A Fallible Goddess and The Enduring Sorrow (Journey Book 4)

Chapter One

1

The party set out at first light and the pall of anxiety that had ushered them into sleep had not abated a whit as they trudged toward their fateful encounter. Islena came to stand before the others, her face sporting its perplexing new mask of reticence. In a voice devoid of intonation, she announced, We will reach the edge of Otaru Ree’s purgatory today. It’s imperative that you understand…once we cross into her territory, we will be at her mercy and the opportunity for reconsideration of your choices will be lost. If any of you has the slightest reservations about moving forward, this is the time to act upon it. None of you have any further obligation to me, so choose wisely with your own self-interest as your only priority.

She surveyed the five, lashing each with a severe frown. When none of the five displayed any hint of reluctance to continue, Islena offered them a tacit nod and turned away.

As Doraux strode purposefully through the lifeless gray dirt…her face set in mask of dogged determination…Artumas hurried to join her. Quietly, he remarked, When I first agreed to aid you in your search for the Proclamations, this is certainly not the direction I envisioned events would follow.

She glanced at him briefly, her generous mouth twisting into a sardonic grin. Welcome to my ugly reality. The truth is, Artumas, where you are at this precise moment is exactly where you were intended to be from the first moment you drew breath in this world…so don’t look so surprised.

Artumas’ answering expression of contained skepticism vexed Islena mightily and she confronted the startled Emercian with a contentious scowl. I can tell you, with irrefutable certainty, that you have no role to play in everything that is to follow. If I told you to return to your hovel and wait for events to play out…do you really believe you could? She raised a muscular right arm and pointed back along the beach. If so, then go now. Demonstrate that your will is your own.

Artumas’ gaze shifted back along the sterile ribbon of dirt and as he pondered her suggested course of action, his expression became quizzical and then pained.

Exactly! Islena rasped triumphantly and then resumed her inexorable trek. After a moment’s reflection, the aging king hurried to join the woman who had become a living hieroglyph.

I spent the remainder of the night reflecting on all that you imparted and though I can lay no claim to grasping this maddening conundrum around which our interaction is apparently constructed, I have reached on conclusion; you have my unconditional support.

Her head jerked toward the deposed king and her green eyes were alight with surprise. Artumas smiled reassuringly. Whatever route you choose, I am confident that it will be the only viable path toward a just resolution of this odious conflict.

You’re casting me in the light of infallibility Artumas and I can assure you that I’m anything but perfect, Islena warned, struggling to quell the flare of unwelcome emotion that his unexpected expression of confidence had evoked.

Artumas shook his head mournfully. Islena, the concept of infallibility is a myth…or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it is a tasteless jape. Even these purported gods would be incapable of perfection because the parameters by which it is defined are nebulous and ever changing…rendering the very concept an impossible contradiction.

They walked along in a contemplative silence for a short space of time and Artumas went on to elaborate. While it may be true that I’ve been denied the level of complete enlightenment you’ve attained, I still discern the salient truth of what you are.

Really…then please tell me because I feel hopelessly lost, Islena demanded with a mixture of vexation and dejection. Myrhia claimed that of the three of us, only I had any genuine latitude to choose the course of my actions. Based on the possible futures I see confronting me, I can only regard that volition as more of a curse than a blessing.

Islena Doraux, for all of your self-proclaimed flaws and festering doubts, I will not be dislodged from my conviction that your actions…as bewildering as they may appear…will ultimately serve the light, Artumas insisted ardently.

Again, Islena was shocked by the totality of his faith in her judgment and shackled by doubt that it was warranted. Fearing that she would succumb to her turbulent emotions and thus see her resolve completely undone, Islena seized on the one subject that required closure. She flicked her regard to Lorio, who trudged along with her head uncharacteristically bowed. Artumas, promise me on your honor, that when this is over and should there be a favorable resolution to this conflict, you will take care of Lorio. When the dust has settled and things return to normal…whatever shape normal might assume in the post-war world…I would not have Lorio abandoned and forgotten. Her association with me has cost her everything she has ever known or loved and I want your solemn oath that you will personally see that both she and her child are provided for…in every meaningful sense of the concept.

I can assure you, Islena…when we see the other side of this…both Lorio and her child will be provided for in a sumptuous style befitting royalty, Artumas hesitated, knowing that he was about to stray into intimate, complex territory of matters for which he was not ideally equipped. Islena, if what I’ve observed over the past few days is even remotely accurate; the only thing that will provide Lorio with any sense of peace and contentment…is you.

Struck by this rapier precise assessment of Lorio’s passion, a groan issued from deep within Islena’s chest and she swiftly covered her eyes with her left hand, while frantically shaking her head and pushing Artumas away with her right arm.

Alarmed by Islena’s extreme agitation, Artumas tentatively extended his hand, but she brushed it aside and jogged away. She stumbled into a brisk walk some twenty yards ahead. The rise and fall of her square shoulders informed a disconcerted king that she was weeping.

The subject of Islena’s intense anguish suddenly materialized at Artumas’ side, regarding the deposed king with a mildly accusatory glare, What troubles Islena?

Artumas turned his regard to the statuesque beauty, laboring to mask the sorrow that raked his insides. The same thing that troubles us all, Lorio…when we are forced to confront the inescapable reality of who we are and the exorbitant cost that accompanies such understanding.

Lorio stopped and glared at the aging king sourly, having no patience for ambiguity, but Artumas merely bowed his head and strode on.

2

As morning relented to afternoon another surprising development declared the party’s proximity to Otaru Ree’s realm. For the first time since reaching the western shore of the great ocean, the sky was overcast. Slate gray clouds occluded the heavens from horizon to horizon and the temperature had plunged to levels that left the four mortals chilled. The ocean now appeared a forbidding black, save for the whitecaps that were agitated by the gusting wind. A brooding mist had rolled to the very edge of the forest, but on the few occasions when it would thin sufficiently to provide a glimpse beyond…the trees of the forest appeared stunted and twisted. Arminda was reminded of how the vampire forest had appeared prior to Islena’s cleansing.

Sormias spiraled down out of the brooding sky and came to land directly before Islena, who gestured for the other four to gather while he delivered his report. The normally jovial Golgar appeared unusually subdued in the muted light. Somberly, he began, We’ve come to a place where no mortal was ever intended to tread…at least not while they drew breath. Everything…even the very rock and sand beneath our feet…is bereft of vitality and no living thing could ever hope to flourish here.

