Inheritance
Vincent wants to rule the country, but in a matriarchy, that requires a revolution. Kron, an outcast in the Orc Horde is feared for his berserker nature. He thinks he has nothing to live for until he takes an exiled witch under his protection. If he fails, her death will be the least of the Matriarchy's problems. Daralei has nothing. She's an orphan who's not in the Line of Inheritance.
What she does have is magic powers and maybe...maybe...an ethereal book that keeps appearing and...
CHAPTER 1
On the Coming of Necromancers
Introduction
The Atrocity destroyed the Creator in the Center of Existence. He fled through the Veils to find his beloved but through the Eye of Eiden, he foresaw that she would have need of a world upon which to be reborn. And so it was that the Lord of Chaos came upon the world of Olympus. Using his treachery, that evil being tricked the young race there to commit the greatest sin of Lesser Beings, to pierce the veils toward planes that they are not permitted.
And so, their punishment was great. The Fire of Divinity cleansed the world of Olympus, purging it of all life. No plant, no animal, no living thing remained within the air, the sea, or the soil. Leaving behind a pure and holy world for the children of the Homeworld. Only those sinners who were not within the influence of the world remained, and they were twisted horribly. Their suffering was to hunger and never die. To feed upon one another, but to feel the suffering of those upon whom they feasted. Alone in their misery until they earned forgiveness for their transgressing.
When people, at last, came to Olympus, they were of one kind. They brought life with them back to the world of Olympus. There were no Gods. The people were Godless. In their Godlessness arrogance, the people became lost in the wonder of their ability to bring life to a world that was long dead. They became so lost, that the one people became many people. And blaming the people of the Homeworld they brought a cataclysm upon the world of Olympus to stop Homeworld from sending more people to Olympus. Alone and divided, the many species of people on Olympus, bred and changed, and became many nations.
The many peoples fought amongst each other, hating their differences. Seeing their self-loathing, new Gods came to spread words of peace among the many nations. They spread their love and their seed, giving the gift of their children to the peoples, a gift of great heroes. But the people did not treasure the gift. It was just more differences between them. Rejected and alone, the children of the Gods turned their wrath upon the peoples of Olympus, jealous of the love their parents showered the peoples with. They sought to take back the life from Olympus.
Only in their most awful need, when all the races of Olympus were threatened, did the people finally come together. Yet still, they could not live as one people. Even in the years of desperate battle, the many peoples forgot that they were really still one race. The Necromancer Children of the Gods destroyed their parents, and the people of Olympus were once again Godless.
Yet with their last gift to the people, the gift of the Mages, did the Gods finally find a way to protect the people from their spawn. The magic that had once reigned over the world of Olympus was largely forgotten, with nothing left of entire civilizations save a few scattered books.
- The Book of All, On the Coming of Necromancers
Month 1 Week 1
The Hive
The chill of the dead of winter was exacerbated by the darkness of the windy night. Clouds of fog rolled damp and murderous through the lower valleys and dips that led to the entrance of the Hive. The attacking Hive must have been confident they could overwhelm his with their numbers because the wind always blew up toward the tops of the mountain which housed the complex system of natural and carved caverns that was his peoples’ home.
It was a good thing too otherwise the combined musk of so many warriors gathered in one location would have been like a beacon lighting the way to their hiding places. Cold was cramping Kron’s massive muscles as he awaited the orders from his section leader to let him and his fellow warriors know that the forward sentries had seen the first wave of the attack.
Always it was like this within the Horde. Hive against Hive. Queen against queen. High Chief against High Chief. And within the individual Hives, there were always the inter-clan rivals; vying for rank, position, and authority. Males battled males for the right to breed females and succeed to a higher status by heading their own clan, or sub-clan.
Why did they fight for resources? Or mates? There were more than enough females to go around. But those were drones, workers, and they were to be bred by fellow drones and workers, those who farmed their farms, raised their meat, dug their mines, and made their weapons. A warrior could only gain status by breeding a high-ranking female. No high-ranking female would ever consider breeding with or bearing a clutch of eggs for a male who had not proved himself in battle. A strong mate made for strong children, and a strong future. A High Chief could only control a Hive if he could conquer its queen.
And so here they knelt, in the cold; icy rocks biting into the thick green leather of his skin, to defend their queen against the machinations of a rival hive. So many males would die today, defending a female who would never deign to touch one of them let alone bear his young. Kron wanted to laugh. One of those short sharp barks of angry frustrations.
Instead, he snorted. It was the only concession he would make to his discomfort and disgust at the ridiculous waste of life in which he was about to participate. He was too well-trained a warrior to do more than that. Of course, the veteran warriors and those who took the politics of the Hive far more seriously than Kron, would not do anything so undisciplined as to reveal an emotion that wasn’t pleasure or joy in the midst of battle from crushing his enemies’ skulls.
To his left Loft grinned in the darkness, his ivory white tusks making two pale streaks framing his large teeth in an otherwise shadowed face. Leaning close his friend whispered in Kron’s ear.
“Just think of all the females who will notice you once you’ve got a few dozen kills to your name.”
It brought a chuffing to Kron’s breath, but not enough to be a laugh. There were several females who noticed him already. One in particular, not of high rank, but attractive and currently brooding a clutch of his eggs had noticed him a lot. She was his female.
Though traditionally, females tended to mate with many males throughout their lives, Kerim had chosen Kron as her first husband, the first to fill her eggs.
That was why he was here tonight. Not for the glory. For her. For the young they would rear together. So that he could be there when the eggs were ready and hardened, to hatch. It would be weeks yet. They were still soft and leathery, the babes inside not yet whole. So fragile.
Of course, they had to be soft and flexible at first, otherwise, they would crack during the strenuous process of laying. Kerim had not been nearly as pleased with him during the laying process as she had been while he was filling those eggs for her. Then the wind picked up and not even pleasant thoughts of Kerim’s nest were enough to keep him distracted from the cold.
He hated this. The hours ticked away, and the night continued to grow viciously colder, that final desperate attempt to snuff the warm lives of those still foolish enough to be outside before the breaking of dawn changed their fate. His waiting group would be one of the first into battle.
