All Things Begin - The Anmah Series Book 1

“Foolish boy! Did I not say that I would kill you tonight? Why would you so willing come to your death?”

Ga’briyel smiled grimly as Kardag stepped out of the shadows to stand in front of him. Close up, the man’s face looked sallow and gaunt, with sunken black eyes that peered out at Ga’briyel with a hatred he had never seen before.

“I am not afraid of you, Kardag. I know what you are, and you cannot kill me.”

“Is that so? I will prove you wrong shortly.”

Ga’briyel held his sword at the ready and stood relaxed in front of Kardag. “Any time you would like to try, Daitya.”

A frown briefly crossed Kardag’s face, and then he held his hands out in front of him, forefingers pointed straight at Ga’briyel.

“Pretome bariya asu, abem epenere emeka sreme doya eniprenote. A’o buke mrtyidene kero, abem sebe enentekele jen’ye nereka norbesote kere.”

The words slithered over Ga’briyel like serpents, and the slimy sensation intensified. He felt a slight tug within his chest, but he stood firm and let the uncomfortable feeling disappear.

Kardag’s eyes went wide, and he snarled, “Impossible!”

“Not what you expected? Too bad for you,” Ga’briyel snarled back, and he took one step to his left as he brought his sword up in an arc.

Kardag stepped back just in time for the tip of the sword to only slice through his red robes, but Ga’briyel did not stop. He continued to attack, and the Daitya continued to retreat, even as he called out, “Anusari! Come to me! Sacrifice yourselves for your priest!”

Ga’briyel growled as they reached the end of the hallway and entered a large, round room. More pillars with statues of ravens lined the walls, and at the front, he caught a glimpse of a raised altar, fronted by steps, lit by candles as red as Kardag’s robes, and strewn with what looked to be human bones. A large, gold shield hung behind it with the raven symbol elegantly engraved in the center. In front of the steps was a group of about thirty people, dressed in long, black robes tied with red cords, all kneeling with their heads to the ground and chanting in the same strange language Kardag had used. At the Daitya’s words, they all stood up and turned toward the combatants.

“Yisu damn you to Hell, Daitya! Do not bring them into this! This is between you and me!”

Kardag laughed, and the sound grated Ga’briyel’s bones. He had never heard anything so evil, and he never wanted to again. “I have been to Hell, little Anmah, and I would gladly return, but my job is not finished yet. Or should I say Sainika? For that is what you are, is it not? My followers will die for me, and they will kill for me. You are young. I can feel that, and you cannot have died but once or twice. My followers will find some way you have not died yet—pierced by a blade, beaten, smothered. You will not live out the night, and when you fall, I will dismember you and scatter the pieces so that they will never reform. I may not be able to claim your soul, but I can make sure you will bother us no more!”

As Kardag spoke, he moved toward the altar, and the people surrounded Ga’briyel until he was slowly circling, his sword pointed at them. Several of them had produced crude weapons—clubs, pitchforks, a few knives. Ga’briyel growled. He did not want to hurt these people, but he knew some of them might die before the night was over. As they stood, waiting for he knew not what, Kardag began chanting at the altar.

“Pratima! Epenere enuierenekero ksemete donu! Tedare a’i Sainika serbenese sekto de’u! Tedare keche thaka byeye nonu! Tedare kecha epenere jen’ye mrtyire icche kerune!”

He repeated the words over and over, and the people stood a little straighter. As Ga’briyel readied himself for their attack, he suddenly heard words in his head, something that had never happened before, and he knew that his mind was somehow translating the Daitya’s words.

Sayatan! Give your followers power! Give them the strength to defeat this Sainika! Take fear from them! Make them desire death for you!

He knew it! Pratima was just another name for Sayatan—the Evil One, the Destroyer of Souls, the eternal enemy of the Creator. Before he could wonder about this new ability, however, or even feel anger at the Daitya’s plea, the first villager attacked. The boy was about sixteen years old, and Ga’briyel knew he could not kill him. Instead, as the boy rushed him, he sidestepped and brought the hilt of his sword down on his head, dropping him to the ground.

Seconds later, another boy came at him, this one slightly older than the first. He had a club in his hand and took a clumsy swing at Ga’briyel. It was easily parried with his sword, and he was also dropped with a blow to the head.

It seemed that, no matter how brainwashed these people were, they were not soldiers, and their conversion to Sayatan did not give them abilities they had not had before. Only a few times did more than one attack Ga’briyel at the same time, and even then, he easily repelled them, weapons or not. He spun and struck with either the flat of his blade or the hilt, knocking each villager out as they came at him. Finally, there were none left standing, and, other than being a little tired, Ga’briyel was untouched. He looked toward the altar.

