A horde of faceless children shuffled toward Jaska. He tried to back away, but Grandmaster Salahn loomed behind him and whispered into his ear: “Kill many, Jaska, so that we may bathe in style tonight.” Jaska tried to resist, but his arms moved of their own accord and drew his weapons. Then, even with his eyes closed, he conducted his grisly task.

Hours later, he was in a shallow, marble-tiled pool filled with blood. As he slid between Mardha and Salahn, gasping in orgasm, Zyrella suddenly appeared, chained to a column rising from the middle of the pool.

Mardha left Jaska’s embrace and took a scourge from the poolside. She began to whip Zyrella, who with each strike looked increasingly like Mardha, as if mirroring her. Jaska struggled against his master’s compulsion but could not move to help her. Bloodied and sagging, Zyrella begged for her life.

Laughing, they showed her no mercy.

Zyrella looked into Jaska’s eyes and whispered, “In the name of the White Tigress, help me. I need you.”

Pure energy surged from deep within Jaska and shredded Salahn’s power over him. Jaska leapt to his feet, grabbed Mardha by the hair, and slung her into Salahn.

Arms stretched out, he shielded Zyrella from them. “I will never again serve you, and I will not let you harm her!”

* * *

Jaska screamed something indecipherable, and his convulsions ceased. His countenance became peaceful, his breathing slowed, and his limbs rested without the slightest twitch. Yet tangible waves of power emanated from him and slid across Ohzikar and Zyrella like a delicate breeze. Then Jaska's qavra blazed to life and eyes like molten gold opened.

Zyrella stumbled back and Ohzikar drew his tulwar.

Jaska glared at them. "Why are you still here?"

"Because," Zyrella answered, "you're our only hope against Salahn."

Jaska donned his uniform. “You should have fled.”

Ignoring him, Zyrella said, "A moment ago I detected energies stirring within the qavra you're wearing."

"Yes. I bonded with it, only I did so through intention alone.”

“I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Neither did I. I simply envisioned myself performing the rites, and the ritual worked, even though I didn't physically do anything."

Jaska walked to the mouth of the cave and peered out. "They are near and will find us soon. Ohzikar, take Zyrella and move up the escape route you have planned. Choose the best vantage and use your bow against them."

"I won't be able to see any of them, even if Zyrella gives me darksight. They’ll be too far away."

"Trust me, you’ll see them."

"You're not strong enough to fight," Zyrella said.

"We have no choice."

"What are you going to do while we escape?" Ohzikar asked.

"What I must. On my signal, circle to the front of the canyon and capture their horses. At most they'll leave one guard with them. I'll rejoin you as soon as I can."

Ohzikar led Zyrella along the ledge and up a narrow, winding path leading out of the canyon. The last stretch required climbing but handholds were plentiful.

* * *

With his darksight activated, Jaska watched his former brethren sneaking toward the cave. He folded his hands together as if in prayer and chanted the spell he needed, one he had never thought he'd use.

At first he was nervous, his voice faltering in pitch, but he quelled his fears by thinking of how his mentor had betrayed him.

* * *

Eleven palymfar crept forward, pursuing the witch the Grandmaster had ordered destroyed. Though brave and deadly, the palymfar feared her. After all, she had apparently defeated Master Bavadi.

Firelight poured from the cave they had scryed from the Shadowland earlier, though only from without since wards had barred them from peering inside. Why the enemy sheltered here, the palymfar didn't know. They guessed they were waiting on something or perhaps nursing a fallen comrade. Rakas, the palymfar leader, feared another possibility, that the two held Jaska within and planned to use him as a bargaining piece.

The firelight ceased and Rakas's qavra released all its active magics, including his darksight. Only the dim light of charcoal Zhura high above illuminated the canyon now. He uttered a spell to restore his qavra's functions. Nothing happened. Glancing around, he quickly realized it was the same for the others.

"Retreat," Rakas whispered.

Power again stirred within his qavra. He paused, hoping his abilities would return. But something unthinkable occurred. Every qavra blazed to life, emanating violet light and humming loudly.

An arrow skewered the palymfar beside Rakas. The twang of another bowstring panicked his comrades and they fled. Rakas ripped the glowing qavra from his neck and tossed it over the ledge, sacrilege though it might be.

* * *

As he sprinted along the path down into the canyon, Jaska whistled to signal Ohzikar. Then he turned and dropped over the side. He fell twenty feet, caught a ledge with his foot, propelled himself along the wall to a lower ledge, and bounded downward again. Three more times he did this, alighting for a brief moment with only a single foot. Finally, he launched himself away from the canyon wall and struck the sandy bottom shoulder-first, rolling forward onto his feet.