They were waiting for enough of the enemy to come through a pass into this frigid valley so that his Hive’s warriors could effectively cut their forces in half trapping both halves and killing them easily. While the plan had practically made his section leader and best friend, Loft, salivate with glee at the prospect; Kron had felt no joy at the thought of seeing so many of his fellow Orcs die. The fact that he would soon participate in the slaughter made his stomach cold and greasy.
A signal came. Was it the signal or was it a cricket? If it was possible, the awaiting army hidden strategically around the killing arena grew even quieter than before. Though Kron couldn’t fathom how as the night had been painfully silent so far. Then again, the sound came, and he and his fellows knew for certain that their quarry had taken the bait and was entering the trap. For tense endless minutes, they waited in silence. Perhaps some were holding their breath? Then the attack order came.
There was no rushing to the fray with swords drawn and war cries bellowing from the attackers. Oh no. This was the most dishonorable of assaults. Their foes crept upon them as if they were animals, treating his Hive like prey. So, in turn, they would treat them in kind. Slowly, stealthily, the waiting orcs snuck down behind their attackers. And when those worthless interlopers were surrounded, then they attacked.
The invaders dropped quietly, in ones and twos. After the first dozen or so, someone raised the alarm, and the battle began in earnest. Shouts and screams rose to a powerful crescendo thundering in Kron’s ears along with his own ragged breathing and pounding blood as he swung his blade and bodies fell before him like grain before the scythes human farmers wielded…And then…
CHAPTER 2
An Unwanted Gift
Month 1 Week 1
The Matriarchy – Compound of the Inheritor
“Julip,” Vincent called to his wife’s eldest daughter. Ugh! He’d used that singsong voice that neither Julip nor Dara could stand. Julip defiantly tossed her pixie-like chin to the side making her dark luxurious hair bounce defiantly over one finely boned elfin shoulder. Dara would have followed any ridiculous beauty routine to be as perfect as her petite cousin and the woman’s daughters. Alas, it was not to be. “Julip, I have addressed you and you will respond when I speak to you.”
“Yes, Vincent.” The young teen arched one elegant eyebrow as if daring him to call her on her antics as she coyly acknowledged him. It was no secret that Julip hated her stepfather with a vengeance. Especially when he interrupted her reading sessions with her older cousin.
“You have a meeting which you need to attend.” Still using that obnoxiously feminine voice that seemed to thrill his wife Attricia, Vincent tried to exert his authority over Julip.
“Oh yes.” Julip huffed through her nose, almost sighing with distaste. “Another suitor who isn’t what I’m looking for in a man.” Hopping off the marble bench that she and Dara had been chatting on before their interruption, Julip waved a farewell to her. “Later, right Dara?” She gave that pert, perfect smile that was all roses and sunshine but held the icy edge underneath which said 'or else'.
“Of course, Lady Julip.” Though Dara was four years older than Julip, nineteen to the younger girl’s fifteen, she was still of a lower rank than her and must behave accordingly. Though Julip put on this big show of being cold and hard, just like her mother taught her to be, it was only a protective shell on the outside and she hadn’t yet quite turned into that kind of woman which the Freyan family was famous for producing. It was the kind of woman who had allowed the Freyan’s to rule the Matriarchy for the last six generations.
There was still hope for Julip yet and Dara smiled fondly at the girl as she left. Vincent for his part, stood stock still almost simmering while he pointedly ignored the child’s brazen attempt to rile him up. Well, if he couldn’t handle a child disrespecting him, it was no wonder he had to make his career in life by marrying a woman who would pamper and take care of him. Useless man.
“Daraleeeiiiii,” No matter how hard she tried, she was afraid that she was never entirely successful at avoiding the way her forehead and eyebrows crumpled as if in pain every time he used her full name. Especially because of the way he twisted the syllables to make it sound like he was calling her ‘darling’ as he simpered his flattery at her. “You really shouldn’t let her speak to you like that. You are of the same line and in the same place in the succession you know.” He lowered himself beside her on the seat she’d been sharing with her cousin and Dara had to snatch her favorite book away before he rudely sat on it.
“But we really aren’t in the same place in the succession.” She corrected insistently. In an unsuccessful attempt to avoid eye contact with the greasy slithering man, Dara lowered her head and let her thick dark locks fall around her face. “I have no place in the succession.” In the two months since she had been installed as a nanny in her aunt, Attricia’s household, the young woman had yet to figure out what game her aunt’s husband was trying to play. Whatever it was, she didn’t like it.
He fawned at her, flattered her, and spoke as if they were long friends and confidants. He implied through his actions that they were more. His clammy soft flesh came too close to her when he put his arm around her or took her hand. It seemed as if he was trying very hard to convince her that they had some kind of special connection, and all Dara wanted was for him to keep himself to himself. Besides, it was all a lie, a game. Men in the Matriarchy preferred their women petite, like Attricia and Julip. Not tall and broad like Dara.
“Ah, but your father was my wife’s brother, and any right that Attricia has, you have also.” Dara found herself snorting at that statement. They lived in a Matriarchy. Which meant that inheritance was passed only through the female line. Her father had been a useless male. He had no place in the family. That’s why he had gone away and come home with a foreign bride.
“But my mother is not even of our country.” It didn’t hurt that she was never really considered to be one of their own even among her kin. This was the way of it. “And therefore, I have no right to inheritance.”
“Yet you do have an inheritance my Daralei.” Vincent’s words turned hot and breathy and she didn’t realize until he was sitting down in front of her with a crooked finger tilting her face up by the chin that he was so close. “Your mother left you that secret treasure that everyone knows you have, yet you refuse to divulge to anyone.”
“No. There is no treasure. No inheritance. I have nothing.” So, it was this again. Yet another one of those men. He would try to seduce her to get her to share the secrets of the treasure with him. He would fail of course since there was no treasure. Then she would be accused of being the seductress. It was so… depressing, so droll, so repetitive, and unimaginative.
