Chronicles Of Aronshae (3 Book Omnibus)

by J. K. Barber

  “Light!” Jared called, suddenly. “We need.…”

  Radiance flooded the room as Katya cried, “Ordum illumines!” Hundreds of tiny glowing motes filled the air. Each minuscule point of illumination shed only a tiny amount of light, but the cumulative effect lit up the inside of the tent as brightly as a score of torches.

  The hunter’s left hand flew from his side, instinctively catching something in the air as it flew towards the sorceress’ head. Katya’s eyes widened as she looked into the black grinning skull on the pommel of the dagger in Jared’s hands.

  The hunter said a quick thanks to the female puma he had met earlier.

  The interior of the tent now lit up, the woodsman’s eyes fell to the mass of black crystal that grew up out of the ground. The obsidian outcropping seemed to drink the light from the air, as a clinging mist of darkness amongst the many jagged gemstones greedily sucked the heat from around it.

  Jared didn’t have long to examine the corrupted crystals though. Three black-robed figures were revealed by Katya’s spell. The familiar and yet wholly unnatural, unfelt breeze fluttered the loose fitting black clothes of two of the creatures that stood opposite the Illyanders. The third figure stood perfectly still, its face hidden, and its form indistinguishable beneath a long black hooded cloak. No unseen wind moved the creature’s garments.

  “Shadow Walkers,” Talas spat, naming the creatures for the benefit of his wife. His voice sounded as if just speaking the words left a bad taste in the priest’s mouth. If Olivia had any reaction to encountering the abominations for the first time, she did not verbalize it. Jared did not have the attention to spare to look at the older scout’s face either.

  A harsh rasping noise came from beneath the hood of the third figure. At first, Jared thought the person hidden beneath the dark cloak was coughing, but after a moment he realized that the dry hacking noise was actually laughter; grating, chittering laughter. The figure reached up, its hand clad in a shiny black glove, and pulled the hood of the cloak back. Sasha and Katya gasped loud enough for Jared to hear over the returning clamor outside the Ice Queen’s tent.

  The revealed face of the creature beneath the hood shocked the hunter as well. The woman’s face had been pretty at one point, but that time had passed. Her skin was black and glossy, and it reminded the hunter of the large black beetles he would sometimes find under the rotting bark of a fallen tree. Though her eyes looked normal at first glance, with his borrowed night vision the hunter could see that the woman had no color in her eyes. Where her irises would be, there was simply empty black. What Jared had mistaken for a polished leather glove, he now realized was actually the woman’s hand. She reached up and unfastened the cloak at her neck, letting the gauzy black cloth slide off her shoulders onto the rugs that covered the pavilion’s floor. The cloak pooled like an oily grease stain on the bright colors and elaborate designs of the obviously expensive carpets. A shapely, if perhaps overly slender, woman stood before the Illyanders. She wore black leather pants and a matching bodice over her carapace-like skin. There stood the Ice Queen’s fallen regent, a strange combination of allure and revulsion. She smiled at the intruders with pointed yellow teeth.

  “Roane,” Sasha gasped. “But you’re… we….”

  The Master Swordswoman’s voice was cut off by a yell of pain from her twin. Jared turned to see Katya standing rigid, her back bowed in agony, and an expression of surprise on her face. Standing behind the raven-haired sorceress, the Ice Queen smiled coldly, her hand holding the end of a long black crystal that was buried in Katya’s side. Blood, thick and red, already soaked the young sorceress’ loose fitting garments and she was gasping for air, her mouth open wide in a noiseless scream. The Shadow Walker at Salamasca’s side said nothing as he cut a slit in the air with his black skull pommeled dagger. Still grasping his mistress’ shoulder, the sickly pale-skinned man stepped into the hanging rent, pulling the Empress of Ice and Katya into the Void beyond. The tear sealed behind them.

  “Now that we have that out of the way,” Roane rasped, “we can finish this nonsense once and for all. The black-carapaced woman drew a rapier, its swept hilt covered in precious gems. As she ran a glossy hand through her matted black hair, a predatory smile split her chitinous lips. There was a small drop of crimson at the corner of her mouth, evidence her yellowed fangs had seen use recently.