Kardag was standing, his hands upraised and his head down. He seemed not to have even noticed that none of his followers were conscious. He was still chanting when Ga’briyel stepped onto the lowest riser. His chant immediately stopped, and his head snapped up with a snarl.

“You are better than I had anticipated, boy. But no matter. I will kill you myself!”

Kardag reached behind the altar and brought forth a wicked-looking black blade. It was about three feet long, curved, and it shone with an unnatural light. Ga’briyel moved backward off the step away from it.

“Scared, boy? You should be. One scratch from this sword and you die. There is no antidote for its poison. It has been cursed by Sayatan himself. No one can withstand its power; not even you, Sainika!”

Ga’briyel had not stepped back because he was afraid, but because he wanted more sure footing for this fight. He had to be careful. Poison was one way he had not died yet, and if Kardag was telling the truth, he could not afford to get cut by that sword. He did not doubt for a moment that the Daitya would do exactly as he had said if he died. He moved so that he would not trip over any of the unconscious people in the center of the room and raised his sword.

“You do not scare me, Daitya. I will destroy you and obliterate your spirit so that even the Evil One cannot save you. Come and die.”

“Gladly, boy, but it will be you who dies.”

With more speed than Ga’briyel expected, Kardag flowed toward him and swung his sword. Thought disappeared, and Ga’briyel’s instincts took over. Each strike of the black blade was parried, and a counterattack attempted. The Daitya was an exceptional swordsman, however, and, for the first time in years, Ga’briyel found himself on the defensive.

Thrust and parry, strike and block, spin and step and dance. The fight continued for several minutes, and then Ga’briyel managed to make contact. The point of his sword barely scratched Kardag’s upper arm, but the Daitya let out a sharp hiss, once more reminding Ga’briyel of a serpent. Blood welled up on the pale skin revealed through the cut robes, but the blood was not red; it was black.

“You will pay for that, boy! Enough playing around. It is time for you to die!”

Kardag’s strikes abruptly increased in speed and accuracy, and Ga’briyel was forced backward toward the center of the room as his sword flashed in the candlelight. It was exactly where he did not want to go, but he had no choice. Kardag’s attack was designed to steer him in that direction, and he had no chance to go elsewhere. The strikes were coming too fast.

His right foot collided with one of the unconscious villagers, and he stumbled briefly before regaining his balance. It was enough, however, and the pain that filled him when Kardag’s blade slashed across his chest dropped him to his knees as he howled. His body felt as if it was on fire, and he knew that he was going to die. He also knew that he had one last chance to kill Kardag, so he gritted his teeth and let one hand fall to the floor as if he could not stay upright without support. His other hand held on tightly to his sword, and he angled it to face upward. He dropped his head but kept his eyes on the Daitya. As he had expected, Kardag lowered his sword and stepped close. He leaned down and smirked.

“Not long now, boy. When you wake up, you will be in pieces, and those pieces will never come together again.”

“Why do you not do it now, Daitya?” Ga’briyel grunted as he felt the poison slowly flowing through his veins. It would only be moments now, and he would be helpless.

Kardag dropped to one knee and leaned close. “Because I enjoy watching you suffer, Sainika. I know how much the poison hurts, and I can see in your eyes that you are not immune to it.” He sighed and closed his eyes as he raised his hands in the air. “Amasa a’o bojeye da’uyere jen’ye, mestere epeneka dhen’yebede!”

Thank you, Master, for giving me this victory!

Part of Ga’briyel’s brain translated the words even as he brought his sword up and drove it through Kardag’s chest. The Daitya’s words were cut off with a strangled cry, and he looked down at the cross-guard and leather-wrapped hilt sticking out of him, and then his eyes connected with Ga’briyel’s.

“Impossible!” he gasped, and then he coughed, black blood bubbling out of his lips. “No one can resist the poison!”

“You are right.” Ga’briyel choked on the words. “I am about to die, but you will die first!”

With almost the last of his strength, he yanked his sword out and swung it toward the Daitya’s neck.

“No!”

One syllable was all Kardag managed before his head left his body. Ga’briyel shuffled backward from the dead Daitya and half-crawled, half-dragged his way toward the front door of the temple. He did not want to die there, surrounded by thirty people who, as far as he knew, still wanted him dead. He did not want to take the chance that one of them would follow through with Kardag’s threat of dismemberment.

He was just about to turn toward the hallway when the Daitya’s body crumbled into a pile of dark gray ash. Immediately thereafter, a black cloud lifted up from the ash with an unearthly shriek. It froze Ga’briyel for the moment that it lasted, but then it faded into memory as the cloud dissipated into the air. At the same time, every candle in the room was extinguished, plunging the room into pitch blackness.

