Remnants of Night

I swallowed, throat dry. “What are you and what do you want with me?”

“When you are ready, I will ask you what I am and you will tell me.” The fire being called Invyrchal scattered in a flurry of embers and appeared closer to us, its arms held out in a welcoming gesture. “Now, are you ready to see what I have to show you? I’ve taken a lot of steps to prepare. Quite exciting. Oh and Master Nalach, you must come too since you will be heavily involved, I’m sure.”

“What are you going on about?” Ianarius asked, sleep-deprivation finally having gotten to him. “Come where? Tell us who you are and how you got in here. Make it fast.”

Or else. I heard the threat even though he didn’t say it out loud. The Pelthocian was overly confident. We had no idea who or what this being was. The only thing we knew for sure was that it was very powerful.

The fire being’s arms dropped to its side, the fire burning brighter for a moment. In another flurry, he was suddenly between the pair of us. The heat pushed us away. I was getting nervous. N-not that I couldn’t handle myself. “I heard there was some concern with the happenings in Rakmorath, with the Sarkkrai?”

I looked at the mage. Maybe we could get some answers, if a certain person didn’t mess this up. “Yeah. The Pelthocians worry the Sarkkrai are preparing to wage war once more.”

“A wise concern. The Sarkkrai are bloodthirsty and nothing will ever alter that.”

“Are they? Preparing for war, I mean?”

“….maybe,” the fire being said, covering its mouth as if to mask a smile. “Why not just ask them?”

“It’s not as if they can send a diplomat. And the blasted Zarhsha can’t divine—”

“Zofeya,” Ianarius said sharply, halting my words. “You say too much.”

Invyrchal chuckled, snaking its way over to the mage to loop a flaming arm companionably over his shoulder. The heat must have been unbearable, yet the mage stoically refused to move, refused to allow the creature to make him move. “Oh come now, Ianarius Nalach, Master Mage of Osiril, what makes you think I don’t know….everything?” He appeared beside me. “You wish to know what the Sarkkrai are planning. I can show you. This will be so much fun!”

The fire that made up its body burned brighter, painfully so. I had to shield my eyes and then had to back away when the heat began to sear. There was a flash and suddenly I was no longer hot. Actually I was rather cool. Wind buffeted me and when I opened my eyes I didn’t see the room or the fire being or even Osiril, I saw clear skies darkening with the onset of dusk, distant mountains and a whole lot of empty air a mile over the green fields below.

I felt a pop at my side and a sharp sense of panic that was not my own. Energy cascaded in and as gravity took over, I saw Ianarius’ free-fall halt. His inky eyes were large as plates and even as I plummeted, I could see his chest heave. The wind chilled my back, was moving too fast to pull into my tiny lungs. The mage was getting farther and farther from me, held in place by a levitation spell. What had happened, I wondered as the air screamed past me. That fire being, had he cast a teleportation spell? On this magnitude? I hadn’t felt a thing other than the overwhelming heat. I couldn’t even react. Did a creature that powerful really and truly live in Lehiras?

Aggravating! A snub! Did that… thing… know who I was? Well, I would show him. Deep breath, I expanded my senses. Ianarius above me became clear and sharp despite the growing distance. My wings drew out and spread. The wind caught beneath them as I righted myself. In a powerful downward sweep, my plummet became a gentle drop. Once stabilized, I wasted no time in winging back up.

The mage’s breathing was calming, but he was eyeing me like he expected I was behind the sudden shift. That, or perhaps that my intent would be something other than benevolent now that he was forced to remember who and what I really was. In his state of fatigue, his mental shields were leaking emotion and it was De-li-cious. Looking at him, I couldn’t help but ponder his ability to sustain a levitation spell while trying to keep my teeth from snapping him in two. A handsome man probably tasted pretty handsome, I thought with a feisty tail flick.

Ugh! Too much time in “human” form had me thinking, unlike the villainous tyrant I was supposed to be! Handsome? Pelthocians weren’t handsome, they were petty, aggravating, fickle… they made friends with Zarhsha for cripes sake! Just because the wind whipped his robe back to outline details such as a small belted waist and lengthy strong legs in plain black pants did not mean a thing. I dropped my eyes lest they betray me and had a look at other things—such as where the heck we were.

One thing was for sure, this was not Pelthocia.

