by Tim Marquitz
Jerul’s shoulder slumped as he heard the news.
“If Ah Uto Ree is inaccessible, where do we go?” Kirah asked.
Arrin shrugged as he let his gaze roam the village edge, sickened by the number of Hull that surrounded them. “We caught them off guard and only took down maybe ten of their number.” He motioned toward the enemy. “We stand no chance against such a force.”
Braelyn nodded her agreement.
“What of the O’hra?” Cael asked. “If we cannot reach the Sha’ree, we have no O’hra to challenge the Grol.”
All eyes turned to look at the boy. Arrin growled. “He’s right. Damn the Hull.” Arrin stomped and cursed the stone creatures.
“Not true,” Braelyn said, drawing their attention. “I don’t believe your Sha’ree companion, Uthul, intended you to gather the O’hra from his homeland.”
Arrin spun to face Braelyn and urged her to continue.
She motioned to the O’hra she wore. “These were found in a mausoleum deep in the desert south of here.”
“The Funeral Sands?” Jerul drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “There is nothing but death there.”
“There is that, but there is also enough O’hra to field an army,” she answered. “Uthul spoke of it when we crossed paths, and I have seen it with my own eyes.”
A cry erupted near the ditch. There was a sudden gap in the line of the Yviri forces as a Hull crested the ditch. It swung its arm into the ranks and swept a number of the warriors into the trench. Their screams rang against Arrin’s ears, the crunch of violent death following after until the screams dropped away. Warriors pressed forward and sent the Hull tumbling back into the hole to repair the line.
“We cannot hold them much longer,” Hardin said with rigid certainty in his tone.
“Will you lead us through the desert, Braelyn,” Arrin asked her.
“You don’t know what you ask. You will lose many on the journey.” She stared off to the south as though seeing the Funeral Sands in her mind’s eye. Her hand caressed the O’hra that crossed her chest.
“We will lose all if we remain here,” Arrin countered.
She turned her eyes to him after a quiet moment. “Then if that is what I must do to earn my way home, so be it.”
“How do you propose we get there?” Kirah’s wide purple eyes gave emphasis to her question.
“If Ah Uto Ree is blockaded, then we drive south through Tolen. If they are under siege by the Hull, they will not notice us. If not, they no doubt know of the battles going on and will gladly offer us passage as we intend to take the fight to the Grol.”
Jerul sighed and turned to Hardin. “Gather the Velen and bring them here.” He pointed off to the battle. “This is as good a place to cross as any.”
“You would have us abandon Vel?” The Yvir asked.
“If we stay, we die, as do the Velen in our care. That suits no purpose save our enemy’s. We have need of an army to fight the Grol, and these people,” he gestured to the group, “will provide our warriors with Sha’ree magic to counter that which the beasts stole from Ah Uto Ree. Without the O’hra, we will never reclaim our homeland or know peace in Ahreele.”
Hardin stood silent a moment, staring at Jerul. At last, he seemed to come to a decision. “You offer us sour choices, brother. I will bring the Velen and prepare our people to retreat.” He looked to the looming Hull. “I fear we will have little time to gather supplies.” Hardin grunted and ran into the village, disappearing behind a cluster of huts.
Once Hardin was gone, Kirah looked to Arrin. “You said nothing of the possibility of the Hull following us into the Funeral Sands.”
“I don’t believe they will,” he answered. “Given the capture of Zalee and the push of the Hull toward Ah Uto Ree through the fonts, it stands to reason this battle has something to do with the Sha’ree and the Yvir and Velen were simply in the way. All of our encounters since Hespayr have sprung up to block our path to the Sha’ree homeland. By driving south and passing through Tolen rather than risking setting foot near Ah Uto Ree, I believe we will escape any further confrontations with the Hull or Ruhr.”
“But not with the creatures that roam the desert,” Braelyn added.
Arrin gave her a feral grin. “One battle at a time, woman.”
