eyes. He was mostly successful, but several strands remained adhered to his face by filth.

  “Beat me all you want, King’s Guard,” Ra’thet twisted Branden’s title until he made it sound foul. “It will change nothing. The Empress wants your daughters enslaved or killed, and no one can stop that. She will kill anyone who gets in the way of what she wants.” Talas saw some of the light in Ra’thet’s eyes dim as he finished with, “No one matters to her. Believe me, I know of what I speak.”

  Branden ignored the last part, instead latching his hopes onto something else the prisoner had said. “What does she want?” he asked. “What does Salamasca hope to accomplish by kidnapping my daughters?” Talas noticed that Branden had not included what Ra’thet had said about the twins being killed, but the priest chose not to correct the King’s Guard. Talas also noticed that the former smith’s normally spotless white tabard had several splatters of Ra’thet’s blood on it.

  “The Empress…” the former general paused, seeming to reach a decision in his mind. “Salamasca,” the word sounded
uncomfortable as it came across Ra’thet’s tongue, “wants what she has always wanted. Power. Power over you, over me. Power over all of Aronshae. Power over the dragons, over life and death itself. It is all she wants, and she will kill or crush all who oppose her… foe and ally alike.”

  “How does she plan to gain that power?” Branden yelled at Ra’thet, rage making the King’s Guard’s face color red.

  “Branden,” Talas said, though the large man did not hear him. The priest placed a hand on his friend’s arm, saying with more force, “King’s Guard Branden.” When his companion turned to acknowledge his words, Talas continued. “Perhaps we should take a short respite, get something to eat. You have had nothing since breakfast and it is well past noon.”

  Branden looked at Talas as though the man was speaking gibberish. “I am fine to continue, as is our guest here,” he indicated Ra’thet with a nod of his head. A dangerous glint entered the large man’s eyes and calmness returned to his features. “Though perhaps now would be a good time for you to get some food.” Branden pushed his sleeves further up his muscular forearms. The King’s Guard did not seem to notice that he had smeared some of his prisoner’s blood over his thick wrists. Though Branden did not say it outright, both men knew that Talas would not approve of the next steps of Ra’thet’s interrogation.

  “Are you sure this is a path you wish to take, my son?” Talas asked, turning to face the door of Ra’thet’s cell. He placed a hand on his friend’s massive shoulder. Though Branden and the priest were roughly the same age, Talas was speaking to the former smith in his role as a priest of the Temple of the Great Mother. His choice of address was not meant as condescension.