Ianarius, queued in to my bewilderment, followed my gaze. Rakmorath was an ugly place. Dry, broken and arid. Reminded me of Arizona. Kidding, kidding. There was a… settlement… to the south. I recognized the harsh lines of the lookout posts, the military placement of the buildings, the fluttering pennants atop the high wooden walls. I’d call it a village or town but these were Sarkkrai, not Pelthocian, there would be little going on there that would qualify it for either of those terms. I saw fires and slag pits but this wasn’t a defensive outpost, which put it far enough into Rakmorath that the Sarkkrai didn’t worry at all for an attack. “Looks like our diplomatic mission was chosen for us…” I looked back at the mage. “You ready?”

“I can’t help but feel this is a set-up.”

“It probably is,” I conceded. “Don’t do anything stupid, mage.”

He didn’t reply to that but he didn’t need to. His lips were twisted in a sneer. There was no love-loss between Pelthocians and Sarkkrai; to think there would ever be lasting peace was pure fantasy. Well… I would try this diplomatically, if the mage screwed it up then at least my conscious would be clean. Hopefully when the Sarkkrai skin him alive, they won’t get any on my nice boots. “Get on.” His eyes slid back to me with only a slight lessening of disgust. “Do you want to remind them that you are a mage? Don’t be an idiot.”

They looked as if they had been expecting me. There was a flurry of motion; even from my distance I could hear their shouted orders. Those not posted at the walls, moved quickly to a flat clearing and formed ranks, half on one side half on the other. Nice to see they still thought highly of me after all these years.

Ten years ago, to the Sarkkrai, I was a King. Sarkkrai only respect power and power is only given to males, therefore they addressed me as male and given a rank that to them was almost on par with their Warlord. Not to say the females are mistreated within their society. One might be predisposed to think that way since down-to-one the Sarkkrai were barbarians but that wasn’t quite right. It was more like a twisted neglect on their part. The females are shut away—away from the males and out of the way in general, but they are given whatever they need. To them, females are property owned by their mates or by their father until they are of age. They were not technically mistreated since you do not break another man’s property unless you want that man to break you in return but the females had no voice whatsoever within the clan.

“It looks like they are inviting us down.”

“This doesn’t seem wise.”

“Is Pelthocia’s MVP scared of a few Sarkkrai? Don’t worry, I will make sure the big bad destroyers don’t mistake you for lunch vittles.” I grinned toothily over my shoulder at him.

“I am not scar—what’s an MVP?”

Folding back my wings, I angled down. The closer we got, the better I could make out the expressions upon the faces of the destroyers. Note that Sarkkrai do not call their warriors “warriors”; they are called destroyers because warriors wage war whereas destroyers, well… you get the idea. As a whole, they are a large race. They grow quickly, gaining adulthood around 12 or 13, and are physically the most impressive of any two-legged being I have ever laid eyes upon. Six foot is average height for the males, many boast six-five or six-eight and nary will you find one under two hundred pounds in weight. Their skin is an odd gray-green color, varying from swamp mud to dying grass; their backs and along their shoulders the skin is a mottled darker shade. Destroyers practically live in their armor.

This was a disciplined group—more so than normal Sarkkrai standards, which were already fairly high—and put me on alert. Why would such a group be out here, acting like they were waiting for my arrival? I came down as lightly as someone my size could (ahem), my wings tossing up bits of dust that the Sarkkrai didn’t even blink at. Their dark eyes however focused on my passenger and the entire mien of the gathering turned from military discipline to barely contained mob. The destroyers did not so much as move from their positions but I could feel the collective draw of bated breath.

One of the Sarkkrai had detached himself from the rest and approached. He addressed me but his blacker-than-black eyes were on Ianarius. “My King, you grace us with your presence.” It took me a moment to process the language; it had been ten years, after all. His heavy brow was angled down in respect of me despite having no more than glanced my way. “You have brought… a Pelthocian…”

“He is an emissary of the Pelthocian King and under my protection,” I said, translating as literally as possible so that there would be no mistaking. I was not sure how reasonable it would be to revert to my lesser form. The reminder of whom they were dealing with would better serve to keep them in check. Giving a sharp flap of my wings as punctuation, I drew the Sarkkrai’s eyes. “You look as if you were waiting for me.”

“We were, my King.”

“How did you know I was coming?”

The destroyer just smiled his unpleasant smile.

I heard footsteps behind me, the crunch of heavy plated boots on the barren soil. The stride was slow, confident; I knew that stride and suddenly I was afraid to turn. Afraid? I truly was—not here, not now. I had not come back to Lehiras to see him. The jangle of chain and creak of leather preceded him; the destroyers were now at complete attention. I could feel the tension from Ianarius ratchet up tenfold.