Nonetheless, this is where I have to go, Islena declared bluntly. Did you detect any sign of…habitation?

Sormias shook his head, clearly unsettled by this inimical place. No…whatever dwells here is strictly spectral. There are residual echoes of consciousness here…but they are centuries-distant memories.

Islena turned to the others. This is still the periphery of her realm. There is still time to turn back if you wish.

Lorio stepped forward and extended her leanly-muscled right arm to Islena. Very well, Islena…then let’s you and I go together. We can expand upon Artumas’ hovel and all lively blithely by the ocean, spending the rest of our days communing with nature. I’m certainly willing and we can all live blissfully while Myrhia devours the world.

I don’t need your sarcasm, Lorio, Islena retorted ruefully.

And we don’t need your patronizing condescension, Lorio snapped angrily. We are all aware that you cannot retrieve the Dragonsword alone. A sacrifice is required and that is a role that one of us must play in this ugly drama. Now dispense with the baseless concern and let us go forth and see who draws the death card.

Islena glared at the contentious raven-haired beauty, her exasperation attenuated by a profound love that she could neither express nor deny. Shaking her head, Doraux wheeled about and marched into the congealing mist.

Less than a bell later, they came to a razor thin line of demarcation, more perceived than actual, that marked the point of delineation between the Land of Shades and Otaru Ree’s Purgatory.

Islena spared her five companions a brief glance…her emerald eyes alive with an indecipherable emotion…and strode purposefully over the invisible boundary. Once inside, she drew a quavering breath and even the air that filled her lungs felt fundamentally wrong in a way that she could not define in concrete terms.

The others marched briskly to join her and Islena was assailed by an acute sorrow that made her want to bray a cry of despair. With these six symbolic steps, the die had been cast and her path forward set in stone.

Otaru Ree had instructed that she must journey to her castle, which stood on the northern edge of her domain. Standing on the southern periphery of this repository for the souls of unrepentant miscreants, Doraux arrived at her decision, gripping Myrhia’s leash with white knuckled intensity.

Gesturing for the others to remain where they stood, Islena drifted deeper into the realm of shadow and ash. Arching her back and throwing back her head, she bellowed defiantly, "Otaru Ree, I have come…but I will go no further. You shall come to me!"

Islena’s powerful roar of summons spiraled up into the roiling heavens and radiated out with an astounding power that seemed to reverberate through the very bedrock beneath her feet. The four mortals staggered, while Sormias sprang into the air, suddenly cognizant of the invisible forces that were coalescing around the unsuspecting group.

In the blink of an eye, scores of apparitions began to manifest out of the bedrock, sand and ubiquitous mist. Though they were indistinct and ephemeral, the weapons they brandished were all too real…and lethal.

The shambling horrors converged upon the unarmed mortals, each displaying the appalling scars of the ugly trauma that had ended their mortal lives. One creature, whose head had been partially pulverized by a blunt weapon, raised an ancient, bronze-studded mace and converged menacingly upon Islena, who seemed oblivious to her imminent peril.

The specter raised the weapon, its lipless mouth twisting into a grin of triumph as it prepared to dispense death to the loathsome mortal.

Sormias unleashed a controlled blast of golden energy and the specter tore apart like a mist before a gale. Its antiquated mace fell to the lifeless dirt at Islena’s feet.

The Golgar then turned his formidable puissance upon the ranks of apparitions nearest his four companions, cutting a swathe through their ranks that permitted the group to reach Islena.

Doraux seemed either indifferent to or unaware of the pandemonium unfolding around her as she stood staring fixedly at the northern horizon. The flesh at the nape of her neck began to tingle in response to the seemingly infinite power that was swiftly coalescing around her. In a voice made tremulous with wonder and awe, Islena whispered, She comes!

With his wings beating like the snapping sails of a great warship, Sormias swept back and forth, systematically decimating the press of violence-frenzied apparitions.

With terrifying alacrity, a forked bolt of gray lightening arced out of thin air, struck the hovering Golgar from his right side and sent him tumbling head over heels out over the raging ocean, where he abruptly plummeted into the dark waters.

The same incomprehensible energy obliterated the ranks of malevolent apparitions to a one, leaving only the howl of the forlorn wind in their wake.

And then…as Islena had intuited…she was there.

With her impossibly long arms spread wide and an expression of extreme irritation set on her inexpressibly beautiful face, the gray goddess hovered above the strand in all of her stupefying majesty.

While the four companions merely gaped in speechless incredulity, Islena sank to her knees like a supplicant before a deity. Yet when she spoke, it was in a fearsome voice without the slightest hint of deference. I have come to claim what is mine by right!

This was not what we agreed upon, Otaru grumbled, her exquisite gray eyes rife with vexation at this creature’s astounding impertinence.

Perhaps, but it is what I am prepared to offer. If it is acceptable, then I will fulfill your two conditions in return for safe passage and return of the sword, Doraux replied unflinchingly, her unblinking gaze set directly on Otaru Ree’s majestic face. A tense, expectant silence gathered about the group as Otaru pondered Doraux’s uncompromising offer.

Sormias burst from the pounding surf and immediately came to hover directly behind Doraux…intent on offering her what protection he could. Otaru fixed him with a crooked grin and quipped disdainfully, Golgar, don’t presume to challenge an entity to which you are like an annoying gnat. My patience has been worn precariously thin by this impudent, presumptuous woman and it would be ill-advised to irritate me further.

I have no quarrel with you, keeper, Sormias retorted stiffly, unless, like your repugnant minions, you intend to do her harm.

My children are an unruly lot who require frequent lessons in the prevailing disposition of absolute authority, Otaru remarked with a cursory shrug of her broad shoulders. As for your defiant friend, I have no intention of harming her in the least. Quite the contrary, she shall be granted her two wishes.

Otaru returned her piercing gaze to the kneeling Doraux and although her beautiful visage seemed to defy understanding, a hint of malice appeared to ripple in her luminous gray eyes.

The disconcerting effect reminded Lorio of a shadow moving swiftly beneath the surface of dark waters. ‘Whatever gambit Islena intends to play,’ a voice admonished her gravely, ‘it will be you who pays the most exorbitant price.’

Otaru Ree’s next uncompromising declaration brought the dire warning into sharp focus. Since you have unilaterally elected to change the terms of our agreement, I shall reciprocate.

She floated over to the kneeling Doraux and looming over her much like the deity she truly was, Ree pronounced, By breeching our agreement, you have forfeit the right of choice and selection of payment for the dispensation of passage shall be mine.

