The Trials Of Ashbarn ( Book 5) (21 page)

He brought his
massive fist down in a crushing blow. An explosion of pain erupted through her head. Her mouth quickly filled with the metallic taste of blood. A second explosion forced her fading body to go limp. Athel still clung to consciousness, but only by a hair. Her head rolled to the side lifelessly.

With h
alf her face caved in, leaving one of her eyes decimated, she looked out across the sand with her remaining eye. Her hazy vision was reminiscent of a dream. Everything seemed to be outlined in gray fog. Athel watched through the wall of fire; could see the mixed emotions on the creatures’ faces. Some were horrified; others appeared quite content with any outcome. And then she saw Jacob...

To her vision
, he seemed to be running in slow motion. Everything seemed to moving in slow motion. His face was contorted with rage as he rushed at Otory’s back. Of course, his life would be forfeit once he got there. The beast would tear him apart without breaking a sweat. Athel had to do something. She had to stop Jacob.

Another blinding explosion of pain radiated through her body
when Otory struck her again. The blinding pain rattled down to her toes. But she couldn’t afford to think about that now. If anything, it roused her from her dreamlike state.

The seed within her
began to stir. It turned in her gut, within her soul. It was part of her, whether she accepted that fact or not. For as long as she had been aware of its presence, she had fought back against it. Resisted it. Willed it to be gone. But for the first time ever, she reached out to it, needed it—embraced it.

Jacob
planted his foot, then turned a spinning heel kick, trying to knock the beast off her. All his aggression, all his hate for this creature who was trying to hurt the one he loved, was behind that kick. His foot thundered off the side of Otory’s head with a heavy, dry thud. It landed flush, with enough force to incapacitate any mortal. The beast just looked at him and smiled. Yellowed teeth glistened while catching the flickering light. At that moment, Jacob knew he was dead.

But the beast’s
smile vanished instantly when a hand fired upward. A hand covered with wiry black hair gripped his throat like an iron vise. Athel roared, a savage wail that echoed through the dark forest. It sent frightened birds to flight and small creatures deeper into their holes. The warrior’s blind rage had been made known for miles around.

With a tit
anic shove, the savage flew off her, then skidded across the ground on his back. He started to sit up when the incensed warrior landed on his chest. Years of training to be the best, endless hours spent learning weaponry and hand-to-hand battle tactics, meant nothing now; all was forgotten. She was more animal than woman. The warrior glared down at Otory the way a hawk eyes a mouse. Her good eye was glowing a bright red. Pointed ears stood up like a wolf’s. Black, wiry hair covered her face and neck. Her warped, broken face made her lopsided smile appear all the more demonic. 

She was
much smaller in comparison to him, yet he couldn’t move. Her newfound strength was off the chart, along with her aggressiveness. Athel’s known array of skilled attacks from this position was endless, but the animal used none of them. In a most primal, brutal assault, she plunged her thumbs deep into his eye sockets. His bloodcurdling scream went from deep and angry to shrill and piercing. Blood ran freely from his caved-in eye sockets and down the side of his head. The running liquid quickly darkened the sand.

Un
relenting, she pushed deeper, rotating her thumbs back and forth. Otory’s body trembled and convulsed. There came a crackling, fizzing sound when she pushed as deep as her hands would allow, then ripped her thumbs free in a fountain of gore. His enormous, muscle-bound body lay motionless in the sand. Dark, empty sockets stared lifelessly up towards the sky.

Athel stood, her breathing heavy.
Thick drool flowing down from her open mouth, she gazed out at the creatures watching the gory spectacle. Some appeared shocked, staring in disbelief. Others tightened their faces, trying to suppress a rising grin. No one seemed mad or disappointed.

Athel turned back
to Jacob, her good eye still holding a reddish glow. The skin around the crushed portion of her face began to bubble and swell, the severe wound already beginning to regenerate. Even though she could feel her own deformity, lumps of skin rising and falling, she refused to look away. Nor did he, keeping his eyes fixed on her. “So this is what I am,” she said, a deep sadness in her voice. “I’m a monster, and I always will be.”

“You are no such thing,” he said softly, re
aching out to place his hand on her cheek. She flinched at first, but then allowed it. So long had she longed for his touch.