He ran ahead and caught up to one of the fleeing palymfar who had abandoned his qavra. The assassin heard Jaska's approach only at the last moment. As soon as he spun around, cold steel bit deep into his neck.

* * *

The lone palymfar guarding the horses saw the eerie violet lights deep within the canyon and heard the faint hum of arrows. The horses stirred and snorted. He tensed and held to the reins, patted necks and spoke soothing words. Then came the sound of men screaming. The horses nearly bolted, but he calmed them with a spell. This worked for only a few seconds, until his qavra stopped responding. His darksight dimmed. Then his qavra glowed with violet light. He drew his saber and waited as he heard men fight and die in the canyon beyond. He thought to flee but feared the repercussions.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Something whispered across the ground toward him.

A dark shape appeared, blood-splattered and fearsome.

"M-Master Bavadi?"

A throwing spike pierced deep into his eye socket, and he died before Jaska's saber sliced into his heart for good measure.

When Zyrella and Ohzikar arrived a few minutes later, Jaska was crouched beside the body, staring through the Shadowland into the canyon, making sure he hadn’t missed any of the palymfar. Both cringed when they looked at him.

“The way is clear,” Jaska said. “They’re all dead. You can ride up and get the rest of your supplies now.”

Ohzikar left immediately.

"What did you do to their qavra?" Zyrella asked.

"To combat any betrayals, Salahn hid a spell within all the qavra that can stop active magics and cause the qavra to glow and hum. Only Salahn, Mardha, and I and know about it."

“I didn’t detect it when I scanned the qavra.”

“Only Salahn can see the spell or get rid of it. My original is probably vulnerable as well." Jaska wondered just how many protections Salahn had built up against him. “And I’m sure it probably has additional measures, just in case.”

* * *

As they reached Alkrahar Road, riding at a slow canter, Ohzikar said, "Surely we aren't going to attack the enemy head-on?"

"No," Zyrella said. "Salahn has grown too powerful for that."

Jaska made no reply and seemed not to have heard them.

"Jaska," Zyrella said, waking him from whatever ill reverie possessed him. "Could you have defeated Salahn a month ago?"

"With surprise, a good plan, and a lot of luck, maybe. But not now."

"And there are hundreds of palymfar to contend with," Ohzikar said.

Eyes narrowed, Jaska replied: "Five hundred and twenty, with nearly a hundred always near Salahn. And he has thousands of Karphon's troops as well. Soon many of those will probably be sent after us. Be assured that the Grandmaster will find us."

"So what do we do now?" Zyrella asked.

"I must go to the Farseer of Vaalshimar because the White Tigress said she could help me."

Ohzikar said, "The Farseer exists?"

"So your goddess claims."

"How will we get there, then?" Zyrella asked. The island of Vaalshimar lay at the mouth of the Gulf of Hareez.

Jaska reined in his horse and searched the horizon as if the answer lay ahead. "We can't risk Kabulsek, that much is certain."

"We could get ship passage from within Epros," Ohzikar said. "Put the mountains between us and the enemy."

Zyrella pulled her hair back and bound it. "His power to scry would fade beyond the mountains, while my powers will strengthen as we near what few allies we have."

"The only other option," Ohzikar said, "is to head due south and get passage from Eskiphaal or one of the smaller ports on the Gulf of Hareez. That would be faster but more dangerous."

Jaska wanted to rush ahead but logic compelled him otherwise. "We won't gain enough speed to make crossing any part of Hareez worth our effort. I think we have a better chance of avoiding capture if we cross the Wedawed Mountains, enter Epros, and go to the city of Hectyra. We can easily set sail from there.”

* * *

Guests lined the walls of the great durbar of the Hmyr in Kabulsek. The scents of smoldering opiates, roasted meats, jasmine perfumes, and sweating bodies spread through the hall like a surge of drunken revelers. Silk fabrics imported from the East shimmered beneath hanging lanterns. Drums thundered with wild, vibrant beats that punctuated the spirited music of driving balalaikas, mandolins, trilling flutes, and wordless vocals.

A dozen ornately dressed guards stood beside each entrance. Two dozen protected the dais. Dancers whirled between marble columns, their bare feet pattering against the mosaic-tiled floor. Crimson and gold ribbons threaded around their supple, naked bodies. The ribbons fluttered and snaked as the dancers swirled and twisted.

