by Meagan Hurst
Paying no heed to how her lands here were, Z strolled with intent to her destination. She felt as if she were blindfolded—if anything was going on in her world around her, she didn’t notice. The ache she had denied while she had been standing before Midestol now slowly spread from her heart on out, and she needed to get somewhere safe before it had her fully.
She didn’t go to the battle, she couldn’t. Not now. Instead she went to the mountain Nivaradros had claimed as his own, held, and carved with painstaking effort. Reaching its location after the better part of three hours—cheating with both magic and the shadowlands ability to compress distance and twist time—Z emerged from her sub-world onto the ledge of his cave. It was snowing. Had been snowing. There was snow up to her hips that she had to push through to reach the entrance to the Dragon’s lair, and as she did she reached out with a hand to touch the stone beside the gaping hole; his defenses were almost gone.
It was worse to experience than she had expected; her world felt as if it condensed around her in an attempt to crush her. Knowing it could only mean one thing, Z angrily claimed the lair as hers by throwing her magic through and around the last of the Dragon’s defenses, strengthening what was left and adding to what had already vanished. This was hers then. The only reason she claimed it was the fact she knew some other enterprising Dragon would, and she wouldn’t allow it. Walking into the entrance, she kept the path dark and kept her vision narrow. She wanted to see nothing on her way to her destination.
She didn’t want to be here at all. Duty and something she couldn’t name pushed her to continue down the halls that had been created out of boredom or desire, and by the time she reached the rooms he had given her, she knew just how wounded she was over this. The doors opened without so much as a thought from her, and she managed to make it to the bed before the wall she had somehow managed to sustain all these years shattered.
Tears weren’t something she shed often. In fact, she had a feeling she hadn’t shed tears for any one person since the death of her adoptive parents. She recalled having shed tears three times: once for the city she had been forced to destroy before Tenia’s destruction, once for a large group of slaves she had been unable to rescue from Midestol’s hold when she had first started as a Warrior, and during the destruction of Tenia tears had fallen, but not even Nicklyn had been gifted tears. Nor had the man who had spent so many months trying to bring back her sanity.
Tears fell now though. She fought and won the battle to make them fall silently, but she wasn’t sure if it made her a better or worse person. Of course, at the moment, she couldn’t decide if she was a better or worse person for having offered to return to spend time with the man who had possibly been behind Nivaradros’s death indirectly. The room was warm—almost too warm for her current mood—and as there was a piece of the Dragon in it, there was a calming sense to it as well. Bringing her knees up to her chin on the bed, she wrapped her arms around her legs and just let those cursed tears fall on their silent path. She had made yet another mistake, and she wondered how much this would cost her.
It took her two days before she could trust herself to think clearly. Two long, frustrating, and crippling days. On the third day since Midestol had come to give her the news she hadn’t expected—hadn’t considered a possibility—she forced herself to get up. Forced herself to eat from the magic cursed table the Dragon had made for the room, and then forced herself to change clothes.
Arming herself with enough weapons to equip a small army, Z glanced at herself in the mirror and flinched. Her eyes weren’t violet or silver—they were a deep and vivid teal. Apparently, she had a color for grief. She wasn’t sure if it made things better or worse, but she was unwilling to dwell on it as she risked falling prey again to her sorrow.
Heading out of the room, she hiked up to the top of the mountain and emerged from the lair she had claimed onto the ledge without noticing much more than the snow. Which was still there, and possibly higher than it had been two days ago. Mountain weather was never something she enjoyed.
Shanii, however, noticed her. Snorting as he looked her over, Z half expected to learn he didn’t approve of her immortality. She dimly wondered how in the hells he had managed to get here, but since he was who and what he was, she didn’t waste too much thought on it. Instead she expended her energy on reading the tilt of his finely shaped head, the flick of his ears, and the shake of his head and neck. Snorting again, Shanii pawed the snow in an idle seeming way, but he made no threatening motion—in fact, he made no other move at all.
Holding out her arms and hands, she approached him palms up with care. Shaking his head and neck again, Shanii reached out to lightly lip her palms as soon as she was close enough to him that it was possible. Nickering in a quiet, but sympathetic way, the stallion did something he hadn’t done for some time. He knelt. It was the most comforting thing he could have done. Leaping gracefully onto his back, Z stroked the stallion’s neck as he stood and shook off some of the snow.
“Thank you,” she whispered softly. His reply was lacking the sharp edge it sometimes carried, and he turned his head towards her to regard her with concern. “I’ll be alright,” she assured him.
Snort. Swishing his tail sharply enough that it smacked her leg, Shanii began to move towards one side of the steep ledge Nivaradros had carved on the outside of his mountain to apparently keep nimble creatures at bay. Shanii, however, made his attempt fail. Climbing with a level of sure-footedness and grace that would make a mountain goat green with envy, Shanii carried her down the mountain without once jostling her.
Once they were on the ground, however, she had a two second warning before he took off. Even this was in its own way a comfort. Shanii ran with ease over terrain that would have lamed any other horse not of his kind—possibly any other creature. His mane whipped her face as the wind and his speed blew it into her eyes, and tears fell now for a different reason. Her heart, however, soared with delight over the run.