“You have returned….” Ve’Sath said, his voice caressing me, sliding over me, making me shiver like a fingernail down my spine. I couldn’t turn, couldn’t face him. The crunch of his boots stepped beside me and I felt a gloved hand touch my side, gliding forward as he walked. Then the hand was on my wing, then my shoulder. No one but the Warlord was so comfortable with my immensity and no one but the Warlord could make me feel like the smaller being. Breathing out, I forced my energy into my second form. I shrunk down and when I opened my eyes, Ve’Sath stood over me with his lowered lids and slight smile.

I can’t help it—monsters are attracted to monsters and Ve’Sath was practically leader of them all. I can’t quite explain to you why, most humans would probably not appreciate what I saw in this Sarkkrai. First off, tusks trump fangs any day of the week. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise until you’ve had both. Sarkkrai technically do have both; their canines are more elongated than a human’s and their lower tusks jut out from their lips. Ve’Sath had been Warlord for more than a dozen years and one did not hold that position for long if one was not worthy. In a society where strength is a measure of a man, he had personally killed all his rivals, had triumphed over all competition. It wasn’t just his skills in warfare that kept him in the position; it was the frighteningly intelligent calculating mind he possessed.`

His dark eyes drank me in from head to toe, my unusual style of clothing not fazing him in the slightest. When he got to my boots, his eyes slid to the mage and though his small smile remained, the ruthless invidiousness that was commonplace froze his eyes into chunks of black ice. Ve’Sath, as I had said, was a very intelligent man; he knew exactly who Ianarius was. “My King, you’ve been keeping strange company. Have these last ten years changed you so much?”

It was a light comment but I was very familiar with how his thought patterns worked—if he spoke, it was never meant to be taken without utmost seriousness. “I…” I had to clear my thoughts, my mouth suddenly dry. “I had not expected you to be here, Warlord.”

“I am sure you did not,” he replied. “But you know these are my lands,” Ve’Sath took my hand in his giant gloved one and pulled me after him, “and what I say is law here.” His black eyes went back to Ianarius.

A signal I hadn’t picked up on went through the ranks of destroyers and they surged forward. Ve’Sath pulled me close. I could stop them—I should stop them—but instead I found myself just standing there. The warmth, the strength, of him infused me and drew me in.

Ianarius was not considered Pelthocia’s top mage for no reason—he was on defense immediately with a shield. The weapons of the Sarkkrai bounced off and he retaliated with a sweeping spell that whipped the legs out from under his attackers. He was not going to go down without a fight but even I recognized non-lethal spells. Did he really think we still had a chance at diplomacy here?

For being under overwhelming odds, the mage held his own. I was impressed and it was that odious fact that brought me back to who I really was—I am not one to swoon over muscular arms and tight leather, well, not always. “Warlord, stop this. Stop them before they kill him.”

Ve’Sath chuckled, never a good thing. “Are you not enjoying the show?”

I winced as a huge mace swept in and busted Ianarius’ barrier, knocking him back several steps and putting him right in the path of a very large mailed fist. When he went down, all I could see was them kicking and punching. “Warlord.” He wasn’t listening and I was about to handle things very un-diplomatically. “Ve’Sath!”

He sighed, gesturing for them to stop attempting to bludgeon the mage to death. The destroyers pulled Ian to his knees and taking their swords, they stabbed them into the ground around him, caging him in a ring of harsh metal. They didn’t try too hard to miss him. The Sarkkrai then backed away—why, you ask? Because someone had told them about the weaknesses of magi. Manufactured and unnatural materials block a mage’s ability to channel energy; no doubt Ianarius and his ilk prefer to not be around such. Little doubt the mage would have preferred to have been just about anywhere rather than be pinned to his knees by scorched steel.

I could see his face now and his expression was not of a man just beaten to within an inch of his life—he looked livid but maybe that was just a cover. He’d done a good job protecting his face, only sustaining a cut near his right temple. The Sarkkrai who had spoken to me earlier stepped in, something in his hand. “Open your mouth, scum. It matters little to me how—or where—this metal enters you, but enter it will.”

I thought he would bulk but the mage complied, willing to bide his time. Placing the scrap of metal on the man’s tongue, the destroyer then tied a bit of cloth around his mouth. It was a degree of smart that I hadn’t expected. These ten years had changed them but who was it that had been trading secrets? My Harbingers, perhaps? No, they worked with the Sarkkrai but they wouldn’t have run recon without my direction.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked Ve’Sath.