Hmyr Karphon watched without interest, his grey eyes unfocused as he slouched, bearing a resigned expression. He was in his middle years and grey had begun to speckle his tapered beard and long, unbound hair. Karphon would rather be training with his army, in the baths relaxing, or in his apartment sipping wine and reading. He hadn't even attended his harem in two years. When he wanted such pleasures, those given him by Nalsyrra, his bodyguard and astrologer, far exceeded all others.

Nalsyrra stood nearby, with her wild, yellow eyes glinting as she scanned the crowd. She was thin and tall, taller than most men. Permanent black ink stained her entire body, and intricate silver diagrams of linked circles and triangles decorated her chest, back, and legs. A long braid of ebony hair fell down her back. A strip of leather coiled around her torso, barely covering her small breasts. A belt clung to her hips and from it an immodest thong of leather stretched between her legs.

A charcoal burnoose hung from her shoulders. She seemed only a shadow, except for her vibrant eyes, the tattoos, and the triangular, alizarin qavra embedded on her forehead. The orange-red stone was without doubt one of the finest qavra in existence, and how she had embedded it there was a mystery even to Salahn, who seemingly knew as much about sorcerous matters as any man alive. Nalsyrra wouldn't let them study it, and they wouldn't dare cross her. She had all the skills of a palymfar and commanded strange sorceries unknown in Hareez. She didn’t fear Salahn, and Salahn apparently didn’t think confronting her was worth the effort or risk involved.

"Nalsyrra, my love."

She faced him and knelt on one knee. "My lord?"

Though he asked often, Karphon didn't know why she served him. He believed she loved him, though she never said so. He made no demands on her, only requests that she could fulfill if she wished. Everything he possessed he owed to her devoted service. She had rescued him from certain death when he was a defeated mercenary captain. With her help, his talent as a military tactician had blossomed. Over the next few years, he had amassed a force of his own and took over village after village then smaller city-states and at last conquered all Hareez, with assistance from the palymfar.

"Tell me again, Nalsyrra, why do you serve me?"

She spoke in her strangely accented, sibilant voice. "The Star Spirits said I should, my lord. It is my destiny."

"Entertainments such as this do not satisfy me anymore. Only you. Day by day, my need for you grows. I cannot clear my mind of your presence."

"I am only your humble servant, my lord."

"You are more than that. Far more. You are an…"

"Ojaka'ari," she whispered with reverence.

"Yes, but will you at last tell me what that means?"

"I can say only this of my past, my lord, that I hail from the faraway Mountains of the Stars bordering the Yundragos Plain."

The same answer as usual. Every few years, she would give some new detail about herself. Sadly, this wasn’t such a time. Karphon took heart, though, that she belonged to him alone. He trusted no one except her, and she guarded him well against betrayal.

Unannounced, Mardha entered the grand durbar and strolled down the center toward the Hmyr. The dancers reeled in confusion as she pierced their circle with her guards brushing them aside. Such entrances were intended to prove that her father wielded more power than Karphon. But that didn't rattle him. In fact, Karphon liked her entrance better than Bavadi's. The Slayer would suddenly appear at the dais, sending Karphon's guards into fits and causing his security officers to rework their plans. Nalsyrra, of course, was never surprised by him. Catching her off guard was impossible.

Bavadi disturbed Karphon. The man had strange manners and an unwholesome gleam to his eyes, even for a killer such as him. When he mentioned this once to Nalsyrra she replied cryptically, "He is a demon of light lost within a great shadow." She had not explained the statement, and the tone she had used still made him shiver.

Mardha and the two masked palymfar accompanying her bowed at the foot of the dais.

"What brings you, High Priestess?"

"I'm here to speak with your bodyguard. I have need of her abilities."

"She may serve you in that capacity, but only if she wishes to."

Nalsyrra bowed. "I will look to the stars for you, High Priestess. You have come seeking information about the Slayer. And I can say already that he is not dead."

Mardha frowned, and Karphon nearly leapt to his feet. The Slayer's condition was unknown? There was risk that he had perished? And yet, Mardha didn't look relieved to know that her lover was alive. Had the Slayer betrayed them? Karphon couldn’t believe Nalsyrra had not told him of this.

"Are you certain, Nalsyrra?" Mardha asked.

"I have already seen it in the stars, every night for the last week."

"That information would have been helpful to us!”

Nalsyrra shrugged.

“What else have you seen?"

"Little that I could understand. But I can check again for you. It is a clear night."

"At your master's convenience," Mardha said tersely.

Karphon stood. "The proceedings here can go on without me."

"That is well, my lord, for now is the best hour to view these portents."