Islena’s eyes widened and her face assumed a pasty hue, but a single glance into those inhuman gray eyes informed Islena that there would be no dissuading Otaru Ree. At that moment, Islena made her first stumbling retreat from her humanity…divorcing herself from the horrible consequences that her intended course of action might eventually yield. She signified her tacit acceptance with a slight nod.

Otaru’s unfathomable regard swept over Islena’s four land-bound companions and an expression of unconcealed avarice and hunger flared in her lovely eyes as they touched upon a very pregnant Lorio.

In the next instant, the earth beneath their feet became liquid and the four sank with identical cries of alarm and surprise. The liquid then solidified into stone and Islena’s four companions found themselves inextricably trapped in the stone’s embrace. They thrashed ineffectively like animals in a snare, but the newly formed stone held them fast.

Sormias had no sooner internalized what had befallen his four companions than he found his limbs and torso caught in unbreakable tendrils of gray, elastic extrusions. He unleashed another wave of energy upon the constricting tendrils, but they were fully impervious to its power. A sheet of the elastic substance slapped over the Golgar’s face, effectively terminating his outpouring of energy. As Doraux peered on from behind her new mask of impassivity, the frantically struggling Sormias was slowly, but inexorably reeled to ground. His garbled expression of outrage added to the chorus of strident protests that arose from his hopelessly ensnared companions.

Every course of action comes with an accompanying price, Islena Doraux, Otaru Ree imparted in a somber tone that did not seem to match her overtly hungry expression.

Believe me…it’s a notion with which I’ve become well acquainted, Islena growled, forcibly ignoring the struggles of those who had sacrificed so much to deliver her to this moment of infamy. Masking her trepidation, Islena rose and lifted her face to Otaru. You wished to know my mind. I will throw open the gates and lay my essence bare before you. Significantly, she added, "I will let you stand in judgment of my worth…and my intentions."

She fell to her knees, closed her eyes and inclined her head in an open invitation to the ancient creature. Otaru Ree tentatively extended her left hand, the long fingers of which trembled slightly. Otaru was surprised by the degree of reluctance she was feeling now that the moment of epiphany was at hand.

As Ree’s fingertips touched Islena’s fevered brow, Doraux suddenly threw open the flood gates of her collective consciousness and regurgitated the vast repository of her cumulative memory in one continuous torrent.

Otaru’s eyes widened and her body stiffened involuntarily as the full impact of thousands of lives detonated in her mind like an exploding sun. A low moan of pity escaped her lips, when she at last reached the bleak moment of genesis from which the embodied concept of Islena’s essence had been granted life.

Astonished…appalled…overwhelmed, Otaru Ree began to withdraw her hand, but Islena coiled her fingers around Ree’s massive wrist and held it fast. Then she unleashed her desperate adjuration in a rapid succession of staccato images that slammed into the fabric of the unprepared deity’s mind…shaking her entire body with their titanic force.

When Islena had delivered her entreaty, she released Ree’s wrist and watched in tense anticipation as a beleaguered Otaru reeled away and collapsed to one knee. The two eternal creatures regarded each other and a moment of perfect, unfettered empathy passed between the pair.

As her four uncomprehending companions bore witness, their expressions oscillating wildly between bewildered confusion and dark awe, an openly discomposed Otaru murmured, Such flagrant audacity. Should your gamble prove ill-conceived, my realm will be filled to bursting with those who will suffer the repercussions of your misjudgment.

Nonetheless, I would see my request granted, Islena exhorted without the slightest discernable hesitation. Otaru continued to regard Doraux with her disconcertingly frank gaze of appraisal, seeking the slightest hint of vacillation that would warrant her denial of the piteous creature’s plea.

Seeing none, Ree nodded and rising on unsteady legs, drew herself to her full daunting height and extended her right arm. A discordant whine broke the expectant silence, rising to intolerable levels that threatened to shatter the eardrums of all who suffered it. With coruscating waves or red and silver washing the horizons to herald its arrival, the Dragonsword came streaking over the northern horizon. It slapped into Otaru Ree’s outstretched palm and flared a blinding vermillion. With her arm still extended, she floated across the expanse of listless earth and with stiff formality, declared, I return this to you…its rightful owner…Daughter of the Tempest.

With equal gravitas, Islena rose and accepted the Icon, which burst into a pulsing blaze of pure energy which Islena realized was in perfect syncopation with her thundering heart.

Bury it in the bitch’s heart, Islena! Lorio implored frantically, her expression one of expectant triumph, which rapidly turned to confused incredulity and plummeting despair when Islena offered Otaru Ree a deep bow of gratitude.

I leave the rest to you and place my faith in your honor, Islena intoned solemnly. Otaru Ree acknowledged this with a single emphatic nod. Sparing the perplexed Artumas a brief glance, Doraux turned on heel and began to stride purposefully toward the southern horizon.

She gritted her teeth and closed her mind to the strident cries and angry epithets that hounded her once the four gleaned her intentions.

Gillian and Artumas exchanged grave looks of deep concern, while a horrified Arminda simply buried her face in her hands and began to sob miserably.

Of course it was Lorio’s reaction that had the most profound affect upon Islena, very nearly causing her resolve to falter. That’s it, you craven bitch…crawl back to your mistress and lick her boots like the dog you are. If I ever set eyes upon you again, Islena…I’m going to kill you…or you’re going to have to kill me! Do you hear me, you traitorous cowardly bitch…I’m going to kill you!

That fraught promise pursued Islena like a pack of snapping hounds, until she stepped over the line of demarcation, where it was abruptly cut off. With her vision distorted into a fractured mosaic by free falling tears, Islena chanced a single backward glance and saw the four gesturing frantically, sporting varying expressions of wounded confusion…and in the case of Lorio, unconstrained hatred.

Doraux gasped in horror when she saw that Otaru Ree was now hovering directly behind the Lamish beauty, who, in her fixation upon Islena, was oblivious to the entity’s ominous presence. The apparent implications of this threatened to obliterate Islena’s resolve, so she quickly averted her gaze and began to sprint as fast as her trembling legs could carry her.

3

When Islena passed out of sight, Lorio’s exclamation of rage and profanity-laden tirade of threats degenerated into wails of inarticulate anguish. She laid back her head and began to shriek like a mortally wounded animal. Her three companions looked on, horrified and bewildered by the extent to which the normally unflappable Lorio was distraught.