His strength almost gone and his eyes glowing only dimly, Ga’briyel pulled himself along the floor, dragging his sword behind him, but it was too heavy, and he let it fall. He eventually made it to the door, but it opened inward, and he could not reach the handle.

“Yisu, help me, please,” he whispered. “I cannot die in here.” He collapsed in front of the door. “Please, help me.” He could feel his heartbeat slowing. Rolling onto his back, he made one last plea. “Please.”

He was unable to move, but he was still alive when the door swung toward him, stopping when it hit his legs.

“Ga’briyel! What happened?”

He took a deep breath when he recognized Tero’s voice, but then he moaned weakly and tried to curl into a ball as the fire in his body was fanned into a blazing inferno.

“Yisu! Your chest!”

“Out…please,” he managed to mumble. He barely registered the fact that he was being dragged through the door, but he knew the instant he was outside. It was then that he took one last breath of fresh air and died.

“Tero, what in Yisu’s name happened?” Dinton said, horror coating his words.

Tero glanced at his friend as he laid Ga’briyel down on the dirt path.

“I have no idea. He has been cut, but the wound…” Tero closed his eyes and gestured toward Ga’briyel’s body. “It is like nothing I have ever seen before.”

“Is he…?”

“Dead? Yes. I just pray that everything he said was true, and that he will wake up from this.”

Scraping came from the temple, and Dinton and Tero drew their swords and spun toward the noise, placing themselves between it and their friend. One by one, and then a few at a time, the villagers that Ga’briyel had overpowered came stumbling through the door. They all took one look at the body on the ground and then scurried away, most of them holding their heads. When the last of them were gone, Dinton and Tero turned back to Ga’briyel.

“What was that all about?”

“I do not know, and I do not care. Come on,” Tero said, sheathing his sword. “Help me bring him inside.” He bent down and took Ga’briyel’s feet while Dinton slid his sword into its scabbard and placed his hands under his friend’s armpits.

The younger man sucked in his breath when he got his first good look at the sword cut across Ga’briyel’s torso. It had sliced his shirt open cleanly from neckline to hem, but there was nothing clean about the wound. It looked as if weeks had passed since it was inflicted instead of minutes. The slash gaped open from the top of one shoulder to the opposite hip, and the skin around it was already decayed and rotting. Blood had congealed into a dark mess, and bones and internal organs were clearly visible. A putrid stench rose from the wound, and Dinton swallowed thickly.

“Cover him up, Tero. We cannot take him inside like this.”

“Of course; I was not thinking.”

Tero removed his coat and draped it over Ga’briyel, hiding the carnage. He then lifted his friend’s feet and nodded at Dinton. The latter picked up his end of the body, and together, they carried their dead friend into the inn.

Hearda was standing by the kitchen door when they entered, and his eyes went wide when he saw the body.

“Oh, dear Yisu! Not the good sir! Who did this?”

“We do not know,” Tero said as they moved toward the stairs. “But do not worry. He is Anmah, and he will be fine in the morning.”

“Anmah? They are real?”

“They are. He will live again with the rising of the sun.” That is what Ma’ikel told me, anyway. Please, Yisu, please let it be so.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No, but thank you. We will watch over him tonight.”

Hearda nodded at them, and they carried Ga’briyel upstairs to his room, Dinton entering first. Tero kicked the door shut behind him, and then they laid Ga’briyel out on his bed. Dinton gently removed Ga’briyel’s ruined shirt and then stepped back after replacing Tero’s coat.

“What now?” he asked.

“Now we wait.” Tero lit some candles, pulled the chair close to the bed, and sat down. “Go get a chair from one of the other rooms.”

Dinton was about to do so when the door slammed open. Sophyra was standing in the doorway, and she took one look at the bed before screaming, “No! Oh, please, no! Ga’briyel!”

She rushed past Dinton, who tried to grab her, and dropped to her knees next to the bed. Grabbing Ga’briyel’s hand, she kissed it over and over again, tears streaming down her face.

“Please, Ga’briyel,” she sobbed, “please do not be dead. Please, please!”

“Sophyra,” Dinton said softly, placing his hands on her shoulders. “It is all right. He is Anmah, remember?”

She shrugged his hands off and laid her head on the bed as she clutched his hand to her breast. “But he is dead, Dinton, and the Anmah are just a children’s tale!” She looked up at Tero. “I just found him, and now he is dead!”

Dinton knelt down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “He is now, but he will wake up in the morning, I promise.” He glanced up at Tero and was heartened when the older man nodded. “As the sun rises, so will he.”

“No,” she whispered raggedly, “that is not possible. Dead is dead. He is not coming back. He cannot. I have lost him.”