“I see.” The smarmy Vincent nodded his too pretty face sagely as if he understood some great secret had passed between them. “You’re afraid to reveal the secret to someone who will take it away from you. But I can protect you Daralei. I can make sure no one takes what is yours by right. And I can make sure you have your rightful place within your family.”
“What?” Shaking her head, Dara’s long tresses bounced around her head as she shook it. “I don’t have a secret. There’s nothing to protect.” Nervously the young woman scooted away from her admirer till he stopped her with a viselike grip on her thigh. The other arm came around her securely before the hand on her thigh started pulling the skirt of her dress up. “Please stop.”
“Oh, come now.” His hazel eyes were far too close for Dara’s comfort. This was not good. This was not okay. Her breath started coming in quick fits as she tried not to panic and faint. That would be bad. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been trying to show me how much you want me. Dressing so prettily. Smiling so kindly at me. Being so submissive and good with the children.”
“Qwa?” It wasn’t an actual word, yet it was the most eloquent expression of her shock at that moment. How could those listed behaviors have been an indication of attraction? Her plain governess’ garments? Pretty? Her attempts to not look at him; smiling kindly? Okay, she had to give him the last one because it was kind of true. Dara was great with the kids. But they weren’t his kids. She was definitely not taking care of them to get his approval.
“I’ve been thinking it over for the last month, wondering what to do about you.” Closer he got, lifting her hem higher and higher.
“Stop.” Again, she tried scuttling away and he came after her, the two falling into a heap on the floor, with Vincent on top. Drat. “I said stop it, Vincent.” He chuckled briefly and grinned as he successfully pinned her to the floor.
“You don’t really mean that.” His breath reeked of whatever liquor he’d been drinking and his fleshy lips were so wet and gross. What had Attricia been thinking when she married this winner? “You just want a man to prove that he’s going to be there, that he won’t steal your fortune and run off on you after you trust him. You can trust me Daralei.” Clearly, she couldn’t trust him. He didn’t listen to a thing she said.
Quickly he shifted his weight and made sure both of her wrists were secured in one hand as he used the other to finish lifting her dress up. She wriggled her body as forcefully as she could to get him off of her, but he only tried harder. “Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.” All of a sudden, her mind was on overdrive. The word echoed so swiftly that she wasn’t sure if it was actually coming out of her mouth or not.
“I’ll give you my child and then you’ll know that you can trust me.” His hand went to his belt and it was as if all the strength in her body deserted her at that moment. Her traitorous living shell gone limp with shock that he would even suggest such a thing.
No. Not now. Please body not now.
His buckle undone, Vincent unbuttoned the front of his trousers, pushing down his underthings and pulling free his…. She had to stop panicking. Had. To. Stop.
“You can look. I know you want to. You want to see the thing I use to put my child inside of you.” Revulsion rolled over Dara in waves. This wasn’t the first repugnant man to try such a thing. Luckily the last man had been interrupted. Attricia was at council, the younger children were with their tutors Julip would be dealing with a courting suitor for at least an hour, and Vincent had replaced all the loyal household retainers with those loyal to him not long after he moved in.
There was no one to interrupt this time. She had to do this on her own. Had to get free. Had to function. Loathing and disgust ripped up from her belly like she was about to vomit all of her hatred for him onto his face. And when that rising bile of blistering abhorrence reached the surface, she pushed at this vile little vermin of a man with every ounce of strength she had.
It was a lot more than Dara had ever thought to possess. Vincent’s body was smashed against the far wall. He slumped momentarily as he stared at her in shock.
“You Nefhilim bitch.” This wasn’t the first time she had faced the untrue accusation, but she knew that this time the words would hold far more weight than schoolyard bullying. “You bastard wench, I should have known that you were too tall and strong to be a normal woman. I’ll see you executed for this. I could have given you the means to power. We could have ruled together after you used your magic to get rid of Attricia. Now you’re going to burn.”
Dara ran then. This would no longer be her home. Like the boarding school her grandmother had fostered her out to could no longer be her home after the headmaster had bent her over his desk two and a half months ago as punishment for reading a book he disapproved of and tried to do much the same thing that almost happened now.
Where could she go? None of the other homes her grandmother had tried to place her in had been safe. There was no one who wanted her… except for the men. All of the Gods damned men seemed to pay an unhealthy amount of attention to her. Just not when anyone else was looking. Oh no. Ugly big-boned Daralei must be lying because why else would married men want anything to do with her?
Wasn’t there a convent, a temple? Someplace, anyplace where she wouldn’t ever have to be alone with another man ever? It drove her out of her mind. As it was, she still had to get to the Matriarch’s compound before Vincent could spread his lies. Even if grandmother wouldn’t believe her, Matriarch would. She had believed Dara about the headmaster even as her grandmother had tutted at her ‘wild tale’ and accused her of lying.
Until that moment she’d been traveling in random directions, trying to avoid people while she cried so that she didn’t have to look at the questioning or the pity in someone else’s eyes. Of course, she’s crying; they would think. I’d cry too if I looked like that. She was too tall, too broad-shouldered, too sculpted with muscles that many strong men envied. Dara had wide strong hips that would have been revered for childbearing if not for the fact that she was too tall also.
I look half Nefhilim. No one will ever want me. No man would risk marrying a woman who might be part-necromancer. What if she sucked his life out of him? It was stupid to have these same old prejudices so long after the wars had ended. But they were still out there. In the dark hiding places that they stalked the living from, those undead devourers of life still lurked. It was only her dark hair and tanned skin that had prevented open hatred from all corners. At least the Gods had granted her a small grace of not being pale and blonde.
Sometimes Necromancers spread their poisonous seed throughout the land and then hid again to watch as their unsuspecting children ravished civilizations. Now anyone who even looked like they might be part Nefhilim was shunned. Or burned. I’m lucky I haven’t been burned at the stake yet. What was she to do? Dara didn’t know. She’d never had a life plan. She just was. Whatever her family had needed her to be at the moment that was what she did.
