He sat down on a small blanket when offered the spot. She sat beside him, curling her tail until the tip rested on her front feet. Word had spread. In no time, Eiren counted twenty older warriors gathered around them. A few looked at her, took her measure, and promptly ignored her.
Bran sat across from them, the obvious spokesperson of the camp. “I remember you telling me you had to return to a village on the other side of Gharra.”
“I did,” Skye said, skirting the truth. “However, an incident occurred in Gharra, and I heard a rumor that a member of my family had been taken to Gharra’s stronghold, the castle. I won’t go into the details right now—there will be time later, but I was able to rescue Lara from the Malirrans. We escaped right from under their noses. A battlemate found me while I searched for Lara, and he decided to stay behind and gather what few Pyranni warriors he could find. Four days ago, the Malirrans invaded Kureto.”
Eiren’s ears swiveled as those around her spoke to each other in hushed tones. Skye lifted a hand to quiet the crowd. “Wait, there is more. The Malirrans invaded Kureto, but the Kurites drove them out of their lands. They are already back in Pyran. From what I’ve learned, only a third of the Malirran army made it out alive, and no one knows how many were injured.”
“How do you know all this?” a man called out. “We’ve been holed up in this desert for some time. I think that if Kureto knew about us, we’d already be dead.”
Skye bowed his head for a long moment. In a clear voice, he said, “They know exactly where you are. In fact, every trapdoor within a day’s march of your camp is under guard. The Kurites have full knowledge of what has happened in Pyran and understand your plight. As long as you do not endanger their people, they will not send you back to Pyran.”
“And I say again, young Pyranni, how do you know all this?” asked the warrior, pointing a small dagger at Skye.
Eiren locked onto him, worried he might throw the weapon at Skye.
Skye shook his head, nodded, then shook his head again. With a sigh, he said, “I fought in the battle myself. I know what happened because I was there. The Malirrans called a full retreat. They knew nothing of what to expect from Kureto except from rumors we’ve spread over generations of war with them. They are an honorable people. Pakas are not the beasts you think they are. At one time, Pakas lived amongst us in Pyran. They were our countrymen until we pushed them out. Out of fear, we pushed our own citizens out of Pyran. Pakas are honorable, intelligent, and have customs of their own. Unlike what we learned growing up, they are not the puppets of those who perform dark magic. They worship the God and Goddess, the same God and Goddess we do. The Kurites and the Pakas fought and defeated an invasive army—the same army that ripped through Pyran.”
Silence met his statement, and instead of fear, Eiren saw confusion and a small amount of hope. The hope she saw had nothing to do with pakas, but rather the Pyrannis now knew the Malirrans could be defeated. They had seen the atrocities the invaders had committed. Their brutality made them altogether far stronger and more powerful in their minds, seemingly impossible to defeat. Now, these people had hope. If the Kurites could send the Malirrans running, Pyran also had a chance.
“You fought with Kureto?”
“How did you learn all this?”
“Why should we believe you?”
Question after question rose until they merged together. Until the last question, “Why do you speak of them now?” That question brought a halt to all the others, and everyone looked at Skye for an answer.
“It is simple, really. I plan to kill the Malirran king, but I cannot do it without the help of the Pakas and the human Kurites. What is more, you cannot defeat the Malirran army and take back your city without their knowledge and help. We need them. I asked the Kurite war council for a chance to put my plan to work, and Kurite warriors volunteered to help.” Skye turned his head to catch the eyes of every man around him. “Kureto volunteered to help their centuries-old enemy.”
Some of the men sat back, staring at Skye like he spoke in another language. Bran argued, “They have an ulterior agenda, young warrior. When the Malirrans are defeated, they will take control of our kingdom. We are at our weakest; we could not defend against another attack so soon.”
Skye’s barked out a laugh, and Eiren shook her head at the man’s folly. Getting to her feet with slow, cautious moves, she walked over to the leader. Several Pyrannis unsheathed their knives, and Skye ground out through clenched teeth, “She will not hurt any of you. If a single weapon draws blood, I will leave before I share my plan to take back Gharra. Eiren, what are you doing?”