They came to a small stream that bisected the lands the Dragon had owned from the lands she had given the remaining people of Tenia, and Z expected Shanii to slow to cross it. It was frozen and the edges were still lined with snow that hadn’t yet melted from the light dusting this area had received. She expected it to be slightly dangerous; expected that Shanii would want to proceed with caution. With a sound of delight, however, he leapt it without even needing to rate himself or chip in, and he landed so smoothly on the other side she almost didn’t realize they had crossed it.
Her laughter surprised her. Joy felt inappropriate given the events that had so recently taken place but delight over riding at a speed few creatures could match overcame her, and she leaned forward over Shanii’s neck and urged him on. He was pleased, both with her laughter and her joy, and he responded to her urging by lengthening his flawless stride even further. Even at this pace she knew it would take them days to reach the battlefield, and that was only if there were no skirmishes that were between them and the main army.
But Shanii would know the best way to take her. For days Z found herself able to think about very little other than the stallion and the path they were taking; she left everything up to him. He often took the lesser used paths through some of the small enchanted forests that had a habit of eating anyone who disturbed them if they weren’t Z, and therefore if there were any small detachments of Midestol’s army around Z didn’t have to worry about running into them.
She heard and smelled the battle before she saw it, seven non-stop riding days later. Shanii gave her a minute’s warning before abruptly changing course. Since he had given her a warning this time, she knew what he wanted her to do. Placing both her legs on one side of him, she leaned the opposite way until her arms were extended enough to almost touch the ground. Grabbing a longbow from a dead enemy, she checked its condition before grabbing a quiver from another body. Sitting up with ease, and putting one leg on each side of Shanii’s back again, she drew an arrow and held it at the ready as
she began to see signs of the battle she had been kept from for so damn long.
Her old talents overpowered her abruptly, and for the first time in years she let them. Her magic let her know where the nearest and highest power mage was located, and a quick signal to Shanii had him shift his path to take her that way. Even after seven long days of nothing but a straight gallop, the stallion wasn’t even winded; he certainly wasn’t tired. A normal horse would have died within the first day at Shanii’s pace: there was a reason she avoided mortal, normal horses like a plague. That, and many others, but the last time she had ridden a normal horse, she’d only lasted about an hour before dismounting, selling the horse at the next town, and calling for Shanii.
Thankful again that he let her ride him, Z readied her arrow with care for the current wind, her target’s position in regard to hers, since she couldn’t yet see him, and she remembered to take in her increased strength since it would affect the arrow’s path. Releasing the arrow when she felt it was the right time, Z directed Shanii to climb the muddy and snow patched hill while she fired more arrows over its edge at targets she could only sense by their magic.
They reached the top with issue, and Shanii let out a powerful and hair-rising scream of anger that was also a cold, deadly challenge. For an instant, the battle seemed to pause in certain sections before the allied races—her allies—identified her and Shanii.
“ZIMLIYA!” some of them screamed as one. It was a heart-torn scream of relief, joy, and hope, and Z fired another arrow in response before sending Shanii charging down the hill and into the force that wasn’t on her good side.
Exchanging her longbow for Kyi’rinn, Z directed Shanii into the thickest group of the enemy she could find. Cutting them down without much thought—and with little regard for her own safety—Z discovered quickly why this group had been so large and powerful; they had trapped a squad of Alantaions.
“Niramit!” she called as she caught the attention of one of the fighters. She could tell the Alantaions were exhausted, but it would take her some time to get to them. “I’m coming! Hold on!”
Niramit glanced at her briefly and began to nod, but she knew he caught sight of her eyes. Stiffening, he forgot about the battle around him. He was almost killed as she watched, but she grabbed and threw the lightest of her daggers in a desperate attempt to protect him. The dagger lodged in the throat of the man who had been inches away from running the Alantaion through, and Niramit shook himself, before bowing to her slightly in silent thanks. He returned to fighting at the same time she did, and she could hear his shouted commands to his fighters.
He told them she was coming, and Z saw the surge of energy the Alantaions hadn’t possessed seconds before as their strength returned—born out of the hope her presence gave them. She hoped they remembered that feeling when they saw her. Cutting down Midestol’s forces as they tried to reach her, Z let Shanii move freely underneath her so he could protect himself or fight as he saw fit. He brought down many of Midestol’s warriors with his hooves and the occasional magic when he felt like being inventive.
Eventually it became apparent that it would be more beneficial if she could fight on the ground—if she could make it to the Alantaion company’s side. Dismounting from Shanii, Z swung Kyi’rinn around in a powerful blow as a foolish enemy tried to behead her from behind; it wasn’t her head that went flying. She had no idea how many of the enemy she cut down as she battled through the mass to get to the Alantaions’ sides, but when she finally did manage it, she found Niramit was instantly beside her as a comrade. His shock had vanished, and he had clearly decided he didn’t care about her immortality for now.
“Niramit, call them back, make them form a circle! Back to back—an arm’s length apart. Bows on the inside, swords just before them, and spears out in the front!”