Arminda wept, knowing that Islena’s apparent betrayal had eviscerated the hybrid as surely as if Doraux had impaled her with the Dragonsword. The wound Islena had inflicted was likely to prove mortal to her spirit as Lorio appeared inconsolable in her grief.

Otaru Ree regarded the wailing woman dispassionately, her augmented perception informing the deity that this wretched creature’s extreme emotion was also exerting a negative stress on her unborn child. Unwilling to allow the woman’s rampant emotions to damage her unborn cargo…cargo which Ree had decided would serve as the price of passage…Otaru glided forward and firmly pressed her long index finger to the center of Lorio’s forehead.

The immortal’s eyes immediately rolled up in their sockets and she lapsed into unconsciousness, slumping forward into the dirt at Otaru’s feet.

Surveying the others with her inhuman gray eyes, she declared, I will honor my vow to see you safely back to the land of mortals…but first, I will collect the levy of passage.

Take me! Arminda brayed desperately, sensing the shape and direction of Otaru Ree’s terrible intentions. She inclined her head in the direction of her lifeless arm and implored, I have no real worth…let me stand as payment and grant these other four safe passage.

Otaru’s gaze fell upon the diminutive Jerhia and though the expression on her serene and beautiful face resembled pity, Ree shook her head firmly. I sense your intrinsic mettle and your unassailable integrity child. Despite your infirmity, the mortal world has need of you yet. The right of selection is mine alone…and the choice has been made!

Arminda cried out in anguish as Otaru Ree gesticulated. In response, the earthly vice that held Lorio transmogrified to liquid and the unconscious immortal rose slowly into the air. She hovered before the gray goddess, who regarded her distended abdomen the way a starving man might regard an unexpected feast.

You can’t do this…it’s monstrous beyond all comprehension! Arminda beseeched, her words badly distorted by the ferocity of her sobbing. Turning to and ashen-faced Artumas, she begged, Please Artumas…make her see how cruel this is…I’m pleading with you.

Artumas shook his head helplessly, knowing that he was not condign to the task of forestalling this tragic turn of events that was about to unfurl before his bulging eyes. No argument…however facile…would compel this unfathomable creature to relent.

Slowly, as if by invisible hands, Lorio’s tattered garments and worn boots were peeled from her body until she hung naked in the air. Otaru drifted closer and laid her right hand on Lorio’s protruding belly.

Arminda’s hysterical, inarticulate cries of negation rose to hysterical shrieks until a perturbed Otaru snapped, Silence your insufferable prattling, woman. I have no intention of harming the woman…and certainly not the boy growing in her womb. His birth will be the envy of every woman in the mortal world. Now cease you mindless braying!

Arminda’s ice blue eyes bulged and her jaws were gripped by a tetanus that abruptly terminated her cries. Otaru returned her attention to the floating Lorio, whom she maneuvered into a horizontal position. The Lamish immortal’s legs splayed and bent as she settled into a position most conducive to delivery. The perfection of her heavy breasts lolled on her chest as Otaru extended a long left arm and began to gently caress Lorio’s perspiration-soaked forehead. With the flat of her right palm, Ree continued her slow ministration as her circular rhythm induced the onset of the birthing process.

Both Gillian and Artumas averted their eyes with a grimace when Lorio’s water suddenly broke, spilling to the sterile dirt in a torrent. Mere moments later, Lorio’s womanhood tore to accommodate the coming of her child. Her leanly muscled body was beset by a series of convulsive shudders that were quickly pacified by a wave of argent energy which emanated from Otaru’s caressing hand. A cascade of blood turned the lifeless dirt a shade of maroon that was shockingly vital against the listless gray surroundings. The spill of blood was the harbinger of imminent birth and soon there after there followed a cry, fraught with primal need and hunger…which declared that a new life had been born into the world.

A subtle gesture severed the umbilical cord and Otaru cradled the newborn to her heavy breast as Lorio’s slack body completed the birthing process. The placenta fell to the ground with an ugly liquid plop that caused Artumas’ stomach to roll in protest.

Drawing back the flap of her diaphanous gray blouse, Otaru pressed the boy’s hungry, toothless mouth to a turgid nipple. As she turned away from Lorio, an argent glow quickly enveloped the suspended woman. Gentle fingers of refulgent energy quickly worked to heal Lorio’s torn womanhood.

In the span of a few heartbeats, all traces of the traumatic ordeal of having given birth were effaced from Lorio’s flesh. As she settled to the sand on a carpet of silver puissance, the Lamish immortal’s body was restored to its pre-pregnancy state of perfection. No visible sign of ever having given birth remained.

As Arminda watched the horrible spectacle of Otaru Ree nursing an unconscious Lorio’s child in mute horror, a single thought kept replaying itself in her frazzled mind…if Islena Doraux lived eternally, she could never atone for the heinous crime she had committed against this woman who had loved her so unconditionally.

Chapter Two

1

The morning after the destruction of the first Redian clay mine dawned bitterly cold and clear. Despite the bone-deep chill, Muragren was at least grateful that the wind was negligible…a small mercy that would make travel bearable.

She had awoken in Ynathreen’s powerful embrace, feeling unsettled and disoriented by her strange surroundings, until recollection of the prior day’s cataclysmic events filtered in.

I thought you might sleep through the entire day, a voice declared softly, and Muragren inclined her neck to find the Redian girl regarding her with those large, expressive blue eyes. There was also an unmistakable affection in those limpid depths…one that the older woman simply couldn’t credit.

Sleep was a luxury that slaves only dreamed of, Ynathreen. I cannot recall the last time I awoke after the sun had risen, Muragren remarked, managing to repress the bitterness this evoked with considerable effort.

Those days are behind you now, teacher, Ynathreen declared with the exuberance of youth and pulled the smaller woman to her feet. Only later would Muragren realize that this had not been the cursory declaration of an ingenuous young girl, but the solemn oath of a tenaciously determined future queen.

As the pair dressed and gathered up their meager belongings, Ynathreen instructed, Be sure to consume at least a single quantity of the Jerhia rations. We have to move quickly and I would prefer not to carry you…should you collapse from malnourishment.

Muragren nodded dutifully and began to chew her way methodically through one portion of the dried fruit and cured meat strips that constituted a Jerhia ration. She noticed that Ynathreen did not indulge in this tasteless meal and immediately suspected why. Fearing that their provisions would be quickly exhausted, the girl was foregoing food to sustain Muragren for a longer duration. This poignant realization threatened to overwhelm the slave, who had survived in an environment where obsessive selfishness was a requisite trait for longevity.