“Eiren?” a scarred warrior asked, confusion written across his face.
She nodded her head at him, making him jerk back. She kept her movements slow, almost a crawl, really. She lifted her right foot and placed it above the hand holding a knife to her neck. With steady pressure, she pushed his hand down, careful not to leave a scratch. Skye, she said, warn them I am going to give my respect to them.
“The paka’s name is Eiren. Eiren wants to show her respect for what you have survived against the Malirrans. She will not harm you,” he said again, his tone a grave warning for those who didn’t heed his words.
She took a step back and gave the men in front of her a regal bow. When she rose, she watched the Pyrannis around her. Unlike before, no one spoke a word, too startled at what had just transpired. The man whose hand she had lowered stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. Disbelief warred with alarm. Confusion swam with new knowledge. Revulsion clashed with curiosity. Eiren had a passing thought that she wished she had Lara’s ability to sense emotions.
It would take more than this simple act to change the beliefs held after centuries of conditioning, but Eiren was pleased with her first step. With careful steps, she turned around and rejoined her bondmate, rubbing her head against his shoulder. Skye grinned and hugged her with his left arm, scratching her behind her ear.
Skye explained, “Your concern is exactly what the Kurites argued. They have no desire to rule Pyran, especially a people that despise them so much. What they truly desire is peace. I sat outside their war room as they debated what to do about the Malirrans. They want the enemy off the continent but not at the expense of their own warriors. They had already lost too many good men and women in the last two battles they fought. They refused to send more into Pyran. Until I offered a strategic plan, the Kurite leaders had opted to stay on this side of the border.”
Bran frowned. “That doesn’t keep them from taking control of Gharra.”
“No, but what I tell you next will. Only twenty Kurites came with me, Eiren, Lara, and Chion. There aren’t enough Kurites with us to take over a village, much less a city the size of Gharra. My small group will infiltrate the castle in order to kill the king. We think we have the best chance of slaying him and his commanders. The plan isn’t exclusively for Kurites; others can join us as long as we keep the number to a minimum. The Malirran king embodies the definition of evil. He must die. He is a flesh eater, as many of you already know. From what we have put together, he gains power from his Goddess by sacrificing and eating the flesh of the person, whether it be man or woman.”
Several men shuddered at the thought. Skye continued, looking around the small gathering. “The Kurites know a way into Gharra without having to go through the gates. My Pyranni battlemate, the one gathering warriors and stashing weapons, waits for word to attack the city. Bran, you once spoke of the dishonor of deserting the army during the battle. If you had the chance, would you honor your family’s name by rejoining and ending the war?”
Eiren shifted her gaze back and forth, seeing numerous guilty faces and despair flashing in their eyes.
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“You did not come here to bring us news, did you?” a barrel-chested man asked.
“No,” Skye agreed, shaking his head, “I came for your help. Gharra needs its warriors back. To reclaim what was once yours, you must return home. With the Kurites as our guide, we can reclaim our home against the invaders.”
“You mention two other names. Where are they?”
Skye nudged her on the shoulder. In a low voice, he said, “Call them in, Eiren.” When she nodded, her bondmate pointed at Bran. “I have a woman and a white paka ready to enter the camp. Will you provide an escort for them?”
Lara? Chion? We need your presence in the camp. Skye is trying to find someone to escort you in.
We will move closer. We are close to the kotis; Solara finds them fascinating, Chion said, his dry amusement thrumming through the bond.
One of the men scrambled to his feet, yelling, “A woman! I will not fight alongside a woman.” He spat on the ground.
We have a situation here, Eiren warned. Do not approach yet.
Aye, Aye, Captain, Lara said, before whispering, Be careful, Eiren.
Eiren snarled and stalked forward, her teeth bared, her ears flat against the top of her head.