He didn’t even blink at her order. Calling for his fighters to do as she had called, Z watched with relief as the remaining Alantaions began to follow his command immediately. They fought their way to their leader’s side, and he directed their positioning as they arrived. They glanced at Z, but like their leader they brushed off their surprise. Now was not the time, and even if it was, it was clear Niramit was for her change, they were not stupid enough to argue with him.
A cry from someone behind her caught her attention. Her eyes scanned past the closest enemies until she found the reason for the cry. One of Niramit’s remaining fighters was trapped. Outnumbered and wounded, he had little chance of making it to safety unless someone went to get him. Someone like her. Handing her stolen bow and quiver to someone standing behind her, Z pushed her way through the back.
“Where are you going?” Niramit demanded. His circle was holding, but she knew it was greatly due to her, and he feared the circle would collapse without her aid. It was telling; his squad had been fighting without rest for too long.
“To get your warrior!” she shouted at him as she cut down anything in her way in her rush to get to the side of the Alantaion who couldn’t break through their opposing force.
“Z!” he called desperately as he saw her. “It’s a trap!”
“Only if I refuse to see it!” she yelled back. Calling for Shanii, she felt him respond immediately and brought her sword up quickly to shield herself from the fire that cut through a line of fifteen enemy soldiers—giving the trapped Alantaion time to make it to her side.
Once he was beside her he saluted her once—ignoring her eyes completely—and then began to fall into the dangerous dance both of them knew to use. Back to back, they spun in a circle while making their way to the others, ensuring neither of them stayed in one direction long enough for an enemy strike to fall, but long enough to land one of their own. It was a hard fight—a tiring one—but they made it back to the circle Niramit’s force still held. The circle opened just enough to let them in and then formed around them once more.
“Archers, fire to the outer line!” she commanded loudly. “Break their refreshing line! Make them face us until they die!”
The Alantaions in the center gave a cry of agreement, and then the air was filled with arrows. The back line of the enemies that rushed them caved abruptly as most of the arrows found their mark. It occurred to Z then that a bigger force was attacking them now; word of her arrival had clearly spread.
“Swords rush forward—strike and retreat!” she called to those she stood with. Niramit had gladly handed the reins of command to her, and she had taken them up without noticing. Right now, it didn’t matter; winning was the only thing on her mind and preserving the lives of the Alantaions she fought with was a close second.
“Archers, fire again! Spears, alternate with swords!”
The Alantaions responded immediately and with speed and strength that was born solely because she had joined them. Their trust in her was slightly humbling now—something it had never been before—but she didn’t let it make an impact; distractions were not to be accepted.
“Break their lines!” she decreed as she saw the chance for the Alantaions to finally turn this fight in their favor. “Keep them from reforming. Arrows loosen!”
She was thankful for Alantaion magic; their quivers weren’t about to run out of arrows. The sharp sound of a slender piece of wood that ended with feathers on one end and a sharp metal point on the other rang loudly through the air over the shouting and the cries of pain that filled the air around them. This wasn’t the only fight going on—this was a battlefield after all—but it was the one she had committed to, and it was the one she intended to win.
At long last the enemy was outnumbered. Arrows were no longer needed—were more of a waste to use—so the fighting changed from half distance to only close quarters, although the circle wasn’t broken. Those with swords, like her, darted forward between those with spears. Slashing their opponents quickly and mostly fatally, they danced back behind the spears when some of the enemy were exhausted enough to make the mistake of following them.
It was dusk when the last of
the fighters was slain; it had been just after dawn when she had arrived. After making sure no one else waited to attack them, Z listened for danger nearby them; the enemy had retreated—or was dead—but she could hear small pockets still fighting to the east and west of them. Glancing around at the wounded and exhausted Alantaions, she saluted them with Kyi’rinn before cleaning the blade and sliding it home in its sheath. Taking a minute to breathe, she then got to work tearing off strips of cloth from her clothes to bind the deepest of the wounds she saw.
“You’re immortal,” Niramit said softly while she worked to bind the deep slash across the young Alantaion she had fought so hard to reach.
She glanced over at him and nodded once slowly. “I am,” she agreed. “It is why I have been away throughout this battle; those older than I thought it would be far wiser if my new condition was kept from those who might be offended by it.”
“It is rather startling,” the Alantaion Saer admitted. His eyes, however, no longer held the black she had seen while they had been fighting—granted that black hadn’t been directed at her then either. “But,” he added as a smile appeared, “it is clear you remain who you always were. Extremely impressive with a blade, and rather insane with your fighting style when it comes to protecting those you’re fighting with. Welcome to eternal life then, Z.” He clasped her forearm in a comradely way, and then applied the barest amount of pressure before releasing her and strolling off to tend to another one of his wounded.
Relief filled her over his words. Niramit had accepted her change with ease. It was reassurance she hadn’t known she needed. Turning back to her work as a field mender, Z finished binding up the rib slash and moved to the next Alantaion she found who was injured. Like Niramit and the young Alantaion Z had just tended, she offered Z nothing more than kind words and thanks for both her help with the wound and her help on the field.