The Matriarch would know what to do…
CHAPTER 3
Twisted Webs
Month 1 Week 1
The Matriarchy – The Matriarchal Palace
“You give me no choice Daralei.” The Matriarch sighed wearily and futilely tried to rub away the pain between her eyebrows. She should have known her troublesome grandson would have given rise to a daughter that was such a handful.
Unfortunately, the little weasel Vincent had already had his boys club running their rumor mill full tilt weeks before the old woman had gotten wind of it. He must have been planning this ambush for a while and had run damage control beforehand. That was why she needed to have this meeting in the Grand Gallery where members of the council could watch over the conversation. Damn the man.
“I’m going to have to have you detained while the circumstances of this offense are investigated officially by the Magi, to determine if you are indeed part Necromancer.”
Her great-granddaughter spluttered ineloquently as Larel gestured for her guards to take the girl into custody, and Larel could only just suppress her frustrated smile at the girl’s utter astonishment. “But he attacked me!”
It was all the poor child could think to say. And the absent Gods knew it was the truth as well as Matriarch Larel did, but there was only so much she could do without revealing the truth about Dara’s heritage to the rest of the Great Houses.
They’d have a civil war on their hands if the other families knew that the Freyan Dynasty had managed to maintain its throne for centuries through the judicious breeding of magic into the line from the Priestess Isles and other lesser beloved sources. Poor Daralei was a product of one of those lesser beloved sources and would burn as a Witch just as surely as if she were a Necromancer if it ever came out.
None of Larel’s own daughters had much of the gift, not like Larel herself. But then Neil had married that young bewitching creature and produced Dara. Larel could still remember the light in his eyes as he had presented his wife to her. A creature of such potent magic that Larel’s imagination had been overwhelmed with visions of the greatness her blood would bring to the Freyan line. With a sigh, the Matriarch once again sadly regretted the fact that the child was automatically removed from the line of succession just because she was not a direct female descendant.
“Yet he is the only one who has sustained any harm.” No matter how much she wanted to, Matriarch knew that she couldn’t show any compassion to her great-granddaughter. When the Magi found her to not be at fault, it couldn’t appear as if the Matriarch had had any hand in it.
Though the girl’s own grandmother, Clarisse should have been there to support her the woman was nowhere to be seen. Larel would have snorted at the uselessness of her own flesh and blood if it were something that a Matriarch could get away with doing without seeming weak. She was glad she had removed Clarisse from the succession. Attricia, Clarisse’ daughter, might be removed soon also if she didn’t divorce that revolutionary civilly disobedient attempted rapist husband of hers.
“You will remain in isolation until a Magi has deemed whether or not these allegations of Nefhilim magic to be true or false. If they are true, the Magi will deal with you accordingly. If they are false, you are to be banished from the lands of the Matriarchy for your crime of twice trying to seduce married men.”
The Matriarchy – Compound of House Feggotti
“But Precious. You know I would never do anything to betray you.” Vincent wheedled in that submissive way that he knew his mistress Covina Feggotti liked. The ignorant bitch was so easy to manipulate.
Her hatred of House Freyan ran so deep that the woman reveled in her affair with the husband of a Freyan woman. She thought she had seduced Vincent and was using him to screw over the rivals of House Feggotti when in reality Vincent was using her to bring down all-female power in the Matriarchy. Vincent had big dreams, dreams of a Kingdom, ruled by a King where women served men instead of the other way around.
“She says you attacked her.” Covina harrumphed and turned her back to him but didn’t pull away when he placed his hands on her shoulders and rubbed her upper arms.
“How could I ever want a creature like that when I am blessed with the most beautiful woman in my arms right now.” He brushed a little string of kisses along her neck and up to her ear and he felt Covina relax under his affections. “Besides, you wanted me to befriend her, to find out if the rumors of her treasure are real…” The recalcitrant woman stiffened under his hands as he reminded her of that fact.
“So, you are saying this is my fault?” The snap was back in her voice and this time she did pull away from him.
“I would never say such a thing my daraling.” The ambitious man drew the word out in much the same way he said Daralei’s name. Even if I do believe it to be your fault. “I was just pointing out that you wanted me to befriend her. I tried, but she became enraged with jealousy when I wouldn’t be more than friends with her. I’m afraid that she wouldn’t be willing to share the location of her mother’s treasure with anyone except her lover so unless you wanted to share me with yet another woman…” It was a risky ploy, but Vincent knew that Covina wasn’t going to want to share her toy with any more women than she absolutely had to. Maybe just a little bit more pleading… “Please Daraling.”
“Oh, you’re right.” Covina turned back to him with a smile. “I should have had someone seduce her for the information instead of asking you to try to befriend her. I forgive you for not being able to get the information. And I’m sorry that you were in danger from that horrid creature.” So easy. Trying not to smile too largely, Vincent let himself be folded into his mistress’s embrace, kissing her passionately before pushing her back toward her bed.
“Oh, Daraling. My Daraling”. He cooed over and over between frantic kisses. In a few moments, when he was thrusting between her thighs and Covina was too distracted to notice, he would change the word to Daralei and pretend he was revenge fucking that little twat that rejected him as hard as he possibly could.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” His mistress gasped as he shoved his tongue into her ear. Whatever it was could wait in Vincent’s opinion, but the woman would not be deterred. “We…slow down a bit…we have an opening with the trade houses, there were several outgoing shipments that I was able to divert. We’re making a large profit off our accounting discrepancies with the Freyan bookkeeping alterations. And the trade representatives from the Freeman Sovereignty are looking to speak with House Feggotti directly now.
“Excellent, Daraling.” Vincent’s day had gotten a whole lot better since his testimony before the Matriarch. “Very excellent.”
CHAPTER 4
Tested by the Magi
Month 1 Week 1
The Matriarchy – The Matriarchal Palace
Attricia winced as the Magi slapped Dara across the face. It was…well…it wasn’t gentle. This was the third test in three days. Wherever Dara’s magic was from, it wasn’t working the way any known magic worked. She didn’t take energy from her surroundings or others like a Necromancer. She most certainly couldn’t actually seduce a man and make his soul her plaything the way the Witches of the Priestess Isles could. And, the Magi had determined that she definitely had magic of the Ordered, branch…so it ruled out the possibility that her mother had been a Chaos Mage.