“You say that like you would expect otherwise,” came the silky reply. “Your protectiveness over such a weak creature disturbs me. I do not forget a face, especially one of my enemies. We have learned ways to deal with the Pelthocian magi. This is merely a formality.” The Warlord gestured. “I know who this is and were I not curious as to why I find him in my lands, I’d have skinned and de-boned his flesh before he could utter his cursed magic.”

“Ve’Sath, that is not why I’ve come here.”

“Oh?” The giant man calmly pulled at his gloves. “In that case, let us go somewhere more secluded. My destroyers will keep your… friend… company.”

“He is to join us as representative of the Pelthocian King,” I quickly said.

The small humoring smile that had turned up the corners of his mouth melted into a look all knew only too well. The Warlord did not like being told what to do. Not even at the height of my power would I have dared. I might suggest and advise but to outright say his thoughts were wrong? No, I wasn’t that crazy. This was a man who kept a pit with uncontrollable fiends in it just so he could threaten to throw those who irritate him in it. Destroyers have literally pissed themselves when facing his cold rage. Scouts have killed themselves rather than come before him, carrying bad news.

But something had him in a good mood and I wasn’t exactly sure it was just my presence. “I will indulge you in this, my King. Bring him!”

Taking three steps to his one, I walked with the Warlord and tried not to think about how they would be ‘relocating’ Ianarius. Sure I didn’t like the arrogant bastard, but he had taken a kick to the ribs just for the chance of bringing his King valuable information. Ok, more than a kick. And having been the sole catalyst to the portal spell just to save his pupil’s the risk? I hated to say my thoughts were improving where he was concerned but they were. He was still an insufferable jerk, though. “It pleases me to see you return. Rakmorath has been waiting.”

“Ve’Sath… I…” How exactly did one go about telling a homicidal maniac that you weren’t planning on sticking around?

The double doors were made of thick metal and were thrown open to allow the heat inside to escape. A blazing fire pit lay in the center of the high-ceiling room. There was a dais in which lay multiple furs, a humungous sheathed sword sat on a stand behind. The floor around the fire pit had rows such as a stadium might have, just three. The Warlord glanced back at me as he entered the room and the red light lit his armor and his black eyes with a piercing fire. Then he decided to test me. “Your son has been making quite the name for himself.”

My heart felt like it suddenly locked up on me. My son. My boots attempted to trip me. I hadn’t seen him for so long, hadn’t even given any thought of him... Did I mention I even had a child? I guess when you get to my age, you forget to mention the pleasantries. And I wouldn’t be making Mother of the Year any time soon.

I’d like to be able to say he had been a product of love, of a tryst I had had in my younger years or even a fling with someone a cold-heart like mine could have fallen for. Alas, there was no such thing in my past. Cenav was a bargaining chip, nothing more. His father was—is—the leader of the most prolific and powerful Sarkkrai clan. The Warlord was the epitome of all they prize, fierce, strong and feared. And I had struck a deal with him in order to gain the backing of all his people.

Let’s just say, you get exactly what you ask for when dealing with that type of person—human or Sarkkrai. While he was no tender lover hiding beside a tough façade, I’ve never met a being with that much physical stamina. But then, even sex was like a competition with them. I had promised him a son of both our bloods and I was his until I conceived.

After the birthing, the child was taken from me. I saw him only briefly but to be honest, I was rather pleased about that. Every so often I would hear his name mentioned and out of curiosity, would view his whereabouts from afar. Cenav… my beautiful imperfectly perfect child… He grew quickly, thanks in large part to his Sarkkrai blood. Much like his father, he was growing immense in size and stature but he was not a perfect Sarkkrai to the eye. He looked different. How long had it been? How old would he be now? Has he mastered a second form? Could he take to the skies? Would he… know of me?

Ve’Sath had brought up our child to unbalance me, I knew it and he knew I knew. “Ah, yes, he is becoming a true destroyer.” There was a great deal of pride in his voice, a swelling in his chest, which both pleased and worried me. On one hand, it was good to know Cenav was still in favor with the Warlord; those that fell out of such often times didn’t live long enough to rectify the situation. Two, it meant he was becoming like his father. He was committing cruel atrocities. Did I have the right to feel unhappy about that? “You gave me a wonderful tool, a powerful weapon. He has been training near constantly and I can see the gleam in his eye that someday soon he will challenge me.” Ve’Sath grinned, his teeth red in the fire’s glow. “When that day comes, our blood will rain like Zarhsha tears and all who watch will be bathed in the glory. My son will rule over our people; no one will be able to stand against him. I will not live forever but my seed will oversee the throne of the Sarkkrai.”