Dinton looked at Tero helplessly as she began to moan and rock back and forth, still holding Ga’briyel’s hand, and the older man’s eyes were sad.

“Nothing we say will convince her,” he said softly. “She will just have to see for herself tomorrow. Now, go and get a couple of chairs.”

“Right,” Dinton answered, and he gave Sophyra’s shoulders a gentle squeeze before standing and leaving the room. He was back shortly with two chairs, and he set one down at the end of the bed. The other he put behind Sophyra. Gently, he raised her up and sat her down. She never let go of Ga’briyel, and Dinton helped her scoot the chair close to the bed. Then he took up position in the empty chair.

Silence filled the room, broken only by heartrending sobs from Sophyra. After a little more than an hour, she quieted, and the men knew she was asleep, her head on Ga’briyel’s arm. Even in her sleep, however, her breath hitched every so often, and she mumbled what sounded like a prayer.

Dinton and Tero stayed awake. At one point very early in the morning, Dinton realized that Ga’briyel’s sword was missing, and he raced to the temple to find it. When he entered the building, the silence was oppressive, and he moved as quickly as he could through the stifling dark. He found his way into the room where Kardag had died, but he could not see well enough to find the sword. He cursed himself for not bringing a light, and he felt along the wall for a torch or anything that could burn. He always carried his flint and steel in his pocket so that he did not have to search for it when he needed it. He found nothing, however, and was making his way back to the door when he kicked something. He reached down and caught his breath when he sliced his finger open on the edge of Ga’briyel’s sword.

“Bride of a troll!” he muttered as he stuck his finger in his mouth, tasting ash mixed with blood. “Nothing like a sliced finger to start the day off right.” He picked up the sword and walked toward the door, breathing easier when he made it outside. When he got back to the room, neither Tero nor Sophyra had moved, and he carefully cleaned the sword, although there did not seem to be any blood on it, only a light dusting of dark gray ash, and slid it into its scabbard on Ga’briyel’s hip. As he did so, he pulled on the coat covering Ga’briyel’s chest, and it fell to the floor.

“Tero, look!”

The two men gaped at what they saw. The wound was already starting to heal. Before their eyes, the rotting flesh grew pink and healthy, and the gaping cut slowly came together, starting at both ends and moving toward the middle.

“Yisu be praised,” Tero whispered, and then he spoke louder. “Sophyra, wake up! You have to see this!”

Her head snapped up, and she looked around the room in confusion. Dinton quickly moved to her side and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Watch,” he said softly.

“Watch what?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

“Watch Ga’briyel.”

Her eyes shifted down to the bed, and she tried to turn away when she saw the bloody wound that now only ran from his collarbone to his ribs, but Dinton held her firmly, so she closed her eyes.

“I know it is disturbing, but you have to look.”

“I do not want to see what happened to him,” she protested.

“But you need to see what is happening to him now. Look!”

She shook her head.

“Sophyra, please look,” Tero said. “He is healing.”

“He cannot be,” she whispered. “He is dead.”

“Not for long.”

Slowly, Sophyra brought her gaze back to Ga’briyel, and she jerked back from the bed, almost tipping the chair over, when she saw what was taking place.The cut was steadily sealing itself. It was as if a seamstress were holding the sides together and stitching them closed, but there was no thread or needle to be seen. Within fifteen minutes, it was completely healed. Not even a scar was left behind as proof of what had happened.

“How?” Sophyra breathed. “How is that possible?”

“I told you,” Dinton said softly, “he is Anmah. He will live again when the sun rises.”

“Truly?” Sophyra turned toward him, her eyes filling with tears. “He will truly live again?”

“I promise. Just another hour or so, and he will take a breath and open his eyes.”

The tears began to fall as she faced the bed again. She trailed her hand over Ga’briyel’s forehead as she mumbled. “Please, please let it be true.”

She stayed in that position, staring at Ga’briyel’s face until the room began to lighten. By the time the candles were unnecessary, all three were on their feet, looking down at the body on the bed. Suddenly, Ga’briyel took a deep breath, and his hands tightened into fists. “Son of a goat!” he groaned as he stretched and opened his eyes, their violet light blazing like torches. He slowly sat up against the headboard. “Remind me never to get poisoned again. That hurt more than getting stabbed did.” He tried to raise his hand to his face, but Sophyra grabbed it. He turned his face toward her and smiled. “What a lovely sight to wake up to,” he said lightly, but then she burst into tears. “Sophyra,” he said, pulling her onto the bed into his arms, “my heart, do not cry. I am all right.” She sobbed into his chest, and he held her tightly. “Shh, do not cry,” he whispered.