‘This simple act of kindness makes my every trenchant prejudice seem petty,’ Muragren thought, struggling mightily to keep the tears at bay. ‘How utterly absurd and tragically vapid most human interactions are exposed to be during the course of our lives. Despite our intractable insistence on holding forth our superficial differences like badges of hollow honor and means to dehumanize those we would chose to call enemies…these vain pretensions are decried as the laughable charades they are in honest moments of simple humanity. Yet, we continue to turn a blind eye to the fundamental revelations such moments would bestow.’ That this girl, who had lost her father, had found the compassion to prioritize a simple slave’s wellbeing made Muragren intensely ashamed of never sharing her knowledge of the clay’s healing properties with her fellow slaves.

When she could trust herself to speak, Muragren intoned solemnly, I know what you’re doing Ynathreen…but I won’t be a burden, nor will we go hungry.

Ynathreen slung a crossbow over her shoulder and buckled a short sword scabbard over her full hips. She then came to stand before Muragren with a sly smile on her lovely face. I have no idea what you’re talking about. A little deprivation will keep me lean and hard. She clapped Muragren on the shoulder, nearly toppling the smaller woman in the process. Besides which, I’m a savage after all…if I get hungry, I’ll just kill and eat you, though I’d imagine that there’s not much sustenance to be had on your scrawny bones.

She burst into laughter at her own dismissive witticism, but Muragren only frowned in disapproval. She stepped forward and gripped the girl’s right wrist, privately shocked by how thick it was. Ynathreen, I don’t want you to ever refer to yourself that way again…even in jest. It is exactly the image that your father wanted to dispel.

The Redian girl’s eyes widened in flaring anger which quickly gave way to embarrassment in the face of Muragren’s relatively mild rebuke. Averting her eyes, she murmured, I’m sorry. I see you looking so gaunt…felt how frail you were in my arms…and it makes me feel ashamed of who I am.

Muragren’s reply was one she would have thought inconceivable only the morning before when she would have sworn that all Redians were cut from the same hopelessly corrupt cloth. You can’t be held accountable for what other Redians have done to me. You’ve demonstrated how different you truly are repeatedly, in the short time we’ve been together. I was serious about the food issue…the two bags of clay will insure that we won’t soon go hungry.

The girl fixed Muragren with an inquisitive gaze and she explained that the clay possessed a myriad of amazing properties. The taste is atrocious, but the benefits make it bearable. This, more than anything else, is how I managed to survive the unrelenting hell of the mines. These two bags should be enough to sustain us indefinitely.

As a thoroughly astonished Ynathreen absorbed this astounding disclosure, Muragren gently, but insistently pushed first a piece of cured meat and then dried fruit past the girl’s full lips. The girl chewed absently and while Muragren continued to feed her small snippets of food, she asked excitedly, Was anyone else aware of the potential this clay held?

Muragren quickly glanced away…glad that her flush of shame was concealed by the cracked layer of clay. No…the overseers of the mine cared only for its use as a base material for Myrhia’s Morticants. I didn’t tell the other slaves because I feared their knowing would create…complications. There was very little interaction between workers. There seemed little point when it seemed probable that you or they would be dead soon. I can only imagine how reprehensible that must seem to you.

Ynathreen gripped Muragren’s shoulders and shaking her for emphasis, intoned gravely, Your ordeal is inconceivable to me and I will not judge you for the acts into which it coerced you just to survive. I can promise you that the day will come when I cleanse Redia of this deplorable practice.

Muragren responded with a noncommittal nod, suspecting that the cruel and convoluted road ahead would hold many bitter and disillusioning moments for the ambitious girl. Ynathreen impulsively brushed a strand of clay and grime hardened hair from Muragren’s brow and remarked softly. You have such lovely eyes…they seem untouched by what has befallen you here. I’m anxious to see what you look like beneath this mask of clay and dirt.

A moment of incisive empathy seemed to pass between both women then…one that left each feeling profoundly unsettled by the bond that was forming between the would-be teacher and pupil.

Ynathreen shook her head in bemusement and handed Muragren a crossbow, before tugging up the smaller woman’s hood. I doubt you’ve ever held one of these, much less fired it, but I’ll teach you as time allows. For now, stay close and seek suitable cover at the slightest hint of trouble.

What are your intentions, Ynathreen?

For now, I want to return to the mine site to say goodbye to my father, Ynathreen returned automatically and Muragren was relieved to find that the girl was not angered by her presumption. That done, we’ll return here and await the coming of nightfall. It would be prudent to travel under the coming of darkness and then I can begin my search for the bitch who put my father in his grave.

2

The woman who had become the target of Ynathreen’s obsessive thirst for retribution guided her horse carefully through the evenly spaced trees. Her escort of forty Jerhia troops was stretched out on either side of her, at evenly spaced intervals. They made their way slowly through the trees in search of the slightest hint of passage, but the fresh fall of knee-deep snow had effectively effaced every print and lay unbroken in every direction.

While the Maxim Tier Marshall had overseen the breaking of camp and preparations for the expedition’s return to Metocan, Sygeanor and her Jerhia escort had set out at first light. Maroc had been surprised when his adjutant, Captain Margarus, had requested that she be allowed to take command of the Jerhia who had volunteered for the task. There had been a flinty, almost furtive glint in her hard eyes that he hadn’t at all cared for, but he nonetheless granted his permission.

Captain Margarus rode beside Sygeanor now, her hard, lined face inscrutable beneath the cold light of morning. The two women pointedly ignored each other and rode in antagonistic silence, though the Captain would occasionally issue a series of hand signals to her troopers. They moved through the bleak mountain landscape with as much stealth as circumstances would allow and the only sound to be heard was the occasional snort and whinny of a horse.

Cauldanys also rode beside the daunting half-Ulgak and though her face was impassive in the milky post-dawn light, her mind sought frantically to devise a method of facilitating Muragren and Ynathreen’s escape.

They came to a small break in the trees and despite only having seen it in darkness…Cauldanys immediately recognized it as the sight of Ynathreen’s spectacular ambush.

As though attuned to the Jerhia’s thoughts, Sygeanor inquired sharply, Do you recognize this location?

Cauldanys grimaced and shifted her gaze to Margarus, who signified her approval to reply with a tight nod. I think this may be the spot where we were ambushed.

Do you think this was a deliberate ambush…that the slave was set as bait? the half-Ulgak demanded.