  Talas was the first to speak into the stunned silence. “You two,” he indicated Sasha and Jared with a nod of his head. “Take care of the Shadow Walkers.” The priest pointed at Roane with his mace. “We’ll handle this… thing.” The older man’s lips curled up in disgust as the spoke. As he stepped forward, Olivia slipped up next to her husband, blades at the ready.

  Talas couldn’t keep the disgust from his voice as he told Jared and Sasha that he and Olivia would handle Roane. The priest had heard stories about the Ice Queen’s chancellor from the twins and the hunter. This was the woman who had murdered Sasha’s mentor, Mistress Mala. She had also tortured Sirus while he had still been a man and then tormented him as a hatchling. Though she had apparently been beautiful once, the woman’s exterior was now a telling mirror of the foulness inside her. Roane had become an abomination before the Great Mother. Who better to remove her from the face of Aronshae than two priests from Her Temple? he thought.

  Talas had little time to appreciate the appropriateness of the situation; the immediacy of battle demanded his attention. As he blocked a thrust from Roane, the monstrous woman’s slender blade screeching across the metal of his shield, the priest swung his mace in a powerful arc towards her head. With inhuman dexterity, Roane ducked underneath the incoming weapon, striking out with her sword and slashing Talas across the thigh. It was a shallow cut, but the resulting pain caused the priest to step back involuntarily, a small cry of pain escaping his lips. Roane stepped forward to press her attack, but was brought up short by Olivia’s own rapier slashing the woman across the forearm. Although the sword did not penetrate Roane’s chitinous skin, it did give her enough pause for Talas to recover.

  “Impressive,” Roane said, her voice one of contempt, despite the compliment. “However, I must admit, I find it a bit ungentlemanly of you to not fight me alone.” She addressed Talas but kept a wary eye on Olivia, as if she didn’t quite know what to make of the other woman. “You have me outnumbered. Wouldn’t it be more honorable to fight me one-on-one?”

  “As if you know anything of honor, wretch,” Talas spat. “I know how you killed Mala and dozens of her soldiers and how you tortured Sirus.” The priest backed up his venomous words with another attack. Olivia pressed forward as well, trying to dart her blade beneath Roane’s defense, as the hideous woman blocked Talas’ swings. The scout managed to score half a dozen hits, but Roane remained unhurt. A normal woman would have been bleeding from several shallow cuts along her arms and legs, but Olivia’s rapier had been unable to pierce Roane’s carapace yet.

  “You have me at a disadvantage,” the black-skinned woman said casually, apparently unperturbed by the two people attacking her. “You seem to know who I am, and yet you are unknown to me.” Roane parried a thrust of Olivia’s sword, stepping sideways to place the older woman between her and Talas. “Not that I care overly much, but it’s probably polite for me to allow you to introduce yourself before I kill,” Roane licked her lips, “and eat you.” Her disturbing smile revealed rows of sharp yellowed teeth.

  Talas stepped to his left, while Olivia slipped to her right. The pair maneuvered so they could both face their opponent at the same time again. The priest marveled inwardly at how quickly he and Olivia fell into a familiar rhythm again. “Talas,” he said simply as way of introduction.

  “Olivia,” his wife intoned, nodding her head as though she were having a polite conversation with a dinner companion.

  After all these years, Talas thought. She’s still as unflappable as ever. The priest grinned. Olivia followed up her introduction with a feint and then a lunging thrust that struck Roane i
n the shoulder. The tip of the scout’s blade slipped in between the chitinous plates at the joint and found soft flesh beneath.

  Roane hissed in pain and knocked Olivia’s sword aside with her free hand, thick black ichor beginning to seep from the wound. Though the injury was not to her sword arm, it proved that there were weak points in the grotesque woman’s chitinous armor.

  “And I don’t need to know you to recognize a monster when I see one,” Olivia continued, a hard grin on her face.

  Roane lashed out in anger, slashing wildly with her blade several times. Olivia was hard pressed to defend herself, struggling to block and parry Roane’s attacks. The scout was forced to take a small number of steps backwards to avoid being cut, her rapier and dagger working furiously to protect herself from her opponent.