“It is good to see you breathing, my friend,” Dinton said as he clapped Ga’briyel on the shoulder.

“I second that,” Tero said with a smile that stretched across his face. “Can we do anything for you?”

“Not at the moment,” Ga’briyel said, looking over Sophyra’s head at them, “but give me about an hour, and I will probably eat everything in Hearda’s pantry. Dying is hard work.”

“Then I will tell him to have first meal ready in an hour.”

The two men slipped out the door and shut it firmly. When he heard the click of the latch, Ga’briyel turned his attention to Sophyra. “Sweet one, please, no tears. I told you I could not die.” She raised her eyes to his, and he gently wiped her face with his thumb. “You did not believe me, did you?”

She shook her head. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered brokenly.

“I was,” he said, kissing her softly, “and now I am not. That is the way it works. This was the first time I was poisoned. That is why I died. It makes death number thirteen.”

“This has happened to you thirteen times?” Her eyes went wide.

“It has,” he said, kissing her again, “but I do not want you to think about it. I am fine, and I will always be fine. Nothing can kill me.”

“Except you,” she said with a small smile.

“Yes, except me,” he replied, “but I have a very good reason to keep living.”

“And what is that?”

“You. I want to learn everything there is to know about you.” His hands trailed down her arms, and his eyes drifted to the skin exposed by the neckline of her dress. “I want to know what you dream about and what you fear.” He dropped a kiss on her neck. “I want to know how your skin feels and how it tastes.” He traced a path up to her ear with his tongue, and she sucked in her breath. “I want to know how it feels to make love to you,” he whispered softly, and she shivered. “Tell me you want that, too, please, my heart. Let me make love to you.”

“Yes, Ga’briyel,” she breathed. “Please, show me what it means to make love.”

He chuckled.

“What is so funny?”

“Just that I have no experience with this,” he said, moving his hands to the laces on the front of her dress. “But, as I said before, I am a very quick learner. I am sure I can muddle through.”

“You mean you have never…?”

He shook his head as the dress slipped off her shoulders. “Never. You will have to tell me how I am doing.”

She gasped and tilted her head back as he kissed his way down her neck to her collarbone.

“So far, so good,” she murmured, and he laughed as he switched places with her and gently laid her down on the bed.

“Do you think he will mind if we start without them?” The smells coming from the kitchen were distracting Dinton, and his stomach growled loudly. He and Tero were seated in the main room at a round table by the fireplace, which had a blazing fire to cut the morning chill.

“I sincerely doubt it,” Tero laughed. “Something tells me he is not thinking of food right now.”

“You think they are…well, you know.”

“Of course I do. Why else would he have asked for an hour?”

Dinton shrugged. “Maybe it takes that long for him to recover from dying.”

Tero smirked at his young friend. “Oh, yes, I am sure that is exactly what it is.”

“It does not matter,” Dinton said, his eyes lighting up as Hearda came through the kitchen door with a platter full of food. “If they do not get down here soon, there will be no food left.”

The innkeeper set the platter down in the middle of the table and then stood, wringing his hands in his apron.

“What is it, Hearda?” Tero said distractedly as he filled his plate.

“I…” The portly man gulped loudly. “I thought I heard the good sir’s voice earlier. Is he really alive?”

“He is now.”

“But when you brought him in last night, he was dead, was he not?”

“Yes, he was. Very dead.”

“I see.” He looked at the stairs. “Did you discover who killed him?”

“No, not yet. Captain Mistri was not exactly in a sharing mood when he woke up, but when we do find out, that person will be taken care of.”

“Captain?”

Tero nodded. “We three are all captains in the Palace Guard of Torkeln.”

Hearda sat down in one of the empty chairs. It creaked as if it was going to shatter, but he did not seem to notice.

“And Captain Mistri is an Anmah?”

“Obviously,” Tero said, glancing at Dinton who was watching the interaction with amusement. “He came back from the dead, did he not?”

“Of course, of course,” Hearda mumbled. “Can he do other things?”

“Like what?”

“The ancient stories say that some Anmah have special abilities, that they can defeat evil.” Hearda’s eyes flashed between the two men. “Can the good captain do that?”

Tero shrugged. “I have never seen it, but I would not be surprised. He is the best fighter I have ever seen or even heard of. The day we crossed the Parbatas, he took down six Asabya by himself in the time it took me to finish off one. Then he killed the last four while we watched. When he fights, it is like watching a deadly dance.”

“And he has other abilities,” Dinton put in.

“Such as, good sir?” Hearda turned to him.

Dinton was about to answer when he promptly shut his mouth and gestured toward the stairs. “Well, he can tell you himself if he wishes.”