I…I can’t be certain, Cauldanys stammered, trying to gauge the purpose of this devious creature’s query. I’m inclined to think that it was random chance that our paths crossed…but I can’t be certain.

Sygeanor absorbed this with a dissatisfied grunt and then turned her glacial regard to the small clearing. She then held her left hand out before her with the palm facing skyward. With the long index finger of her right hand, she rapidly described a circle over the surface of her palm.

In response, a localized but extremely powerful gyre seemed to rise out of the very ground of the clearing, causing many of the horses to rear in anxiety, despite their training. Sheets of swirling snow twisted skyward, only to be blown away by a powerful secondary cross wind.

As quickly as the gyre had commenced, it abated in a mere span of seconds, to reveal two frozen bodies lying on the hard packed snow. Sygeanor cast a severe, oddly accusatory glance at Cauldanys and dismounted her horse, crossing over to examine the bodies of the fallen soldiers. Without glancing up at Cauldanys, she inquired, You still claim that a young girl did this to these season veterans?

The note of skepticism was clear in the half-Ulgak’s contentious tone. I do. She was a girl unlike any I’ve ever encountered. She killed without hesitation or compunction.

Sygeanor pursed her thin lips and peered into the stand of trees to the east. The scavengers have stripped these soldiers of their weapons…which means they are armed and quite obviously, lethally dangerous. Turning back to the Jerhia sergeant, she asked, When you were released, you could discern no tracks nor glean no sense of the direction in which you were being led?

Cauldanys tensed, knowing that this was the pivotal moment where she would be required to weave a convincing deception. She prayed that Ynathreen possessed enough common sense to heed her advice and eschew this mad quest for revenge. As I stated yesterday, I was unconscious on the trip to the cave where I was questioned and hooded when returned to this place. After what seemed like an appropriate hesitation, she added, The snow was falling heavily, but when my hood was removed, I could see partially filled tacks coming from the west…and fresh tracks…a single set…leading north.

Back toward the mine! Sygeanor exclaimed, a discordant note of confusion flickering across her broad face. She glanced east and then west and an unpleasant grin lit her face at the realization that there were few points of egress through the towering mountains that delineated the comparatively narrow pass. Turning to Margarus, Sygeanor addressed the captain for the first time. Disperse your forces in teams and spread out across the pass…we will scour the ground between here and what remains of the mine site.

Margarus bristled at the half-Ulgak’s maddening presumption of authority and for no other reason than spite, felt compelled to point out, Your explosive exhibition yesterday will undoubtedly attract the attention of the Redian hordes. Do you still deem it prudent to return to the mines?

You concerns are duly noted, Captain…and pointedly ignored! Now, disperse your troops! Sygeanor barked balefully, glaring at the veteran commander, who met that intimidating gaze unblinkingly. The pair remained locked in a duel of iron wills, but finally Margarus relented and set about organizing the squads. As she went about her work, the veteran lashed the half-Ulgak with a venomous glare, vowing that there would come a day of reckoning for this affront.

Believing that she had succeeded in intimidating the Jerhia crone, Sygeanor dismissed the captain from her mind and focused on the driving compulsion to recover the two bags of clay. Returning to her horse, Sygeanor flicked a contemptuous scowl at Cauldanys and instructed, You and I will head directly to the mine. Perhaps your audacious friend has left some hint of her intended destination.

Seeing little alternative but to comply, the diminutive blond set out after the decidedly sinister magic-wielder, whom she had come to suspect was, at least in part, dangerously unbalanced. From the corner of her eye, Margarus watched the pair pass through the trees, her austere features twisted by a dark frown. When she had dispatched the last of her scouring teams, the lean veteran quickly set out after the pair, driven by an exigent, yet vague certainty that something of consequence was about to transpire.

3

Maroc sat astride his mount, watching as the last of the heavy supply wagons trundled slowly out of sight, thus beginning the long and arduous journey back to Metocan. Watching the mounted escort close ranks around the last wagon, the Maxim Tier Marshall reflected upon the realization that the great expedition had degenerated into a debacle…as had many of the coalition’s ventures before it. Lessons had been learned through the course of this bleak trek, but those lessons had been unrelentingly hard and dark. The most troubling of these dire insights had been the discovery that Sygeanor held, within her inaccessible heart, the terrible potential to become a monster to rival Myrhia.

Maroc was contemplating how best the coalition might deal with this grim dilemma when Kevlan appeared at his side with dour Maktir and somber Tormal in tow. Maroc arched an eyebrow at the glum trio, suspecting that their purpose would do little to alleviate his dismal mood.

Kevlan cut directly to the quick of the matter, confirming the Jerhia’s fear. Maroc, Tormal has requested an audience and given the nature of his concerns, I would implore you to give serious consideration to what he is about to request.

The Tier Marshall eyed the hawk-faced Emercian, unable to entirely conceal his repugnance for his former enemy. Then I would hear your concerns commander, though I must forewarn that should they concern Sygeanor…as I surmise they do…I hold very little sway over her actions at this point.

Still, I’m compelled to impress upon you the gravity of your acquiescence to allow this…this creature to embark upon this mad adventure to Nalosan. I have related my concerns to both Kevlan and our esteemed Natzurdan elder and we are all of a like mind that she cannot be allowed within fifty leagues of Nalosan and its repository of clay.

Maroc surveyed the others, who nodded their concurrence and retorted sourly, In light of what Emercia has inflicted upon the world at Myrhia’s behest, perhaps it is precisely the fate they deserve.

Tormal’s face blanched and he replied indignantly, That is a scurrilous remark that is unworthy of a man of your esteem. What’s more, I suspect that your experience with Sygeanor has helped you regard Emercia’s plight from a more lenient, sympathetic perspective.

Maroc sighed, knowing that the Emercian’s caustic retort was entirely valid. Very well, Tormal…What is the exact shape of your apprehension?

I fear that Sygeanor intends to level the city of Nalosan as a demonstration of the clay’s efficacy as an arcane amplifier, Tormal declared in a flat, dispassionate voice that contradicted the enormity of the horror in his brown eyes.

An intense silence enshrouded the four as Maroc gaped at the Emercian, trying to conjure the proper words to refute this surely ludicrous notion. Recollection of her odious actions on that awful night at Dornsark Abbey assailed Maroc and that argument withered and died on his tongue. Instead, he turned to Maktir and demanded, Is such a thing even possible?