“
You know that the seed is a permanent affliction. I will soon forget you, Eric, Jade, even myself.” A long moment of silence passed. “I cannot go with you. My place is here now.”

“I know,” he whispered, moving his hand down to her shoulder.
“As much as it pains me, I’ve already made peace with that.”

“I believe this belongs
to you.” They turned to look at Amoshi. He held out a fist, sand sifting between his fingers. Turning over his hand, he presented the hooked tooth with red feathers. He moved to her back and gently tied it around her neck. She pressed the trinket tightly to her chest. “We will never forget what you’ve done here today.”

Still clutching the trinket, she pointed beyond the fire ring. “Your weapons
are in those sacks,” she said, voice cracking with emotion. “You two must go now. I don’t know how long I have. I need you two to remember me as I am right now.”

Jacob leaned in
and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “No matter what, you will always remain in my heart.” Without another word, he walked away. Amoshi embraced Athel, then followed behind him. They hopped through the flames and marched up through the crowd. The creatures hissed and growled, but ultimately let them pass. After all, their new leader had let the humans go. Who were they to disobey her wishes?

Amoshi threw
an arm over Jacob’s shoulder. “Your questions have been answered, my friend. Athel is alive, and safer than we are, I’m afraid. We’ve done all we can here. Let’s go home.”

Ilirra sat in the corner of
the hexagon-shaped room, leaning forward in her dark, lacquered wooden chair, with a thick, open book spread across her lap. “The People’s Voice” was a tome of a book indeed. Over a thousand yellowed pages extended between its thick, black, leather binding. On its front was an embroidered golden scepter that could be felt by touching it. The book was not hers per se, but was property of the city of Taron. Although not required by law, all kings and queens were strongly advised to read it at least once. Ilirra had read it multiple times, and now found herself thumbing through it once again.

The ancient book was a relic. A firsthand account of how civilization
had changed throughout the centuries. But more importantly, how it remained the same. There were always general rules for leadership that stood the test of time, many of which the book outlined in excruciating detail. This fact had little to do with any particular city, race of people, or time in history. Ilirra found the book to be invaluable, and buried her nose in it whenever time permitted.

Azek stood near the frosted glass wi
ndows, now and then taking a swipe at the golden cord holding back the red curtains. Its tassels quivered and danced with each irritated slap. Although he couldn’t see through the clouded glass, the birds just outside the window were evident. They sang and chirped, attempting to remind the world that spring was here. “Remind me to order one of the servants to remove that dreadful nest,” he grumbled.

Ilirra ignored him, f
ace still buried in her book. What was it to him if the birds wanted to sing? There were far bigger problems that needed to be dealt with. Reading “The People’s Voice”  normally calmed her in times like these, helped her regain focus, but not this time. Once Ilirra realized she was reading the same sentence over and over again, she pulled herself away. She couldn’t concentrate on such a thing right now.

Frustrated, she almost
slammed the book shut, but quickly caught herself.
Regardless of my mood, such a treasure must not be treated so poorly
. Ilirra carefully closed the ancient book. It crackled and popped, sounding as if it were being torn in half. She stood, the large book tucked under one arm, and marched it over to one of the four black bookshelves. After hoisting it up, aided by the use of her knee, she slid it back into place.

“Shouldn’t they have been
here by now?” Azek mumbled, still gazing out a window he could not see through. He was good at a great many things, but hiding his emotions was not one of them. The man was clearly in a foul mood.

“If they ha
ven’t learned anything yet, what difference does their presence make?” Ilirra shot back. Azek grumbled something incoherent then went back to studying the window. Ilirra went on, “I didn’t summon them to the war room so I could spend time with old friends. I need information, not company. I can’t plan our next move until I’m certain of what the crytons are up to. Perhaps you take war lightly, but I certainly don’t.”

Azek quickly turned from the window. “You of all people...” he said accusingly. “Of all things I take lightly, war is not one of them. You know that! It
’s just that—” He grimaced, then waved at her dismissively, and returned to his window.

“It’s just what?
Azek, I request that you speak freely,” said the Queen. Her voice was soft and calm, not offended in any manner.

He sighed. “I’m sorry
. I’m just on edge, and I don’t mean to speak ill of our friends. I know they’re trying their best, and will arrive once they have the information we seek. I’m just afraid, if we continue to stall, our best will no longer be enough.”