Skye took his time standing. Crossing his arms, he said, “Eiren, he knows no better.” Flicking his gaze at the man who had spoken, he growled, “I have three battlemates, Pyranni. My closest battlemate stands before you. The other two are on their way to us. The paka is at least twice the size as Eiren here. Lara, the woman, is a fierce fighter, and I trust her more than I would ever trust you.”
Bran grabbed the tunic of the man beside him. “Bini, escort the two Kurites in.” Giving her a cautious look, he asked Skye, “Where are they?”
“Eiren?” Skye asked.
They are located on the other side of the kotis, My Lord.
Skye pointed in the direction of the herd of kotis. “Chion and Lara will approach near the kotis. When they see Bini, they will make themselves known.”
You’ll see a man wearing a worn green shirt. His hair is braided, and he carries an axe. Bini will escort you in.
Got it, Lara answered.
The man still glaring at them was cuffed across the back of his head. Eiren overheard one man when he said, “Ronel, do not be foolish. The paka might be small. But look at the teeth and claws on her. Besides, the woman is not a Pyranni, who cares if she dies for our cause?” Eiren huffed.
As they waited, the Pyrannis split into small groups. A few pointed in their direction; others stood up to look over the camp. Eiren supposed they were determining how long it would take to pack up, though she wasn’t certain.
Eiren appreciated the short break. A man from farther back exclaimed loud enough to draw her attention. “We cannot pick up and march into Pyran at a moment’s notice. It is not so simple,” another man exclaimed. “There are more than warriors living here.”
“We know,” Skye admitted with a nod, “and I leave the choice up to you. The women and children can join us, at least until the fighting begins, or they can move across the border with a small guard to protect them. They will slow us down, but I would never ask that women and children be left vulnerable. I have more information; however, you must first make the decision to fight. We all know that some of us will not live through the battle. On the other hand, the coming battle, if fought under Dane’s command, has greater likelihood of success. There is hope.”
“We won’t be under your command? It is your battle plan.”
“No, I refuse to lead you.” Eiren watched as her bondmate grimaced. “I cannot, for I no longer consider Pyran my home. Another Pyranni should lead you; a man who you would respect and trust. Dane was once part of Talon’s Company.” Hope spread across their faces. Skye spoke louder to be heard over the excited chatter, “What I will do is provide you with the means to reclaim your home. I willingly give my life to kill the Malirran king.”
Eiren swatted him with her tail, chastising him without a word.
“Right. Eiren and I willingly give our lives to kill the Malirran king,” he said, correcting himself.
From behind them, in a deep voice, his large size scaring the men around him, Chion added, All four of us will die to protect innocent lives. It is our honor and duty to do as the God and Goddess bids.
¤ ¤ ¤
As the walls of the city of Gharra came into view, Lukar’s thoughts turned inward. In a sense, he was relieved to find his Goddess had not forsaken them. Nevertheless, he now knew Semnac was not all powerful. She had at least one weakness. As soon as the sand beneath his feet changed to soil, her demands returned with a vengeance. Semnac—blind to what had occurred on and under Kurite land—had railed at him, more determined than ever for him to return to Kureto. His hunger, along with his strength and speed, had also smashed into him, and he almost keeled over on his mount at the strength of his craving. It was the most graceless move he’d made in over a decade, and his personal guards eyed him with concern ever since.
What spell had the Kurites done to protect their lands? Was this why Semnac sought the destruction of the kingdom? Did the magic surrounding Kureto make Semnac vulnerable? Those questions repeated themselves, over and over.
The men picked up their pace, marching faster to reach the inherent safety of Gharra. Despite the weariness dragging the feet of every warrior, Lukar had ordered they march until the remnants of the Malirran army touched Pyranni ground. The Kurites had trailed behind them, sending potshots at his beleaguered army, ensuring they did not sneak back in. Only when they had crossed the border had Lukar felt his men were finally safe from attack.
Few had slept that first evening, too keyed up to lie down. Poultices had been applied to the wounded, and makeshift beds were made for them. Everyone else made do with the few supplies left with the wagons from several days before. Food had been shared, though his warriors ate in grim silence, staring into their bowls with studious desperation. Whenever Lukar had looked back toward the harsh sand, golden eyes winked back at him in the distance; an ever-present reminder that Kurite sentries were posted along the border.