The Natzurdan stroked his tangled beard, his severe expression made all the darker by the matter under discussion. If you are asking me if it is theoretically possible in the context of the vast quantity of clay being able to sufficiently augment Sygeanor’s unprecedented telekinetic ability…then it is possible beyond dispute.

He hesitated and here his demeanor grew noticeably darker. If, however, you are asking me if she is capable of leveling a city that is teeming with humanity…men, women and children to whom no blame for Myrhia’s perfidy can reasonably be ascribed…then I would attest that she possesses the requisite hardness of heart and vitiated soul necessary to commit such a monstrous act of evil.

I would concur, Tier Marshall, Kevlan interjected. Sygeanor’s actions have consistently demonstrated a fundamental lack of basic empathy…such a profound defect of spirit that would make her perfectly capable of such a monumental atrocity.

Maroc surveyed the three men and realized that, at least in their own minds, they genuinely believed that the half-Ulgak girl was intent on an inconceivable act of mass annihilation. Something occurred to the Jerhia and he asked Maktir, Elder, while you were performing the ritual…did Sygeanor employ more arcane energy than was strictly necessary? Is her claim that the clay’s unanticipated power of amplification was responsible for the extreme devastation a deliberate falsehood?

There was a distinct pause during which Maktir’s discomfort was written boldly on his severe countenance. After carefully selecting his words, the Natzurdan’s elder confirmed the Jerhia’s worst fears. I doubt she anticipated the affect the clay seams would have on her outpouring of arcane energy. Having said that, the half-Ulgak was ecstatic over the destruction our ritual wrought. To a one, my adepts were appalled by the devastation…sickened that we had taken so many lives and inflicted such a scar upon the Mother. There was a gleam in Sygeanor’s eye that bespoke the presence of a terrible appetite…and a willingness to see that hunger sated.

Maroc scowled as he reflected on the trio’s dire fears…fears which mirrored his own. Fetching a weary sigh, he remarked, I sense the truth of your contentions…primarily because I share the same apprehensions. Sygeanor obviously is neither grounded nor encumbered by a strong sense of conscience. Yet, against these extreme misgivings, I must balance another of my suppositions…if Islena Doraux is truly lost to us, then Sygeanor is our only remaining hope to vanquish Myrhia. Her chances are improved geometrically if she devises a method of employing this wondrous clay to augment her power.

Then you find yourself confronted by an unenviable quandary, Maxim Tier Marshall…one for which Nalosan will pay the price, should you not find a resolution, Tormal observed soberly.

Maroc offered the Emercian a sour frown, though in light of recent lessons learned, he could harbor little rancor against his former foe. If I’m being entirely pragmatic and candid, I’m not entirely certain that we could actually restrain Sygeanor…not without frightful losses to my command. I doubt she would be inclined to submit willingly.

Then perhaps a more…circumspect approach is required, Tormal suggested…a furtive shadow rippling across his angular features.

You speak of assassination? Maroc demanded with a grunt of disgust, his outrage attenuated by Gillian’s purpose in shadowing Islena Doraux. Along with the recollection, there came the formative stirring of a possible delicate solution to his conundrum. As I’ve mentioned, this situation requires a careful and precarious balance between the dangers and potential benefits of allowing Sygeanor to continue toward Nalosan.

He gazed up into the hard, frigid morning sky as if seeking guidance…knowing all too well that divine guidance was a fallacy. When Adjutant Margarus returns, I will bestow upon her a secret purpose…one that she will share with a select number of the Jerhia who are chosen to accompany her. Should Sygeanor reach Nalosan and if she shows any inclination to attack the city…Margarus will intervene…emphatically.

Tormal frowned, his gaze shifting briefly to his solemn-face cohorts. She will have my support of course…but is she equal to the task?

Maroc’s answering grin was decidedly predatory. I can assure you, Tormal that even Myrhia would not rest easily with Margarus at her back.

Chapter Three

1

As they traipsed through the cold, skirting fallen trees and other obstacles that had been raised in the wake of the mine’s destruction, Muragren again gave thanks for Ghordrian’s heavy cloak. A gusting wind had sprung up out of the north, driving incisive needles into any exposed flesh. Ynathreen, however, displayed absolutely no hint that the extreme cold caused her even the slightest discomfort. Watching the girl plough through the knee-deep drifts, tirelessly breaking trail for her new charge, Muragren was reminded of a relentless force that simply could not be forestalled once set to purpose.

‘Yet for all of that tenacity, she is still only a girl,’ the Fairmarch slave thought, deeply dismayed by the precarious path onto which Ynathreen had been set. Ynathreen, is your mother in Elderspire?

The Redian’s stride faltered briefly and she replied, Yes…initially she was to make the journey with us, but father decided that she should remain in Elderspire and manage his affairs. If I was of a different character, I might think that he possessed an inkling of what was to come. She paused reflectively and then added, Satheer…my mother…will be devastated, but she is a strong woman and she will carry on grooming me towards Ghordrian’s vision for Redia. You will like her, Muragren…she will treat you with dignity and kindness.

Muragren, who would nonetheless remain a slave, did not comment. Still, she had sworn a vow to Ynathreen in exchange for Cauldanys’ life and she was honor bound to fulfill that obligation. A single question had troubled her since the pair had first approached her with their plan for her unexpected deliverance and this seemed like an appropriate moment to give it voice. Ynathreen, how is it that your father came to know of my presence at the mine? Not once in the years since I was taken from Washburn was I ever asked my name or questioned about my background. Yet it was apparent that Ghordrian had sought me out specifically.

Ynathreen did not respond for a long time and Muragren could perceive an unaccountable angst radiating from the girl in palpable waves. Suddenly, her heart began to race and she came to suspect that she would dread the answer. Finally, the Redian girl came to an abrupt halt and turned to face her mentor. Her limpid blue eyes were narrowed and her open face set in a troubled frown. You are correct…Ghordrian did seek you out specifically…and yes, he did know exactly who you were.

How? Muragren demanded in a voice shrill as a horrible notion bloomed in her mind like a rank weed.

It was Ghordrian who led the raid on your home town. He directed that the school be sacked and that all surviving teachers be dispersed to the mines. His belief was that only one with the mettle to persevere would be worthy of being my tutor. Ynathreen delivered this monstrous revelation in a flat, dispassionate voice.

Muragren’s body went rigid, flummoxed by such self-serving, calculated cruelty. The face of her colleagues…men and women whom she had loved and respected…leapt to her mind…their dead eyes staring sightlessly into the void. A primal rage suffused her then…a towering, mindless fury the like of which she had never before experienced…even in the bleakest moments of her captivity. It occurred to her that she was wearing Ghordrian’s cloak and savagely threw it off with a howl of disgust.