“I am glad that he is well.” I wasn’t going to fess up that his words twisted my heart and couldn’t think of anything better to say. But this was Ve’Sath I spoke to and he knew me like no one else did. His boots echoed in the dark corners of the room as he paced over toward his dais.

“You’ve changed much.” Loaded words.

“I have.” No sense in lying now. “I have traversed a new world, seen new things. I have tempered my steel.”

“And do you… enjoy… this new world?” The Warlord asked.

“I have come to see its merits.” I was suspicious of the direction of the conversation.

“You intend to return? Perhaps you have found another?”

Ah. So there it was. Even a Warlord gets jealous. “No,” I replied truthfully. The last relationship I had been in ended on fairly good terms. Meaning, I didn’t melt him into an oozing puddle when I found him making eyes at some other woman.

“Good. I will kill any who thinks he can replace me.”

Normally such a statement might make a lady feel loved, wanted or cherished but when Ve’Sath said it, in such an emotionless flat tone, it reminded me that this man is not one who made empty threats. Actually, he rarely made threats at all. He didn’t have to. You either did what he said, or he would disembowel you and choke you with your own entrails. I’ve seen him do that before. “And what about what I want?”

He eyed me silently for a moment. “What you want isn’t as important.”

Even I, knowing this man and knowing his people for as long as I did, was taken back by that. “What? Not important? You forget, I was considered a god amongst your own people.”

“I didn’t forget. And if I have you, what do you think that makes me?” The Warlord strode to me, close enough to where I could feel his presence physically, smell the leather of his glove as he raised his hand to take hold of my chin. He tilted my head back to look up at him; the self-satisfied look on his face did not quite mask that manic dangerous light that always hovered just behind those black black eyes…

There was a jangle of metal and a shuffling of feet that demanded our attention. The Sarkkrai had thought up a way of moving the Pelthocian mage. Ianarius looked positively nauseated amidst what looked to be forty pounds of thick half-rusted Rakmorath steel chain. When I looked back at Ve’Sath, he had returned to his place on the dais. The destroyers hustled the mage forward and kicked him back down onto his knees before the fire pit.

Fire pit…

The moment I made the connection, the fire blazed. The flames roared up to the ceiling, chasing away all the shadows. None of the Sarkkrai so much as flinched. “Ah! I am glad to see you both made the journey!” Came the all-too-pleased voice of Invyrchal.

“Yes, well it’s a little difficult to change one’s mind when one finds themselves suddenly a mile over land…”

The fire being chuckled. “That’s what spells are for, silly girl.”

Silly girl? Honestly, my patience was running out. “Was it you who told the Sarkkrai how to deal with mages, should they ever manage to catch one?”

“The aversion to unnatural metals? I suppose you could say I might have let that slip. After all, you never know when a mage might just… fall from the sky.” He—I was beginning to think it was male—tucked his arms behind his back. There was a rustle of chain; through the link between us, I could feel the sharp stab of anger from Ianarius. “Couldn’t have you mucking up my plans, my boy. No hard feelings. Now then, in exchange for your presence here, I will answer your one question—the question posed by the Pelthocian King. The Sarkkrai are not plotting war. Yet. The reason no divination can breech Rakmorath is, as you are now beginning to see, all due to my interference.”

“What? Why?”

“Because the not-knowing would eventually drive the Pelthocians into bringing you back. They are so predictable. I fortified the Sarkkrai defenses and the Pelthocians fell right in line.”

“Say I believe you, why would you need me to be brought back to Lehiras?” My gaze flickered to Ve’Sath, who watched me like a giant predator with unblinking hooded eyes. “I am not… that person any more. I have changed.”

“I know,” the Invyrchal replied. “But absence makes the heart grow fonder. I wanted you to get it into your head how much you would miss that other world. That, Earth.”

“I was brought here to be reminded of that? I didn’t need to leave to know how much it means to me.”

“Oh I believe you did.” The fire being dropped his arms to his sides. “That way, when I threaten to destroy what you’ve come to cherish, you will have no choice but to do as I say.”