The other two turned toward the stairs. Tero grinned while Hearda looked uncomfortable as Ga’briyel and Sophyra entered the room, hands linked. Ga’briyel was dressed in a clean white shirt and tan breeches tucked into his black boots, and Sophyra had on a pale green dress with split skirts that complemented her figure nicely. Eneith had cleaned all their clothing the day before.

“I can tell him what?” Ga’briyel asked as he held a chair for Sophyra. She sat down with a small smile on her face, and he took the chair next to her.

“What your abilities allow you to do,” Dinton said as he pushed the platter of food toward his friend.

“Why do you ask, innkeeper?”

Ga’briyel waited until Sophyra had filled her plate, and then he pushed his own plate aside and pulled the platter to himself.

“I hope you two got as much as you wanted, because this will be gone shortly.”

“Oh, do not worry about us, my friend,” Tero chuckled. “We are fine.”

“Good. So, Hearda, what do you want to know?”

The man was looking at everything in the room except Ga’briyel. “I just thought…”

“Thought what? Speak, man.”

“I thought that you being what you are, good captain, that perhaps you might possibly be able to rid us of our problem across the way.”

“What I am? And what is that?”

“An Anmah, good sir. The stories say that Anmah can do wondrous things.”

Between bites, Ga’briyel said, “Well, I do not know about other Anmah, for I have only met one, but as far as I know, I am unique even among our kind. Ma’ikel is incredibly wise and knowledgeable, but other than that and the fact that he is almost four thousand years old, there is nothing amazing about him.”

“Oh.” Hearda’s face fell with disappointment, and Ga’briyel pitied him.

“That said, my uniqueness does have its advantages. For instance, you do not have to worry about Kardag anymore.”

Hearda’s head had dropped, but now it snapped up. “And why is that, good captain?”

Ga’briyel stuffed the last bite of meat into his mouth. “Because he is dead. I killed him last night just before I died.”

“Dead?” Hearda breathed. “I did not believe them; I thought they were lying.”

“Who?”

“The goat-brained idiots who followed Kardag. They said a man with violet torches for eyes came into their temple last night and knocked them all out. When they awakened, they saw a pile of ash on the floor that used to be Kardag. I asked them how they knew it was him, and they just said they knew.” Hearda stared hard at Ga’briyel. “It was obviously you, Captain, but I want to know how you turned him to ash.”

“I did not. I just cut off his head. The turning to ash was a surprise to me, too, but I assume it happened because of what he was.”

“And what was he?”

Ga’briyel put down his fork and leaned across the table toward the innkeeper. “Do you really want to know? Do the people of your village really want to know what it was they followed so blindly? I do not think you do.”

Just then, a loud crash was heard outside, and everyone jumped to their feet, Hearda somewhat slower than the others. Ga’briyel whirled on Sophyra and fixed his blazing gaze on her. “Stay right here!” he said and raced toward the door.

“Ga’briyel! Your sword!”

“I do not need it!” he yelled as he threw open the inn door. He skidded to a stop on the top step and stared at the temple. Its door was lying on the path in front of the building, and stone after stone was falling to the ground. As Dinton and Tero stopped behind him, he took the steps and joined the crowd that was forming to watch the destruction.

“What is happening?”

“What is doing this?”

“It is falling apart!”

Ga’briyel only half-listened to the murmurs of the villagers as he watched the temple fall down in front of them. He grinned and took a few steps closer and found himself in front of all the villagers. He spun toward them as more and more stones fell faster and faster behind him.

“People of Difeld!” he said loudly. “Listen to me!” He waited until the murmurs died down. “This temple was a place of evil! Those of you who were clay-brained enough to follow Kardag can thank me for saving your lives and your very souls!”

Angry muttering met his ears as the din behind him abruptly ceased. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the temple was now nothing but a pile of rubble.

“You did this!” one young man yelled as he attempted to push his way to the front of the crowd. “You murdered our priest! You destroyed our temple! You will die for this!”

When the man made it through the villagers, he stood before Ga’briyel with fury on his face and a long knife in his hand. Ga’briyel’s brain started to itch unbearably, and he knew in an instant that this man was evil, but he tried to reason with him nonetheless.

“Your priest was a Daitya, you fool! Your god is Sayatan himself! And you and the others were idiot enough to listen to their lies!”

“You lie! He was a good, decent man who helped this village!”

“And how did he do that? By killing people? By making them disappear when they disagreed with him?”

“He never did any such thing!”

“He did so, Omusa! Remember Masym?”

Heads turned toward the inn where Hearda was standing at the top of the steps.

“He killed Masym! We all know it is true! What about Cingas and Cissath? What happened to them and the others who are not around anymore?”