Don’t be obtuse…you’ll freeze to death, Ynathreen cautioned gruffly.

Muragren’s gray eyes widened in surprise as if she had forgotten about the Redian girl’s presence. Her face contorted into a mask of virulent hatred and in defiance of all common sense, she bellowed and launched herself at the towering Redian girl. She threw a volley of wild, ineffective blows that the taller girl either blocked or nimbly avoided, though she made no effort to retaliate. When, by pure chance, a clumsy left hand struck her across the cheek, Ynathreen gripped Muragren’s wrists and spun her about, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Stop your mindless raving or you’ll bring every Jerhia within earshot down upon our necks, Ynathreen rasped in Muragren’s ear, to which the smaller woman laid back her head and keened like a wounded animal. Ynathreen roughly threw the distraught slave to the deep snow and fell on top of her, while wrapping her large right hand around the smaller woman’s gaping mouth, cutting off her frenzied cries. My father was far from perfect and only later did he come to fathom how utterly ruthless his actions were. He recognized his shortcomings and took measures to insure that they would not be instilled in me as well. Your indignant outrage is well founded…but do not allow it to be our undoing!

She withdrew her hand and sensing that Muragren would raise no further commotion, she sprang to her feet, gazing down on the weeping woman in consternation. Ynathreen frowned…something about this fragile, gentle creature touched a raw nerve in her soul…stirring quiescent emotions that could well complicate her path if she allowed them to see fruition. Her first instinct was to simply avoid this entanglement by abandoning the Fairmarch slave to the merciless wilds. A deeper intuition warned her that Muragren was essential to the realization of her lofty ambitions.

Muragren pushed herself to her hands and knees, feeling insufferably dejected by the knowledge that her rescue had been a mere step in a remorseless and ineffably cynical process. Ynathreen swept off her gray and silver cloak and draped it over Muragren’s shoulders. Kneeling next to the distraught slave, she intoned softly, I can do nothing to change the injustices of the past, Muragren, but with your help, I can assure that there is never a future recurrence of this odious episode.

That is going to be an extravagant promise to keep…unless you can do so from beyond the grave, a voice, rife with amusement, declared.

Ynathreen’s head snapped up to see a woman on a black horse regarding her from a gap between two up-thrust fingers of bedrock. The woman wore a heavy gray cloak that matched her gray-tinged and oddly translucent skin. Her broad face was dominated by large, limpid gray eyes…eyes that appeared devoid of any capacity for kindness or mercy.

Ynathreen, who had never set eyes upon a Metocan…much less an Ulgak…knew instinctively that this was the woman who had ruthlessly engineered the destruction of the mine. As a testimony to the extraordinary composure that would come to play a role in the making of the Queen of legend and myth that Ynathreen was destined to become, she arose slowly, her gaze never leaving that hateful, grinning countenance as her rage was transmogrified into a glacial clam. Brave words from a craven. Drawing her short sword, the Redian challenged, Perhaps you would care to dismount your horse and discover if you possess the mettle to grant them meaning."

Sygeanor’s lips peeled back in a humorless sneer. I have no need to face you in a childish contest of barbarian toys.

She gestured with a dismissive flick of her wrist and the heavily-muscled Redian found herself being flung across the clearing as if she was no more substantial than a sack of wool. The deep snow spared Ynathreen from injury and she found herself lying flat on her back and gazing dazedly at the indifferent blue sky. She sat up quickly…relieved to see that she had not surrendered her grip on the Jerhia sword. That relief quickly congealed into an expression of horror when she was confronted by the sight of a petrified Muragren hovering some thirty feet in the air. Sygeanor remained astride her horse, but now her right arm was casually extended forward. She turned her smiling visage upon the crouched Redian, whose face remained impassive, but whose blue eyes were fixed upon the suspended slave.

It seems that I now have your undivided attention, the half-Ulgak remarked. Telekinesis is truly a blessed gift…the ability to influence the world around you with the force of your mind alone…and bend it to your will.

The slightest delicate gesticulation and Muragren was pulled back and forth, spinning and tumbling as if she was a marionette on an invisible tether. The Fairmarch slave cried out in primal terror to which Sygeanor responded with a mirthful chuckle. To think…I could set her down as gently as a feather or dash her to a bloody pulp on the rocks with only a nuanced difference in thought alone.

Do what you will…what does the death of one nameless slave mean to me? Ynathreen declared, shrugging her broad shoulders in an elaborate gesture of indifference. There is no shortage of fodder for servitude in Myrhia’s realm…so do to her what you will.

Indeed? Sygeanor retorted, her left eyebrow arching sardonically. Then I was mistaken in my impression that you were consoling her? Offering the wretch your own cloak hardly seems consistent with this posture of cold indifference. Perhaps I can contrive a test of your sincerity.

Before Ynathreen could respond, a fist sized stone leapt from the snow and rocketed toward the helpless Muragren, striking her on the bare right thigh. Her agonized howl echoed through the mountain pass…a sharp counterpoint to Ynathreen’s throaty roar of negation.

So the savage proves to be a sentimentalist, Sygeanor declared with a knowing smile. I would tell you that sentiment is a pathetic euphemism for weakness, but since you’re not going to live long enough for the advice to be of any value, I’ll spare the rhetoric. Now, I can continue to exercise my skill by devising the most creative…and excruciating ways of dissecting your puppet…or you and I can come to an accommodation that will spare her a great deal of agony, if not her life.

Ynathreen’s visage was a mask of ancient stone as she gazed up at the sobbing Muragren, whose thigh was lacerated and swelling rapidly. She dragged her gaze to the woman on the horse, understanding that she had blundered into the presence of a monster possessed of appalling power and devoid of humanity. Both Muragren and Cauldanys had attempted to warn her, but hubris had led her to seek out this dreadful juncture from which there could be no retreat. The quarrel is between you and I. Surely your ego is not so pathetically fragile that you must abuse a defenseless slave just to validate its worth. Let her go and then you and I can settle accounts.

You seem to forget that I hold all the authority…every advantage, whelp, Sygeanor rasped angrily and in the blink of an eye, Muragren was plummeting toward a protrusion of jutting rock…coming to an abrupt halt mere feet from being impaled on the unyielding stone.

What do you want? Ynathreen demanded quietly, deliberately averting