“Grandmother,” Attricia flinched as a Magi gut-punched Dara to see if her self-defense magic would kick in. It did not. As of yet, there had been only one thing that triggered her magic. “This isn’t necessary. I believe her. I know my husband is a lecherous cretin. In fact, we can use this incident as a justification for the divorce you wanted me to get.” Below, the Magi stood back from the coughing bent-over figure of her brother’s daughter who was closer in age to Attricia than the girl’s father had been.
“Go ahead.” Matriarch Larel signaled the Magi heading the inquisition to start the final phase of the testing.
“Are you certain you want to put her through this aga-?” He silenced himself as the Matriarch’s cold glare cut through him.
“We have to be certain.” Her reply fell like ice over the trembling girl in the middle of the room. “Send them in.”
“Them?” Attricia gasped sharply. She looked with horror over the impassive face of her grandmother. “She could barely handle one in the first two tests.”
“We have to be certain.” Was the Matriarch’s quiet reply. “It’s the only way to prove she is neither Necromancer nor Witch.” The heir to the throne felt her bile rise and she turned to…flee the sight she was about to see…or to help her niece who had always been more like a younger sister?
“Sit.” The Matriarch commanded, and her personal guards, all females, menaced Attricia silently. “You brought that monster of a husband into our family, the least you can do is watch what Dara has to endure because of him.” So Attricia sat, stone-faced as her grandmother. A line of male prisoners, five in total, were ushered into the testing chamber. Rape was not looked fondly upon in a country ruled by women and when caught, those men spent a very long time in prison. These had been some of the worst of the lot. The guards escorting them released them from their chains.
“You’ve heard why you are here.” Matriarch detested speaking with loathsome creatures such as these. “This woman has magic. We are testing this woman to see if she has the power of a witch, a necromancer, or a Mage. She must defend herself from you. If she cannot, you can have her. Now, and forever. If she fails to produce the magic she claims to have under the circumstances she claims triggers it, or if her magic is not sufficient to fight you all off, she will return with you to your prison for you to have whenever you wish.”
Dara paled as she heard the words spoken. On the previous two days of testing, she’d only had to fend off one man each time. Neither of those men was present here now. Probably because they were both likely still recovering from their wounds. Five was a lot. Maybe more than her magic could handle.
But she’d figured something out yesterday as she had struggled with the man attacking her gleefully. He’d been relishing the fact that he could do what he was about to do in front of an audience, and she’d been dodging and weaving and striking back at him physically. Yet, she hadn’t felt even the tiniest smidgeon stirring of her magic until she thought he was winning. Not until her mind knew that she couldn’t win this fight with her body did her magic finally rear its ugly head up with a vengeance.
So, she had to let them win. She had to make it look good of course. Make them not so wary of her that they didn’t try anything, or that they tried to knock her unconscious. No, she had to make them want to hunt her for the fun of it, and then when she was pinned and down and they thought they had won, then her magic would save her.
She got herself into a crouch, a fighting stance she half-remembered from a self-defense class years ago. And the leering group moved in. One lashed out and snagged her top, tearing the buttons off and exposing her breasts in their corset. Laughter ensued.
Someone made an obscene comment she couldn’t fully hear. And then she ran, dodging and weaving and twisting out of grasps until she had been cornered and snared and couldn’t run.
The grips of the savages dug into bruises from the previous days’ tests. Someone’s hand got too close to her mouth and she bit it. To her great surprise, someone bit her back, eliciting a scream as teeth dug into her shoulder. But it had been enough to make her magic stir from its slumber. Deep in her belly, behind her navel she felt it growing. Not yet though. It was awake but not going to work for her yet. Lazy bastard.
Someone else was ripping off her corset as filthy mouths moved over her flesh. Still, her magic waited. Then a hand started its way up her thigh and the ball of disgust in her belly worked its way up with a ripple of laughter. Her attackers froze.
“You like that?” One asked perplexed, and Dara kept laughing.
“Oh no. I very much do not like that.” A wave of power ripped out of her body throwing the men across the room with crushing force. Those disgusting perverts were going to die.
“Stop her!” The Matriarch shouted. “We need to see if they survived the initial wave of magic this time, to verify she’s not a Necromancer.” Annoying mosquito bites dug into the exposed flesh of her torso and her white-hot rage was dulled a little. She was very tired suddenly. Magic had never made her this tired before. And those things biting her were very uncomfortable. Her body sagged with exhaustion as her knees hit the hard marble floor.
“Hush, hush, child.” A warm, something, wrapped around her, and the bitey things were removed.
“They live!” A shout came from across the room, a group of guards and Magi beside the bodies of the men she had thrown there hazily beyond her reach.
“She is not a Necromancer.”
“They…must…die…” Dara countered feebly. Yet she was so tired. Maybe she could take a nap first and then kill those cretins.
“Hush child.” It was the kindly voice of the Chief Magi. “You are safe from them now. You are safe now. The test is done. You have passed.”
CHAPTER 5
Gambling on Fate
Month 1 Week 2
The Hive – Horde Territory
Could there be anywhere in the world more similar to hell than the dungeons of a Horde Hive? Kron didn’t think that there was. They were wet, slimy, reeking of putrid filth and those within them were treated like the most contemptible creatures in existence. He was now a contemptible creature, loathed throughout the Hive by one and all. And by no one more than himself.
After all, because of the reprehensible thing he was, four lovely darling younglings would never be hatched into the wondrous world. His young. Though he hadn’t crushed their eggs with his own hand, he might as well have. No, it turned out that he was so dangerous, so vile, that his eggs could not be allowed to hatch and spread his evil curse to another generation.
Berserker. Bloodhound. How was he to know that he was one? It was his first true battle, the first time he had faced an actual enemy. Once the battle had started, he couldn’t stop. Even after the enemy retreated, Kron had pursued them mercilessly. They had tried to surrender and the animal that he was hadn’t let them.