He turned to watch as Hardin led a cluster of Velen out of the village. Their dark faces were sick with fear. They hung close to one another, their voices filling the air with muffled uncertainty. Arrin turned back to the group with a sigh. “Let us make ready to go. I foresee a long journey ahead.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ellora trudged through the heavy water that grasped her ankles at every step. Her head hung at her chest to avoid the constant drip of moisture that snaked its way down the tangled strands of her hair. She was soaked. Only the warmth of the makeshift rain pattering down around them made it less than the miserable affair it could have been.
The prince and his men strode easily, their booted steps seeming to slice through the water without effort. The rest of them weren’t so lucky. Several times Olenn had turned to threaten Malya and her family for moving too slowly. Ellora cursed the prince inside her head, imagining leaping upon his back and riding him down into the murky rainwater where she would hold his head under until the last of his foul breath left him. Each time she would glance up at his back, her disappointment would return. It was only a dream. He walked ahead, alive and unperturbed by her bitter thoughts.
She glanced to the boys and saw they were holding up well. It hadn’t been them slowing the group, but their father. Falen’s injuries seeped and he shivered as he tried to keep pace. Malya slowed to help him along. The children slowed with her. The walk against the water’s grip was trying enough, but to add Falen’s wounds to the effort must have been horrible. How he managed to keep the pace he did was due to nothing more than determination. Ellora saw it etched in the lines of his face, the narrow stare of his eyes. He didn’t dare fall behind and leave Malya and his boys to the mercy of the prince.
Her eyes on the royal family, Ellora almost didn’t notice Olenn had stopped. She pulled up just short of running into his back. A muttered apology sputtered, she drew back as the prince and the soldiers out front stepped to the side of the canyon. Olenn’s swung away in a grandiose gesture, motioning to the way ahead.
“And here we have the kind souls grateful enough to provide me with the means to revenge Lathah upon the Grol.”
Malya gasped and Ellora saw Falen draw her closer. The boys’ eyes went wide and she turned to see what they looked at. She regretted it instantly.
Dead men lay in the water. The bodies shifted slightly under the motion caused by the rain, but it was clear they had been there a while. The bodies were bloated and gray, the exposed skin waxy and deformed. The couple who lay face up stared with bulbous, black eyes over swollen cheeks. Their faces were covered in blistered growths that seeped a pale yellow fluid that stained the water in a growing aura around their bodies.
Ellora looked away from their ruined faces, her stomach churning. Their way of dress was strange. They wore fur in layers that seemed ill-suited to the temperatures near Lathah.
The slicing sound of unsheathed steel drew her eyes to Olenn. He held a sword before the assembled captives. Its blade was an obsidian darkness that seemed to absorb what little sunlight reached into the canyon. Ellora felt a metallic bitterness in her mouth as she looked at the sword, her stomach tight.
“I don’t know where these men came from, but they are clearly not Sha’ree.” He nudged one of the bodies with his boot, sending a wave of yellow pus floating across the water’s surface. “They look Lathahn despite their odd outfits, but I’ve never seen any of our people with such amazing weapons.” He shifted the sword and a quiet hum pulsed against Ellora’s ears. “This sword is magic, as are those we found on the rest of the corpses. W
ith these, we can challenge the Grol on equal footing and root them from our land.”
“You think a dozen swords will defeat the Grol?” Malya asked.
Olenn grinned. “I don’t intend to kill them all, dear sister. I intend to rule them.”
The princess stared at her brother without speaking. Ellora wonder if he was insane.
“They’re nothing but beasts. They rut and feed and piss in the dirt like dogs. And like dogs, they follow the biggest, meanest mutt in the pack.” He grinned at his soldiers. “I intend to be that mutt; the alpha.”
Malya matched his grin. “You will need to get very close to pull off such a bold move. I would love to see you try.”
He shook his head. “It is easier than you might think. I have already come to terms with the lead dog of their army. The next time he stands face to face with a Lathahn messenger, he will be under the impression he delivers the means to lure your precious Arrin out into the light. He will greet the messenger with open arms. That messenger will be me.”