Most of the villagers mumbled agreement with the innkeeper, but others, many of them with knots on their heads, angrily disputed the claim. Ga’briyel was not about to argue with this man, and he was about to say so when a loud explosion sounded behind him. He staggered forward a few steps as the force of the blast hit him, and he looked over his shoulder. Screams came from men and women alike as hundreds, perhaps thousands, of ravens suddenly took flight from the rubble, screeching their rage as they blackened the sky before winging their way north. As they did so, the stones that had made up the temple crumbled to dust that blew away in the breeze until there was nothing left except barren ground. Ga’briyel doubted anything would grow there any time soon.

Unfortunately, his staggering brought him close to Omusa who slashed at him with his knife. Ga’briyel’s instincts took over, though, and he leaned away from the strike at the same time his head snapped forward.

Omusa was crouched before him, the knife held loosely in his hand. “Epeno, Anmah mere yeba, abem Sayatan enentekele jen’ye noryetenare sokere epenere etme thekeba!”

Once again, Ga’briyel understood the strange language. You will die, Anmah, and Sayatan will have your soul to torture for eternity!

“You can try and kill me, but you will not succeed. Do not make me hurt you, man,” Ga’briyel said, frowning and raising his hands as he readied himself for the attack.

Omusa just snarled and lunged forward. Ga’briyel easily sidestepped the thrust and brought the edge of his hand down on the man’s wrist. He heard bones snap, and Omusa shrieked as the knife dropped to the ground. Ga’briyel grabbed the man’s arm and wrenched it behind his back, noticing the symbol of Pratima tatooed on the inner wrist in black, while Ga’briyel’s other arm went around Omusa’s neck, cutting off his air supply. The man tried to scream again but it was impossible. It only took a few minutes before he slumped in Ga’briyel’s grasp. Dropping the man to the ground, Ga’briyel stood tall, his eyes blazing with anger.

“Anyone else!?”

No one moved except to shuffle backward a few steps.

“This is the gratitude I get for saving your village from the influence of a Daitya!? I was attacked by many of you last night! I could have killed you all, but I did not! Based on your appearance here this morning, I did not even hurt you very much! A few sore heads, and that is all! Be thankful that I killed Kardag before the rest of you were drawn underneath his spell!”

With a snarl, Ga’briyel stalked back toward the inn, the villagers parting before him and watching him, some with hatred, but most with wonder and awe. Dinton and Tero were standing on the steps with drawn swords, but Ga’briyel just pushed his way past them.

“We are leaving,” he growled. “Now!”

“Yes, sir,” they both said, sheathing their swords.

“Sophyra!” Ga’briyel shouted as he entered the main room of the inn.

“Yes, Ga’briyel?” She stepped out of the shadows in the corner, a look of apprehension on her face.

“Pack up! We leave in five minutes!”

“Yes, Ga’briyel,” she whispered and fled up the stairs, followed by Dinton and Tero.

“Hearda!”

“Captain,” the innkeeper said from behind him.

Ga’briyel whirled, and the man took an involuntary step backward, his eyes wary.

“We need another horse. One that is healthy and that can go long distances without too much rest, yet is gentle enough for the lady to ride. Do you know of one? I will pay a fair price.”

“Yes, Captain, but there is a problem.”

“What?”

“The horse in question belongs to Omusa. I do not think he would be willing to sell to you.”

“I am not giving him a choice. Fetch the horse and tack. Now.”

“Yes, Captain.” With a bob, Hearda disappeared outside, and Ga’briyel stormed up the stairs to his room.

He left his ruined shirt in the corner of the room. To him, it still smelled of death and the Daitya. He snatched up his bags, weapons, and blanket roll and then made his way to the stable to ready Kumar. He was tying his bags on when he heard soft footsteps behind him.

“Ga’briyel?”

He closed his eyes and frowned at the fear in Sophyra’s voice. He slowly turned, and when he opened his eyes, his chest tightened. She was standing in the doorway, her new satchel full of clothes in her hands and her head down. Worse than that, she was trembling, and Ga’briyel did not need to read her thoughts to know she was scared. Of him.

“Sophyra,” he said softly, “please come here.”

Her head came up, and he saw tears in her eyes. He caught his breath and swiftly covered the few paces between them. He took her satchel from her and dropped it to the ground before enfolding her in his arms.

“I am sorry, my heart,” he said. “I did not mean to yell at you.”

She took a shuddering breath, and he held her tighter.

“Do you mean that?” she asked timidly.

“What?”

She leaned back and gazed up at him. “You call me your heart. Do you mean it?”

He pushed her bangs off her forehead and smiled. “I do.” He kissed her softly. “I think I love you.”

“You think?”