Then when Loft had tried to come after him, stop Kron from his deadly rampage… His guards had filled Kron in on what he had done while in the Blood Rage. Despite being warned to stay away, Loft had had faith in Kron. He had believed that Kron wasn’t so far gone that he wouldn’t recognize him. He had trusted Kron not to harm him.
But he’d been wrong. And now Kron wasn’t just a berserker. He was a murderer. Grief had washed through him for days after he learned what he had done. His best friend.
His only friend really. The son of a Clan Chief.
There were only two people he had ever loved and now one was dead by his own hand. Not just dead, mutilated beyond recognition because Kron hadn’t been able to stop even once the male was dead. Just thinking about what he had done made the orc warrior sick to his stomach. Only knowing that he had four precious eggs and the beautiful Kerim waiting for him kept him from losing his mind.
That comfort didn’t last for long. The jailors seemed almost to gain pleasure when they told him of what Kerim had done to their young. How she had smashed his eggs so that her lineage would not be tainted by the seed of a berserker. She was taking another male as her first husband.
Kron had lost what little grip he had on his sanity then. As the guards laughed and laughed at his tears and heartache, had screamed until he was hoarse. Then everything had gone away. Hours later he regained awareness to find himself shackled to the wall inside the cell instead of just loose inside as he had been before. There were also fresh bars bolted to the rocks of their cavernous home to hold him captive.
Now instead of jesting at his hardship and treating him with disrespect, the new guards kept a distance. When they spoke, it was in subdued and quiet tones. It seemed as if they were afraid of him. Before they had reviled him. Now, none were bold enough to get close even when giving him his food. They stayed well back and pushed a bowl toward him with a long, forked stick. The bowls piled up because none would dare his grasp to retrieve them and Kron had taken to licking them clean to prevent the growth of mold within his cell.
Days more passed before he was summoned from this dank miserable existence where all he could do was contemplate the fact that he had lost all the things that mattered to him. No best friend. No wife. And most heartbreaking of all, no eggs. He’d intended to name his first hatched son Loft, after the friend who had convinced the female Kerim to give Kron a chance.
The heartbroken orc didn’t know what he’d done during his last blackout, but it must have been pretty bad to warrant the kind of silent terror that seemed to follow him in a soft hushed blanket everywhere he went. They were taking him before the High Chief and the Queen he was sure. It was his day of judgment and he was going to be executed.
Orcs of every clan and caste packed the tunnels leading to the great chamber where the High Chief and his Queen held court. The Chamber itself was filled to overflowing but a solid block of warriors filled the center, buffering the civilians with the bodies of the military clans. They were protecting his own people from him.
It was enough to make a grown orc cry. How sad he was. Heat from thousands of bodies made the air stifling. The putrid stink of too many organisms and too many unwashed mouths fowled the atmosphere while pale angry faces glared at him with eyes full of animosity and far more fear than he thought he deserved.
Every warrior stood with tense anticipation as if they expected him to lose his mind at any moment. Even the High Chief and the Clan Chief’s flanking him and his Queen seemed worried. In fact, the only person in the whole of the Hive who did not seem in the least bit worried was the Queen.
She stood tall and sultry with her powerful arms and legs bare of covering and decorated with the gold and jewels her High Chief had pillaged and plundered for her. Her muscles rippled sensuously as she smiled at him with orcish beauty around her tusks. She was the epitome of everything desired in a female orc. Yet she did nothing for Kron.
He didn’t even gladly serve her when he was on the field. The Queen was literally nothing to Kron. The young orc warrior had not even spoken to her before, though it seemed at the moment as if his entire world depended on her today. That self-satisfied smile indicated that she had already decided his fate.
“Kron of the Iron Fist Clan.” Here it came, from that growling deep voice the High Chief was about to declare Kron’s fate in guttural condemnation. “For the crime of murdering the son of a Clan Chief, I would have you exiled. But as a berserker bloodhound, you are far too dangerous to be allowed to join an enemy Hive and be used against those who cast you out.” Here the High Chief sighed, his large nostrils flaring under the effort of supporting such a wide nose.
“It was my choice, and that of my Clan Chiefs, to have you executed. You pose so great a danger. Especially after your second attack cost our Hive half of the warriors of the Black Sword Clan.” That was the first which Kron had heard of what had happened when he had let the rage take him after hearing what Kerim had done to his children. “But my queen has cautioned against anything quite so permanent.”
“Kron…” Licking his lips nervously, the High Chief seemed as if he were trying not to look at his Clan Chiefs and gauge their reaction to his words. From where Kron stood he could clearly see that they were not one bit pleased with the decree. “…you are the strongest warrior our Hive has produced in generations. But there is a reason for that. Your kind, the berserkers, the bloodhounds, the ones who lose themselves to the rage… They are so dangerous even to their own kin. Their best friends. We thought we had eliminated those genes from our Hive long ago, but it seems you still carry that line.”
“And you will continue carrying it. Our Queen believes that you can be useful to us, that the reason you went into the rage to begin with, was because you were expecting your first clutch of eggs. As proof of this theory, you went into a second rage when you heard what had happened to those eggs. A male instinct as strong as yours to protect the Hive and the young at all costs is a good trait to keep, as long as it is carefully controlled. So, you will be allowed to live and perhaps even breed one day, if we can guarantee the safety of the Hive.” A collective breath seemed to be drawn in from around the large cavern and for a few moments, the air was temporarily cleaner.
“You will be allowed to live if one of the scout patrols, which spend most of their time beyond the walls of the Hive, are willing to take you on.” It came out in a rush as if he feared that saying it too slowly would allow someone a chance to meet those circumstances. The Clan Chiefs straightened smugly, knowing already that none of their subordinates would be crazy enough to have someone so dangerous on their patrol.
It was quiet as the patrol leaders looked around at each other, most visibly taking a step backward to avoid it appearing like they might be tempted. Kron was almost relieved to think that this endless aching pit of dread that welled up inside of him would end soon. The executioners’ sharp blade wouldn’t come soon enough. He would surrender to the bliss of eternal darkness and close his eyes forever.