Olenn sheathed the black sword and grasped the metal belt buckle at his waist. The silver circle came away in his hand and split at one end. It snapped straight and grew longer without a sound, producing a blade about a foot in length. It shimmered with a greenish light.
“This one is magic, as well. I sink it into the eye of their leader, this Vorrul, and the whole pack drops to their knees.” He laughed. “It helps that I’ll have an army of Lathahns at my back.”
“That will be even more difficult seeing how you left our…your people to rot in the clutches of the Grol.”
“You underestimate me, as father always did.”
Malya snarled at the mention of her father. Falen gripped her arm tight as she threatened to launch herself at her brother.
Olenn only grinned wider. “I have already arranged their freedom. We will either return to Lathah to find the people loose of the beasts’ shackles and eager for Grol blood, or I will free them when we arrive. Either way, I will provide them the opportunity for revenge, and when I have defeated the Grol, I will set them to work on rebuilding Lathah. Armed with the magic of the beasts, we will never again suffer the indignities of defeat.”
Ellora saw the uncertainty in Malya’s eyes as the prince turned away and waved them onward with a laugh. She knew the princess couldn’t tell if her brother lied or told the truth, but it didn’t matter. Malya had no place in Olenn’s new world and Ellora wondered what would happen when they returned to Lathah.
Whatever the prince’s plans were, there could be no doubt it would not be what was best for Malya and her family…or Ellora, for that matter.
Chapter Nineteen
The room had grown cold, and Domor shivered. His wrists had been bound together and his arms pulled tight over his head with yet another of the huge woman’s silver chains. His feet had been left untied, but the awkwardness of crouching did little to alleviate the throb in his muscles and the tight binding, which sent tingles dancing down his arms.
Hours earlier, he had been taken from Zalee’s side and marched into another smooth, stone-hewn room. This one was far larger, dozens of horse-lengths in each direction. Stacks upon stacks of bright metals sheets lined the room. Their faces reflected the flickering light of the sconces set down the length of the wall. The temperature inside was frigid despite the torches. Domor shivered and glanced about once more, as if seeking some tiny something he hadn’t seen in all the time spent chained to the wall.
Unlike the first chamber they had been taken to, this one had no door. It opened up directly into the gray corridor beyond the large archway. He had cast furtive glances into the adjoining caverns as he was brought here, but there was nothing save more of the metal sheeting that filled the chamber.
At the far end of the room was a strange arrangement of stone carvings whose purpose he couldn’t understand. A large stone shelf protruded from the wall, covered in tools he had no understanding of. Set beside the table was what looked like a wide horse trough carved above the floor. Grooved channels ran to and from the trough and circled back on each other, but he saw nothing running in their lengths.
As he pondered the devices and hoped the Hespayrins hadn’t built them for the torture of innocent Velens, he heard the heavy steps of someone coming toward the room, a soft, shuffling sound sounding with it. He glanced at the doorway to see Illraine step inside. She dragged Zalee behind her. Domor fought the urge to turn away when he saw her.
The Sha’ree had been beaten horribly. If she still lived, it was nothing short of miraculous.
None of the skin stretched tight across her face showed any hint of its natural color. Blues and blacks and yellows dominated the flesh of her cheeks and chin. Pinkish tears spilled from closed and swollen eyelids. Charred grooves had been burned across one side of her face. Grayish ooze glistened in the depths.
Domor’s sickened gaze followed Zalee as she was pulled along. There had been some form of restraint on her neck, the skin raw and wet with oozing pus. Her breasts bore seeping puncture wounds, one nearly severed from her body. It hung by just a thin sheet of stretched flesh, blood spilling dark from beneath its gory crevice to coat her torso.
Still, Domor couldn’t look away. He had heard none of Zalee’s screams since he was taken from the room, but he felt a nagging guilt at having let Illraine lead him away so easily. He could well have fought, struggled to be free.
And then?
He would be dead and Zalee would have been spared none of the torment she endured. There was nothing to be done, he thought again and again as he watched the huge woman take the Sha’ree to the strange device whose purpose he wondered about. He no longer wanted to know.