Lukar had also been restless, both angry and grief stricken at losing his long-time war council. The only ones who remained had stayed behind. In Gharra, the regular army was all that was left of his once proud and fierce men. Upon reflection, Lukar believed the others had thought themselves invincible with their powers. Thus, their false confidence had left them vulnerable to attack while their powers were nonexistent.
Upon hearing of their deaths, he had massacred two men slated for sacrifice. By the time he came out of his rage, their bodies were in pieces the size of his thumb, and their blood had sprayed a wide arc around him. Unidentifiable scraps of organs laid across the ground, the cooling blood congealing on and under the chunks left behind.
In one hand, Lukar had held an axe; his right hand gripped his long dagger. He knew they had screamed—they all screamed, but white noise had deafened him to the sounds around him. Hacking the bodies, ripping them apart, left him coated with blood, his hair plastered to the side of his face. For the first time since he attacked the bodies, he licked his lips, tasting the salty blood. The two weapons dropped to the ground with a squishy thud, and he sucked the blood off his hands, cleaning them with his tongue.
The fit of rage had brought the warriors sitting nearby to form a loose circle around him. When he stood swaying from the combination of fatigue and the buzzing energy the blood had given him, the men kneeled, bowing their heads. A single whisper, “Lukar the Bloody,” had swept through the army, and the chant rose until it was shouted by everyone in the camp. Despite their decimated army, his men proved their loyalty that evening.
Now, though, they wanted—no, needed—to heal and rest, and Gharra represented their last conquest, a reminder they were still an army that deserved respect and fear. They were tired and filthy, but they had survived against an enemy that had outmatched them with ridiculous ease. Lukar knew the memory of their defeat would remain, and the men’s diligence against their enemies would rise.
Tair met him at the middle gate, his hand on the pommel of his sword. “My King,” he said with a low bow.
Aware eyes and ears were close, Lukar waved for him to mount his own beast.
“As soon as our men are inside, close and lock the gates. No one is to leave or enter Gharra. Increase patrols,” he ordered, nudging the koti toward the castle.
“Are we expecting an assault, My King?” Tair glanced over with a deep frown.
Lukar growled, “The Kurites did not leave the sands. But I will not take the chance. They were expecting us, somehow. Tair, we marched right into a trap of our own making. Our Goddess gave us no warning of what to expect, and the archives of Pyran’s late king were both inaccurate and vague.”
Tair took a moment to assess what Lukar relayed. “We are fighting an enemy we do not understand.” He gave a low whistle. “A worthy opponent, then. May I ask where the others are?”
“Dead.”
“D-Dead, My King?” Tair stuttered, his face showing his disbelief.
“I want to cut Semnac’s tongue out myself. They are all dead.” He bared his teeth in a silent snarl. “Coordinate with Gern and Winsar to increase the guards on the wall and increase patrols in the city. Keep the Pyrannis cowering while I determine the Kurite threat.” Staring at the city and its defenses, Lukar repeated, “Increase the guards on the wall. Give the order, Tair.”
“My King,” he stopped and cleared his throat, sensing Lukar’s volatile rage. “My King, is it too bold to ask what happened out there?”
The death glare Lukar gave the man had him shrinking in his seat. Tair jumped off his animal and bowed low, his head skimming the ground. “King Lukar, forgive me.”
Too enraged to listen, Lukar kicked his mount until he was cantering through the streets, leaving Tair behind. He didn’t know how he knew, but the Kurites were not done. They would not ignore his attempt to seize Kureto and subjugate them as he had the Pyrannis. His mind racing, even as his anger surged upward, Lukar acknowledged that Gharra must implement indefensible countermeasures. If his instincts were correct, they had little time. A colossal task for an already fractured army.
And yet, this time, he had full use of his powers. A wicked smirk spread across his face.