  Talas saw his opening and took it. Raising his arm above his head, the priest brought his mace down hard, trying to crush Roane’s skull with the head of his weapon. Again, the woman moved with a speed that drove home her inhuman nature. Talas’ mace missed Roane’s head by a hairsbreadth; instead slamming down into the woman’s already wounded shoulder. The resulting cry of pain was music to the priest’s ears. He felt a righteous sense of pride well up from within his heart, as he struck a blow against one of the Great Mother’s enemies in Her name. This is what he was supposed to have been doing with his life all along.

  He felt a further rush of excitement as the blow caused Roane to drop her guard; a lapse that Olivia exploited with a thrust of her sword. The point of the scout’s weapon struck Roane in the abdomen, just above the waist. Talas saw Olivia’s blade bend slightly as it met resistance, then penetrate the woman’s leather bodice and chitinous skin beneath. Several inches of steel slid into Roane’s belly.

  The Ice Queen’s chancellor stepped back, painfully sliding herself off of Olivia’s blade. Rage blossomed on Roane’s face, as she recovered and prepared to launch another attack against Olivia.

  Talas stepped in between the two women, bringing his shield up to protect his wife from the abomination they fought.

  “Talas, no!” Olivia cried, moving out from behind the priest and stepping up on his left side.

  Roane reached up with her left hand, grabbing the top of Talas’ shield in an iron grip with her clawed fingers. Too close, he admonished himself. I let her get too close. Talas tried to pry his shield from Roane’s grasp, but even the strength won from years of combat wasn’t enough to free it from the woman’s clutches. Whatever foul sorcery had remade Roane into the creature he fought now had also given her a preternatural might that was beyond him.

  Roane began to laugh as Talas struggled against her, contempt plain on her face despite its grotesque nature. “It’s adorable that you think the two of you can defeat me. I have been reborn, an instrument of the Empress’ will. It would take more than the likes of you to put an end to me.”

  Roane turned her head to face Olivia as the scout stepped around Talas. “As for you,” she said raising the sword in her right hand again. “I’ve had quite enough of you, whoever you are,” and began slashing viciously at the scout, keeping Talas at bay with the strength of her left arm, despite her wounds. Olivia defended herself well, parrying or blocking Roane’s attacks, but the hideous woman’s swings gained strength and speed with each blow. Clearly, Roane had been toying with them all along, but her sadistic nature had now been sated. She was done playing.

  Talas redoubled his efforts to free his shield from Roane’s grasp. The Ice Queen’s creature held it fast though, her iron grip preventing him from reaching her with his mace, such was her strength. Until he could free his shield or remove it from his arm, he could only watch as Roane assaulted Olivia.

  “Olivia!” he implored. “Step back! Get away from her!”

  Roane kicked the scout in the stomach, sending her reeling backwards. “Oh, do shut up,” she said to Talas, wrenching his shield forward and him with it. Stars bloomed across the priest’s vision, as Roane slammed him in the face with the jewel encrusted pommel of her sword. Staggered, he felt the shield ripped from his arm, the leather straps giving way as his shoulder screamed in pain. His left arm fell limp against his side, the sinew torn, and his knees began to buckle.

  His vision darkened, but he was able to see Olivia rushing forward.

  “NO!” Talas cried, but the warning came too late.

  Roane parried Olivia’s wild swing with contemptuous ease and then drove the point of her rapier into the center of the scout’s chest, burying the blade up to the hilt.

  All strength fled from Talas as he watched the light slowly begin to fade from his wife’s eyes. Contentious to the end, Olivia thrust her left arm forward, driving her dagger deep into Roane’s side. As the chitin-skinned woman gasped in pain, Olivia spat, blood mixing with her spittle to splatter light pink across Roane’s face. Salamasca’s minion did not bother to pull out the dagger, leaving it embedded in her side.

  “Ha!” Talas said weakly. He was proud to see Olivia defiant and strong to the last. There truly was no other woman in all of Aronshae for him.

  Roane turned her blood spattered face to the priest, pain and rage warring for dominance on her grotesque visage. If the creature that had once been human had meant to reply, it only came out in a cry of anger. Roane grabbed the front of Talas’ green tunic and jerked him forward with irresistible strength.

  Pulled off balance, Talas was unable to bring his made arm up in time to stop Roane from sinking her inhuman teeth into his throat. His cry of pain came out only as a wet gurgling noise, strange even to his own ears.