“I’ll take him.” The voice was gruff, not too old but certainly not young. Kron’s eyes snapped open as he was startled from his dreary acceptance.
“Krol of the Grey Bloods,” The High Chief almost sounded surprised at this development, though why was anybody’s guess. Patrol leader Krol was known to gambol far too much. Someone had probably dared him to do it on a wager just then.
Those three simple words removed the death sentence from Kron’s head. Somehow, he couldn’t be happy about it. The shackles fell away as he was released from captivity, and it was with a numb distraction that he felt himself being led away from the center of the room.
“Move a little quicker boy,” Krol murmured as he placed a good-natured arm around Kron’s shoulder while smiling a tusky grin at the parting crowd to show that there was nothing to fear from this male. “We want to be outside the walls before they start changing their minds now, don’t we?”
The younger orc stole a glance over at his savior and the wild glee in his gaze made Kron wonder just what kind of game the gambler was planning to play with his new piece.
CHAPTER 6
It Was Totally Your Idea
Month 1 Week 2
The Matriarchy – Compound of the Inheritor
“I demand justice.” Vincent hissed. “She attacked me and has impugned on my good name. And…” Attricia watched in silent fury as her husband ranted and paced around their home, grappling for an excuse to have her innocent niece executed. “Aaannnddd…” he continued triumphantly as if whatever manipulative lie he was about to spew had just come to him. “…by sullying my name, she has sullied the future Matriarch of the House of Freyan.” He crossed his arms as if that was final. “She should be executed as soon as possible.”
The utter gall of this man. As if he thought that Attricia couldn’t see through his manipulations. Maybe at one time, she wouldn’t have. And that thought scared her. She had actively sought to trust her husband more than she should have from the very start because of his affiliation with certain political entities that wanted men to have more rights and a more active role in the politics of the country.
So, Attricia, future Matriarch, had made concessions and granted privileges to her second husband that no other man had ever had. What had he done with what she had given him? He’d betrayed her family. She would have to start taking some of those privileges away, which would be tricky now that he would claim it was retaliation for exposing her niece’s magical powers.
“She’s no Necromancer. Nor is she a Witch. I watched the trials myself. She has Ordered magic, but the Magi could not identify which species she gets her power from.” Despite the official report of the Magi, a religious organization that was independent of any country or political affiliation, Vincent had still purported to anyone that would listen when she was not around that Daralei Freyan was, in fact, a Necromancer who had tricked the Magi. Or that the Magi were in collusion with the Matriarch trying to hide the shame of House Freyan having a Necromancer in the family.
“I don’t believe it. I want her executed.” How could I have ever been attracted to this petulant spoiled man-child? In her mind, Attricia was shaking her head at him. He knows that all he has to do is cry his lies loud enough and long enough and it will destabilize our entire country, and he’s willing to do it to get his way. He would sacrifice Dara and all of House Freyan to have what he wants how he wants it.
“What if she were exiled, my love?” Sweet, and light, toss in some concern for his happiness. Now that the heir to the Matriarchy knew what her husband was, she needed to find a way to appease him that didn’t involve murdering an innocent member of the ruling house. Because that would spell doom for the public’s confidence in House Freyan as surely as Vincent’s lies of Necromancy would.
“Exile wouldn’t prove to me that she is not a Necromancer.” He huffed, folding his arms tighter over himself.
“What would prove to you that she isn’t a Necromancer?” By the Gods, was she really going to have to pry his demands out of him?
“Nothing.” His response was pure denial.
“Would restitution for the harm she has done to your reputation appease you?” She saw the way one of his eyebrows arched and he tried unsuccessfully to not look super interested in getting money. Then his interest washed away.
“She has no money to pay restitution with. Everyone knows that those stories of her parents’ secret fortune are just stories…” He glanced at his wife quickly to see if she agreed with the statement that there was no fortune and seeing no hint either way continued quickly. “And if she is exiled, no one will be watching her to see if she is a Necromancer.” Ah ha! Now Attricia knew what her husband wanted. Just as Dara had told the Matriarch. It was money and power, and he had planned to get that money and power with control over Dara’s money. Money that Dara didn’t have.
“No, Dara has no secret fortune. Her mother was a farmer’s daughter. Beautiful, but poor.” Though he tried to hide it from her, Vincent was crestfallen. “What if she were exiled to a distant part of the Matriarch. Somewhere, where she wouldn’t be able to hide her Necromancy, because making things live, would be her way of proving she isn’t a Necromancer?”
“What do you mean? And you believe me?” He questioned suspiciously. “That she is a Necromancer?”
“Of course, I believe you. You are my husband, if you say it is so, then it is so.” Attricia swallowed her bile and smiled the dizzy-in-love smile she used to actually feel for him.
“We have her exiled to a small farming community. And make her a farmer. She will have to pay you restitution by growing crops and making a profit off of them. If there is no profit, then she must be killing her crops with her Necromancy. Simple.”
“How would she pay for this if she has no money?” Vincent had been skeptical at first but she could see the cruel streak that she now knew was there rearing its head behind his eyes.
“I would loan it to her. I would be so magnanimous as to help her prove that she is just an average magic user and not a Necromancer. Give her a year to repay…” The woman paused artfully before continuing. “…No…a year would be too short. People would be suspicious. They’d claim I was trying to sabotage her. Two…or…” she gasped excitedly “…three years…that would make everyone think that you were being overly generous. Everyone likes a generous ruler.”
“Yes…everyone does like a generous ruler…” He knew his wife had been talking about herself as the future ruler of the Matriarchy, but it could go either way couldn’t it. If her policies and decisions now were seen as really being his ideas…then it wouldn’t be that hard of a transition from a Matriarchy to a Kingdom, would it? When the time came, of course. And all kinds of things could go wrong on a farm, at the edge of the Matriarchy lands, where dangerous Hordes and brigands roamed. Where Dara’s very life would be dependent on the whims of nature and violent creatures.