Ilirra’s eyebrows
rose. “And what do you mean by that?”

He looked up
towards the ceiling, eyes going out of focus. “I remember when we fought side by side with the crytons. Shantis brought so few to aid us that fateful day. Well, that small number of soldiers easily turned the tide for us. The Dronin didn’t know what hit them. They were magnificent in battle; a marvel to watch.” He sighed, his gaze falling on the Queen. Was that fear in his eyes? “If they have truly betrayed us, and we are up against hundreds—”

“It will be a
slaughter,” said Ilirra flatly, her expression calm as always.

“All I’m saying is that we need to know what we’re
up against sooner rather than later. If I need to start making war preparations, I need to start now.”

Ilirra raised her hands, signaling for Azek to
calm down. “I need to find out what Berkeni and Addel have discovered. And until then, I will make no brash decisions without—”

Th
e door pushed back slowly. Berkeni walked in, head low, dragging his feet. Addel appeared right behind him, looking no happier. He did not look eager to make eye contact with either of them. “My lady,” he said softly with a nod. “I’ve done as you asked. It appears that,” he cleared his throat, “I’m afraid things have gotten complicated.”

“We don’t have time
for stalling,” said Ilirra, hands on hips. “Just tell me the situation as plainly as you can.”

H
is head slinked down further. “There is no mistake. The crytons march on us as we speak,” he said, voice so soft it was difficult to hear him. “I estimate their numbers to be around two hundred or so. Obviously, the total number of their village is much higher, but the others are unaccounted for. I have been unable to locate the missing crytons, Shantis included.”

“Two hundred is more than enough
to wipe us out,” said Azek, thumping his head back against the wall. His cheeks puffed as he blew out a deep breath, then shoved himself away from the wall. “I will begin preparations immediately.” He stalked quickly towards the door.

“I gave no such order,” said Ilirra. Everyone turned to her, eyes wide with surprise. “Two hundred is more than enough
to wipe us out. Did you not just say that?”

“Well, yes, but—
”

“Shall we prepare for a war we cannot win?
Would you have me sacrifice every soldier we have, simply to buy an extra day or two?”

“But, my lady,” said Addel, stepping up beside Berkeni. “The people
... It is your duty,
our
duty, to defend these walls. Nobody wants to be sacrificed, but war marches to our doorstep. Do you propose we do nothing?” she accused boldly.

“Nor was that my order,” Ilirra’s green eyes blazed with intensity. Addel quickly wilted under that
fiery gaze. “I have no intention of letting hundreds, maybe thousands die for nothing.” Her eyes flickered towards the bookshelf briefly. The tutoring of that book had served her well over the years, and its knowledge would serve her once more. “Much has been written by those who have served before me. Wisdom attained through centuries of experience, rather than ego. I now call upon those wise teachings.”

Ilirra cleared her throat.
Her eyes gazed upwards as if she were thinking back to something. “In times of war, it has been proven throughout the centuries that victory can only be achieved by one of two separate means: through strength of arms, or through diplomacy. Those who triumph by strategy of incursion will live to fight another day. But when diplomacy is applied to its full potential, the victor will thrive and prosper, most likely expanding their kingdom without paying with precious lives.”

Ilirra lowered her eyes, taking in the solemn faces around the roo
m. “We may possibly be the only exception to those rules in Taron’s storied history, for we do not have a first option. Taron cannot win this war through strength of arms. Diplomacy is our first and only option.” She looked to Berkeni. “I need you to make a doorway for me. I will have words with their commander...face to face.”

“Are you mad?” shrieked Azek, storming up to her. “
Then I’m coming with you. You can’t go alone.”

“I can and I will,” she said softly, brushing him aside
, moving towards the door. “The two of you have one hour.” She touched Berkeni and Addel each on the shoulder. “Best you get started right away.”

“Are you trying to die?
” barked Azek. Berkeni and Addel took the hint, quickly heading for the door. There was much work to do, and they wanted no part of the ensuing argument. “You would walk right into their waiting hands? That’s what they want!”

“Then they shall have it,” she said, her voice calm and controlled.