  Jared drew a dagger from his belt and launched it at one of the Shadow Walkers in one fluid motion. The strike was true and the weapon imbedded itself in the creature’s throat. He knew the attack would not stop the dead man, but he hoped it would give him the moment he needed to break Sasha out of the bewildered state she was in. The red-haired woman hadn’t moved since her twin had disappeared into the Void before her eyes. Their plan hinged on the sisters forming Akor’shi-kai. With Katya gone, their hopes of defeating Salamasca had disappeared as abruptly as a rock dropped into the Sea of Twylight.

  Jared stepped in between the Shadow Walkers and the swordswoman. “Snap out of it!” he yelled.

  “Katya,” Sasha said weakly, still staring at the empty space where her sister had stood moments before. Jared imagined she was reliving the kidnapping of her twin from Snowhaven over a year ago.

  “We can’t help her right now,” Jared said, trying to mix compassion and urgency in his voice. “Trust that Sirus will play his part,” the hunter stated, putting as much of the confidence he had in his former mentor into his words as he could. He parried a blow from one of the Shadow Walkers’ daggers. “We have other things to worry about at the moment.” Blocking another strike, the hunter struck out with his foot, kicking his opponent in the shin, driving the creature’s foot back and knocking it off balance. Taking advantage of the opening, Jared brought his sword down, severing the dead man’s hand at the wrist. Though thick black fluid began flowing from the stump, the wound did not slow the thing down. He slashed with his remaining hand, catching Jared across the shoulder. The hunter cried out in pain as fire bloomed across his skin.

  The woodsman’s yell shocked Sasha out of her stupor. She stepped up behind Jared, pivoting on her lead foot and rolling along the hunter’s back. As she spun, she brought her shield forward, hitting the other Shadow Walker in the neck with the edge. The blow staggered the creature back, and she followed it up with a savage kick to the midsection of the dead man attacking Jared. Though the Shadow Walkers recovered quickly, the red-headed warrior and the hunter did not let the advantage go to waste. Jared and Sasha moved forward, striking brashly, determined to drive the creatures back. The Master Swordswoman’s blade was guided by the years of training she had received in Snowhaven; while the woodsman’s weapon was bolstered by the speed and reflexes of the gifts given him by the desert puma.

  Beaten back, the Shadow W
alkers sustained a dozen wounds that would have killed or disabled living men, but the foul sorcery that animated their corpses prevented them from being felled by the Illyanders’ assault.

  Jared and Sasha knew this though. The intent of their attack was not to dispatch the creatures outright, but to drive them backwards. As the first Shadow Walker reached the edge of the pavilion, his back foot stepped into the cloth that hung from the wooden supports above them, forming the tent’s walls. A second backward step and the abomination’s feet were fully tangled in the white fabric. Jared brought his back foot up, turned his body, and delivered a vicious sideways kick to the Shadow Walker. The unliving thing fell over backwards, enwrapped in the cloth walls.

  Jared turned, bringing his curved eastern sword up above his head and down at a wide angle with all his strength, natural and borrowed. Seeing the hunter’s strike coming, Sasha leaned back, giving Jared as much room as he needed. The woodsman’s blade impacted the Shadow Walker’s neck just below the chin and continued on through. The creature’s body pitched backwards, while its head toppled forward to land at the Master Swordswoman’s feet, its head wrap unraveling partially in the process. Jared saw the black gem embedded in the back of the dead man’s skull, the dark purple tattoos around it still pulsing. The body, to which the head belonged, fell to the rugs, motionless.

  Sasha nudged the head with her foot, rolling it over. The dead blue-white eyes starred at the red-haired woman, still moving, looking around for its lost body.

  “I always wondered if that would work,” Jared said, a feral grin on his face. He ended the creature’s foul existence by shattering the pulsing gem with the pommel of his sword.

  Sasha stepped over to the entangled Shadow Walker placing her boot on top of his remaining hand, pinning the dagger beneath her foot. As the creature rolled over to attack her with its severed stump, its head came free of the tent cloth that entwined it. The Master Swordswoman drove the pommel of her longsword down into the back of the thing’s skull, shattering the black gem implanted there. The effect was immediate. The dispatched Shadow Walker slumped to the ground.