He chuckled at the sarcasm. “Yes, I think. I have never been in love before, so I am not sure, but I feel that if you left, my life would have no meaning anymore. You have become my reason for existing, Sophyra. You are my heart.”

She sighed, “That is very nice to hear, Ga’briyel.” Her eyes sparkled. “I know that I love you. When I thought you were dead, I wanted to die, too. If you had not come back, I would have.”

“Do not say that. I cannot think of you dying, Sophyra. It makes me sick to my stomach.”

He hugged her tightly and only let her go when Dinton and Tero came into the stable to get their horses ready. Sophyra picked up her satchel and walked to Kumar before looking at Ga’briyel in confusion.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You have put your blanket roll behind the saddle. Where am I supposed to sit?” She grinned suddenly, and he knew in that moment that he truly did love her. “On your lap, perhaps?”

“No,” he chuckled, “although the thought has merit. Hearda is getting your horse as we speak.”

Her grin vanished, and she shook her head. “I do not know how to ride a horse, Ga’briyel.”

“You will do just fine,” he said. “Believe me when I say that riding in the saddle is far easier than riding behind it.”

Just then, Hearda entered the stable leading a black mare with a white blaze on her forehead. She was a lovely horse with a regal stance and proud mien. She was already saddled with a set of saddlebags strapped on behind the cantle.

“Here she is, Captain,” the innkeeper said. “I hope she will serve you well.”

“I am sure she will, Hearda, thank you.” Ga’briyel reached into the pouch on his waist and pulled out four golds. “Three for you, for the rooms and the food and the clothing, and one for Omusa. Thank you for everything.”

Taking the coins, Hearda smiled brightly. “No, thank you, Captain. This is far more than our humble offerings are worth, especially after what you have done for us. Even such a horse as Taraka is not worth more than three silvers.”

“Ah, but I am not giving her owner the chance to bargain, am I?” Ga’briyel said with a smile. “Perhaps the extra will soften the pain of his loss. And you have earned the others.”

“Well, I for one would like to see that fool-born idiot in as much pain as possible. He was the first to follow Kardag, you know.”

“That does not surprise me at all,” Ga’briyel said, holding out his hand.

Hearda grasped his forearm with a nod. “Good travels, Captain. Perhaps we will see you here again someday.”

“Perhaps.”

The innkeeper nodded once to each of the others and then left the stable, clinking the coins in his hand.

Sophyra stepped up to Taraka and gently stroked her nose. The horse nickered softly. “She is mine?”

“She is,” Ga’briyel said as he untied her satchel and placed her clothing in the saddlebags. Then he held the stirrup steady and said, “Left foot in the stirrup, hold the pommel and the cantle, and then stand up and swing your right leg over her back.”

“I do not know, Ga’briyel.”

“You can do this, Sophyra,” he said gently. “Do not worry; I would never let you fall.”

She took a deep breath, nodded, and followed his instructions. To her surprise, seconds later she was seated in the saddle, and Ga’briyel handed her the reins with a smile. Then he adjusted her stirrups to the proper length.

“See? Nothing to it.”

“Until she moves,” Sophyra said, a slight tremor in her voice.

Ga’briyel swung up onto Kumar and guided him close to Taraka, partially to see how the mare reacted and partially to calm Sophyra. The mare simply looked at the stallion and took a small step sideways. Sophyra gasped and clung to the pommel.

“You have to relax, Sophyra. Horses can tell if their riders are nervous, and it makes them nervous. I will stay close to you until you feel more comfortable in the saddle, but you must relax.”

“I will try, but I am afraid.”

“Do not be, my heart. I will never let anything happen to you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She nodded, and he looked toward his men. Dinton and Tero were both mounted, and Ga’briyel said, “Let us get out of here.”

“Yes, sir,” they both said emphatically.

“No arguments here,” Dinton said under his breath, and Ga’briyel chuckled.

As they exited the stable, Ga’briyel frowned when he saw villagers lining both sides of the road. He reached down and loosened his sword in its scabbard, and he knew his men were doing the same. He relaxed when an elderly lady in blue stepped up to Kumar, a small bouquet of wildflowers in her hand.

She smiled up at him timidly and said, “For you, Captain. Thank you for everything you did for us. Please do not judge the rest of us based on fools like Omusa. We are truly grateful.”

Ga’briyel leaned down and took the flowers before smiling down at her. “Thank you. I wish you all luck in your future.”

“Good travels to you,” she replied before stepping back from the road.

As they passed through the village, several people bowed to him, their eyes clearly conveying their gratitude, and Ga’briyel felt much better than he had after watching the temple crumble. He acknowledged their recognition, and soon they were through the village and back in the grasslands.