“You don’t have to do this.” The always in control captain began to lose his composure. His heartbeat quickened, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. This beautiful, strong woman who he cared about deeply was about to commit suicide. He had to do something. “We can still make a stand. I say, let them come.” His breaths came short and fast, on the verge of hyperventilating. “You underestimate my men. We can win… Yes, we can—”

She
walked back and placed a hand softly on his cheek. His incessant babbling stopped, voice trailing off as he looked away, unable to meet her eyes. So in control she was, such a queen in every way. “Quiet yourself. You’re a stronger man than this,” she said softly. “You and I both know there is no other way. I will not have the blood of thousands resting on my crown.” She turned away.

“They alrea
dy have the advantage,” he said hoarsely, his voice thick with overwhelming emotion. “There is no reason for them to negotiate. They-They will kill you. Or worse.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “A small price t
o pay for the lives of thousands. Wouldn’t you agree?” She left without waiting for a response.

* * *

There came a light rap at the door. Berkeni winced at the sound. “I’ve got it,” said Addel quietly. She opened the door a crack, then gasped. She flung it open before stepping back.

Ilirra entered, wearing the most
beautiful set of armor Addel had ever seen. The Queen seemed to glow in her white link chainmail, running down her front like the scales of a reptile, caressing her arms like a fine silk dress. It was a gleaming, polished white, with an even brighter yellow star branded on the chest. She wore a golden helm with small metal wings on either side. A long nose guard ran down her face. It held the likeness of a bird’s beak.

At her side hung a black leather sheath,
housing her white-bladed sword, the golden pommel’s crossbar encrusted with green emeralds. The very end of the pommel was shaped like a dove’s head, the beak hooking downward. “Is everything ready?” asked Ilirra, voice hard as steel.

“Y-Y
es, my lady,” said Addel, unable to keep the astonishment from her voice. Never had she seen such an exquisite set. Such striking armor must have come from the world of dreams. It belonged on display, behind thick glass, not worn into battle. “We have their exact location and can begin whenever you’re ready. But Berkeni and I can only hold it open for a few moments. After that,” she sighed sadly, the gravity of the situation really sinking in, “the doorway will close. We will have no way of bringing you back.”

“Won’t you please r
econsider, my lady?” Berkeni pleaded. “Surely there must be another way.”

“Alright then, I’ve reconsidered,” said Ilirra, hands suddenly folded
across her chest. Berkeni stared at her with bewilderment. “I’ve decided to leave the people of Taron to their fate. Let our outmatched army hold out as long as they can before fleeing for their lives. Who knows, perhaps even a few loyalists may fight to the death.” The corner of her lip turned up in a partial smile.

Berkeni seemed to deflate. He wilted whe
re he stood, yet still managed to return a partial smile. “I understand, my lady. You must do your duty, and I must do mine.” He walked near the far wall, placing his hands against it. Addel moved to the other side, mirroring his pose. “Be careful, my lady,” he whispered, far too softly for anyone to hear.

After
a few nonsensical mutterings from each of the mystics, the wall itself began to crackle with energy. A staticky golden light shimmered across the paint before taking the shape of a circle. With her head high and jaw set, Ilirra stepped through.

The people of Taron
went about their business like any other day. Blacksmiths hammered away at iron ingots, slowly working their magic while blocks of metal gradually transformed into brilliant blades. Tavern owners rolled large barrels of ale from flatbed wagons, stocking up for another evening that promised more thirsty customers. Oil merchants, mercers, and spicers all went about their business as usual.

The way they saw it, lif
e was simply promised to them. Nothing could ever harm this great city, or threaten its existence. None but a handful knew what the Queen had risked to save her people. The common citizen needn’t be bothered with such disturbing knowledge. They went to work every day. That was enough. Let true sacrifices fall on the shoulders of others, thus leaving them alone. Let someone else pay for the price of freedom.

Such is the way of being a
silent leader, hidden in the shadows so as not to burden anyone. Such is the way of heroes...

* * *

Filista rode her horse out in front, allowing for a generous distance between herself and the other crytons. Her black mount, large and muscular with big blue eyes akin to an insect rather than a horse, whinnied before snorting in protest. It didn’t seem to like feeling so exposed, so out in the open compared to the tight formation behind them, most of who were on foot.