As the army hurried to ready defenses, Judas helped where he could, often enlisting the help of the Hand and the Heart. He never pulled the Mind away from the Krey; to do so would likely cause a bloodbath at the slightest provocation. Judas and the two battlemages used their magic to fortify the hastily constructed walls. Often, in the quarry, Judas would blast rock, saving time and effort for the scabs and the men-at-arms pouring in through portals every day. Levitating heavy objects eased the conscript’s burden; each load required fastening winches in place, a lengthy process. With magic, he chopped down trees or helped with repairs, or in this case, building roads through the town, turning muddy wagon-rutted trails into proper roads. Though he tried to keep his distance from the Krey, he helped with their half-crazed scheme courtesy of Xenomene, blasting huge holes into the ground, making a pit lined with spears. Once finished, large sheets of thin wood covered the openings. The Krey then put a meager layer of earth over the wood, concealing the pits.
Judas worked diligently for three weeks, his mind focusing on the task of hurrying defenses. He toured most of the camp every day, making different rounds, conducting spot inspections. Twice a week, he met with leaders of working parties for progress reports on repairs and plans on future endeavors. Alone in his tent, a stray thought crossed his mind, an obvious detail he missed. He hadn’t seen Kayis since he arrived. Wherever he was, Judas was certain that he was up to no good. The warlock stormed into Kernoyl Korlin’s tent without waiting to be announced.
“Where is Kayis Dathyr?”
The kernoyl looked over his shoulder but continued to pour his coffee. “He is busy at the moment, warlock, why do you require him?”
“Busy doing what?”
“An important task, I assure you,” the kernoyl said. He seated himself and took a sip of his hot liquid.
“I will be the judge of that. Where is he?”
“Again, I ask, why is it so important? I have vouched for him, is that not good enough?”
“No,” Judas bluntly acknowledged. He stepped closer, his eyes blazing. “Where?”
Whether it was the look in his eyes or the kernoyl was tired of toying with him, Judas didn’t know. “Kayis is in the stables.”
Judas bolted from the pavilion and descended upon the stables like a storming gale. The smell of hay, horses, and manure assaulted his nostrils as he marched through, checking each nook and cranny. Judas finally found Kayis half way down the stalls, a manure shovel in his hands. He stopped and turned as Judas approached.
“I was beginning to think you forgot about me. Come to gloat?” A sackcloth stained with food, grain and feces replaced Kayis’ once resplendent robes. His immaculately trimmed facial hair transformed into a burly bush of twisted knots and fleas; his hair, disheveled and matted, shined with coated oil and dirt. Even as he spoke, Judas could see his yellow-stained teeth.
“What happened, Kayis?” Judas asked aghast. Empathy filled his voice.
“You should know, you put me here!” Kayis barked harshly.
“What are you talking about?”
“The kernoyl, he said it was your order to put me here. If you don’t mind, I have work to do, master!” he sneered.
“I just found out today, and I assure you that I didn’t place you here.” A scent reached Judas’s nostrils. “When is the last time you bathed?”
“That was also a civility you denied me, you and your kernoyl!” Judas’s eyes blazed with anger but towards Kayis. “By your leave, my lord,” he said, trying to pass Judas, but the warlock didn’t budge.
“Come with me,” he commanded. Kayis’ eyes locked with his former mentor’s, and he knew not to argue. Meekly, he followed Judas as they made their way across the camp.
The guards staged at the kernoyl’s tent announced his imminent arrival, but by the time Judas got there, the canvas was gone. Gathering his magic, Judas blew the pavilion away, the cloth somersaulting through the air, leaving the kernoyl sitting at his desk without his canvas. Judas leaned down and placed his arms on the desk.
“Is this your doing?” Judas roared. The kernoyl’s head jerked around, noting where his tent landed before snapping back around to Judas, his eyes wide with surprise, but he quickly schooled himself.
“You are out of line, warlock!”
“Is this your doing?” Judas repeated, louder. Kaptyn Dillon came running up, stood glancing between the two. When the senior officer said nothing, Judas straightened. “I hereby relieve you of command.”
The kernoyl scoffed. “You can’t do that; you don’t have the authority!”
“Watch me.” Judas turned to the kaptyn. “You are at this moment promoted to the duties and responsibilities of your senior officer. Do you think you can handle that?”
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
The kaptyn clicked his heels. “With ease, sire.”
“Wait just a fucking minute—”
Judas held up a finger to shut him up. “You do realize that I am friends with the consul?”
Kernoyl Korlin’s face went white. “You wouldn’t dare play that card with me, you treacherous bastard,” he grunted.
“I think it’s time you’ve had a chat with her.” Judas gripped Korlin’s shoulder, and they disappeared. A few heartbeats later, Judas reappeared minus the officer. The warlock glanced at Kayis then to the kaptyn. “Clean him up. Give him a bath, food, rest, clothing, and quarters fitting of his stature.”
“At once, sire,” the kaptyn bowed. Judas turned and strolled off, but he wasn’t too far away to hear Kayis’ faint ‘thank you.’