Illraine produced more of the chain and secured Zalee to the trough. The Sha’ree did nothing to fight her bondage. She simply lay limp as Illraine bound her and stepped away. She reached up and ran her hands along the stone face above the trough, her fingers seeming to dance. Domor watched her odd demonstration, and then heard a low rumble in the ground. Illraine collected the tools that lay on the table and left the room, not even sparing a glance at Domor as she left.
The rumble grew louder and he stared across the room wishing he had never wondered what the device did, but there was no stopping it now. He felt a flickering thrum vibrating the nape of his neck, his skin prickling as a strange yet familiar feeling wafted over him. His eyes went wide when he heard the first gush. Recognition struck home.
From the wall, pure magic spilled into the upper channel and slowly began to run down its length. Its bubbling green fluid flowed smooth through the cut channel, and after a moment, it sluiced into the trough beside Zalee. She moaned a throaty, hoarse sound as if sensing the magical liquid, but her eyes stayed closed. She twitched and trembled, but otherwise remained unconscious.
“It is a shame she was not cooperative, Velen,” Sultae said at his shoulder.
He started and looked up at the Sha’ree he hadn’t heard enter the room. She stepped around in front of him.
“Quite the stubborn creature, she is, but that is no surprise.” Sultae dropped into a crouch before him. She seemed to measure him with her eyes, their pink orbs reflecting his image. “She has always been such, but you are not so stubborn, are you, Velen?”
Domor swallowed hard and remained silent. He glanced past Sultae to see Zalee writhing against her restraints, her eyes still closed. The pure magic swirled in the trough, circling along the channels to keep the container full. Zalee suffered for its closeness. Given what Sultae had done to one of her own kind, Domor could only imagine what she might do to him.
“Tell me your name?”
His eyes flickered back to Sultae’s and he heard the word roll from his tongue before he could command it not to. “Domor.”
Sultae smiled. “Well, Domor,” her hand settled upon his chest, “it seems I have need of some information. Zalee w
as reluctant to provide me with answers, but I have no doubt you will not be so foolish. Am I correct in my assumption, Domor?”
“I-I don’t know…anything,” he answered, doing his best not to look away.
She sighed. “Come now, let us speak true.” She reached up and tapped his wrist where the O’hra had been until his capture. “You have been in Pathrale in recent times, and you were found in Hespayr. I do not need Zalee to confirm you were headed to Ah Uto Ree, but my question is why? What do you seek from the Sha’ree?”
He shook his head. Sultae’s hand flew to his face faster than he could follow and grasped his chin in a vice-like grip. She snapped his head to the side so Domor’s eyes were filled with the sight of Zalee’s thrashing form.
“Have I mistakenly led you to believe I am a woman who cares for your wellbeing, Domor? Let me disabuse you of such foolish notions. I chose to torture Zalee for a number of reasons, many quite personal, but the overriding purpose was to learn just what my people know of the Grol invasion and its cause. It seems they know nothing, which is fortuitous. However, there is information you must know to have been traveling willingly to my former homeland in the company of the Sha’ree and wearing one of my O’hra.” She pulled his face to hers. “Now, why do you travel to Ah Uto Ree?”
Domor met the fury in her eyes. He wanted nothing more than to crawl away and hide in the depths of a warm wineskin. Sultae squeezed his chin tighter, her fingers biting into the bone of his jaw. His teeth ground together under the pressure. He glanced once more to Zalee and closed his eyes, tears squeezing loose from between his eyelids. Domor reached deep inside for the strength to resist. He could find none.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the wounded Sha’ree. His eyes slid open slowly and met Sultae’s forceful gaze. “Please, do not hurt me. I will tell you all I know.”
Chapter Twenty
The detour at Tolen soured what little happiness Uthul had for seeing his home and people again. Most of the Tolen army had marched to aid their forces, which had happened upon the battles at Fhen and Lathah. What soldiers were left in the nation hunkered down and were in no position or frame of mind to offer any assistance to the Sha’ree.