----------------------------------------
Chapter 70
Xenomene eyed the Krey as they ate their supper, noting their physical attributes, tall, short, fat, bald, skinny, scarred. She measured herself against Mauler, the only other female Krey in the squad. Where Xeno was porcelain white, Mauler was dark skinned with tattoos across her body, like a tiger. Mauler was ferocious, a descendant of the Toshii, a warring tribe from Groyntahl. Xenomene and Mauler had their share of turbulent times when pitted against each other in the Pit. Mauler drew first blood, but Xeno nearly ended her life. Absentmindedly, her fingers went to the faint scar that traced from the right corner of her mouth to mid cheek.
Bitch! Xeno thought, you fucked up my face.
But Mauler didn’t leave the match unscathed. When Xeno touched her face and saw the blood, she drove her sword through Mauler’s shoulder blades, the end coming out of her chest at her right breast. Mauler would have died without fast acting A’uri healers. Xeno chose stitches instead of magic, a reminder of how close she’d come to losing her life and never to underestimate her opponent again. The Heir never underestimated either of them again, forbidding any further fights in the Pit or otherwise.
Xeno’s eyes wandered the Krey until she found the Mind. He was pleasant to look at, high cheek bones with tanned skin. His pale gray eyes and military cut brown hair articulated his comely looks, especially when he smiled. He was fairly tall, too, but then again, everyone to Xenomene was tall. His height played a mark against him and did not factor in when Xenomene considered potential mates. Disregarding a man on height alone seemed trivial, self-centered, and depthless.
He had decent shoulders and tapered down to a narrow waist. The Mind lacked the typical Krey build, molded from manual labor, fighting, or constant conditioning. He was gangly and thin. In a fist fight, he would have reach, but she’d break him in half. The Mind was talking to another A’uri, the Heart—the only female A’uri with them. She was beautiful in a way that Xenomene never would be. In comparison, Xenomene felt plain next to the blond with bright eyes, a wide, white smile, ample bosom, and a unmarred face. Whenever she heard her merry laugh roll across the distance that separated them, Xeno rolled her eyes.
Bitcher’s complaints snagged her attention, her eyes flickering to him. Bitcher came closer to Xenomene’s preference, despite his namesake and all that accompanied it. Attractive with pale gray eyes, blond-white hair, and tanned skin, the latter fading due to his time in the mountains. His personality turned her off, at least the bravado he showed everyone in public, and she idly wondered if he was the same without such confines. Rumors circulated about Bitcher and others like him, the Forgotten Islanders. While listening to his moaning, Xeno stood and moved to scrap the remains of her plate in the waste bucket.
“… so I told that fuck, I say, ‘you try that on me boy, and I will stick that shovel up your ass and have your friend fuck you with it!’” Bitcher laughed, the boys joined in.
“So, what do you think of the men-at-arms?” Keg asked Bitcher.
“They’re like a bunch of cackling hens, women in dresses waiting to get fucked!” Bitcher chortled.
Xenomene finished scraping her plate clean, sticking the spoon in her mouth as she poured water from the skin over her plate, cleaning it.
“No, but really, what do you think of their prowess in battle?” Drumstick goaded.
“What fucking prowess? They’re like children with sticks, swing, swing, you can’t hurt me, I’m an Aegis mage!” That elicited more laughter from the boys, some of them tearing up from laughing so hard. The japes, to Xeno, lacked the dry, dark, and sarcastic sense of humor that catered to her tastes. Then again, she wasn’t drunk. Xenomene poured water from her waterskin over her spoon and scrubbed it clean.
“Oi! Check this out!” Two-Tons stood and bent, his ass near the fire, letting out a blast of air; the flames burst into the air. That brought on more laughter.
“That’s what I think of them Army boys! Fucking shit in my breeches,” Bitcher roared, pointing at Two-Tons.
With her shirt, Xeno wiped her spoon dry before turning away from the table, wading through the Krey.
“Those little cunts, I tell you, they’re worse than a prostitute with no teeth who forgot to bathe for a month! They can’t hold a sword to save their lives. I tell ’em it’s like a woman holding their cock; you never want her to let go!” Bitcher chuckled with merriment. “They’re like a little girl with a dress with those swords.”
“I bet you some of those girls can best you, Bitcher!” Tiny laughed.
“Not bloody likely. Those bitches ain’t got shit on me. They’re women in armor, and I haven’t ever met a woman who could put me down on the ground. You find a female who can put me down, and I will eat shit for a day.”
Xenomene, passing Bitcher, pivoted suddenly, her boot smashing into his chest, knocking him from the log to his back.
“Fuck me, that hurt. What the fuck are you going on about, Xeno?” Bitcher complained as he massaged his chest.
Xeno tossed her spoon, the silver utensil landing on his chest. Picking it up, a puzzled expression clouded his features. “What the fuck’s this, love?”
“You just found a female who put you down. You said you would eat shit if you found one. I just cleaned my spoon so you could eat my ass, but instead, I’ll let you feast from Two-Tons cheeks.” Xeno kicked him in the ribs, more insult than injury, but a grunt escaped him anyway. The other boys started hooting and howling with laughter, throwing sand on Bitcher and punching him while he was down. Even Mauler, who sat alone and never laughed, smiled at Xeno’s jape.
Xeno left the ruckus of the campfire far behind and worked her way to her tent. She spied the Mind watching her, a small smile on his face.
In the privacy of her tent, she stripped naked and crawled beneath her covers. It would be hours yet before the rest went to sleep and she would wake many times through the night with their drunken merriment. Rolling to her side, she pulled the covers up higher, covering exposed skin before falling asleep.