“This exile idea of yours is brilliant, Vincent.” Attricia gushed at her husband, and he accepted her praise as rightfully belonging to him. After all, if he hadn’t insisted that Daralei was actually a Necromancer, she wouldn’t need punishing, would she? And it was all the girl’s fault for refusing him anyways. An execution was too good for her. She should work hard for her life and freedom. Freedom Vincent and his men would make sure she never earned. His wife beamed beatifically at him thinking he was appeased and mollified, but Vincent was already plotting the next steps in his vengeance.
CHAPTER 7
Sentencing
Month 1 Week 2
The Matriarchy – The Matriarchal Palace
“Matriarch” Dara wanted to scream at the outrage of it. “Please, Matriarch.” Through the agonizing shame and fury, Dara wondered if it would hurt less if she ripped the old woman, who had just destroyed her life, limb from limb. “You can’t.” She had tried to be forceful, exert her rights. But she knew that it only barely came out on the bitter side of petulant. The petulance was only emphasized more by the setting of this final humiliation, the opulent Grand Hall of the Freyan Matriarch.
“It is already done. You have been proven innocent of Witchcraft. But you are still accused of Necromancy, and are still guilty of magical assault and maligning the name of your aunt’s husband, and the restitution is far too high for you to pay. Your aunt Attricia, the wife of your victim, has graciously agreed to loan you the money needed for both your debt and for a start to your new life in exile. You will repay her with interest. Be grateful that the ruling of the Magi has granted you this chance to earn your life. You are lucky you were not burned at the stake. You may yet still be. Begone from my sight.”
The wrinkled old face sniffed down her nose at Dara as if she were nothing more than a distasteful bit of food dropped in the way. Turning away with no more concern for the devastated woman before her, the matriarch left Dara to her fate knowing that the servants and guards would enforce the decree.
Larel sighed as Dara tried not to storm or stalk off, shaking from repressed emotion. Her shoulders were slumped and her movements jumpy. Though the Matriarch had believed Dara, she knew that the rest of the Great Houses would demand that the girl be punished for ‘seducing’ those ‘good men’. Especially after the accusations that Attricia’s husband had brought of Dara being part Nefhilim or at the very least wielding forbidden magic.
Unfair as it was, Dara was just too irresistible for her own good. It was bullshit. It was unfair. As soon as she was properly alone, Laurel intended to scream and rail at the Gods for this betrayal of her faith.
“Well, that went rather better than it could have.” Attricia sidled out from a discrete alcove near her great-grandmother’s sitting room, indolently tossing a thick lock of ebony curls over one slim shoulder.
“Have a little sympathy child.” Just this woman’s presence had the ability to inspire migraines of shocking proportion in the Matriarch. “She’s more a victim than that oily husband of yours.”
“True.” The younger woman conceded with only a slight pouting furrow of her perfect pixie features before smoothing out to a sultry smile. “But this solution works for everyone.” The Matriarch’s smothered scoff almost had Attricia’s frown back for a moment, but the woman conquered it quickly in favor of studied unconcern.
“She is not the kind of woman a man wants for a wife Matriarch. No man in his right mind would pay a decent bride price for a wife so unconsciously seductive that she’s a white-hot beacon to other men. Why do you think Vincent chose me instead?” She paused briefly then added as an afterthought. “Besides my money.”
“Is that so?” Larel was disgusted at Attricia’s disregard for Dara’s plight.
“Yes. Men, rich men, want a wife that makes other men jealous. They don’t want a wife that makes other men out of their minds with lust. Oh no. That just wouldn’t do for the type of jealous, possessive men we Freyan women cultivate. And that would have been Dara’s fate if she were to remain in the city? Even if she did marry, she’d have her pick of suitors for affairs.”
“You’re right.” Another bitter sigh escaped Larel’s aged lips before she could stop the frustration which had caused it. “But I don’t have to pretend I like it.”
“Oh yes you do.” Attricia scolded. “Our plan won’t work if anyone believes that you or I are on her side.” She arched one finely sculpted eyebrow as she had taught her daughter to do and added a wry quirk of her lips to indicate her humor. “It’s only expected that I would loan her the money, it’s just good business to bet on family…with magic. Remember, you only agreed to this trial because she is the daughter of your treasured grandson, and you wanted the whole sordid affair over with.” Larel snorted at how her’s and Attricia’s roles had reversed.
The Matriarch held out a hand to Attricia for assistance while using a gilded cane in the other to lift herself out of her seat. “I can’t help feeling as if I’ve condemned her to die.”
“The terms of the loan give her two years before she has to make her first payment,” Attricia assured her monarch. “We’ve done the best thing for her that we could under the circumstances what with the way those anarchists from the Men’s Liberation Party are stirring up trouble all over the capital. They’d have a field day if you let a woman known to have magic who had allegedly overpowered a man, go unpunished. At least she’ll be able to study magic in peace now.”
“I’ve set her free to live her own life away from the family. Somehow, I don’t think that Dara will see it that way at all. And if she knows what’s good for her, she will flee to another country the second she has a chance. But if she has any sense of loyalty she’ll see how much was risked to give her this opportunity. Now…” The Matriarch arranged her features into a semblance of weary disdain. “…help an old woman to Council where I shall explain how much I just wanted this whole sordid affair over with.”
CHAPTER 8
Parting Words
Month 1 Week 2
The Matriarchy – The Matriarchal Palace
Dara had turned twenty in captivity without a suitable husband. There had never even been a suitor. She was now not only considered a spinster; she had been banished to the outlands in poverty and shame. She would never be accepted into the government of the Matriarchy, the best a non-inheriting woman could hope for. An outsider she would remain forever, both figuratively and literally.
“It’s not so bad.” Elbows deep in underdresses, Dara’s temporary handmaiden, Alice comforted the tall and large-boned woman as she stumbled while packing her meager possessions through her tears. As a servant, Alice should have included the honorific ‘Mistress’ in her address.
But everyone knew that Dara was little more than a servant among her own family. The Freyan Matriarchy was richer than any other family in their country. Of course, the way they had gotten richer was by having the most beautiful daughters in the land and garnering the largest bride price, then using that money to buy, well…everything. Without a mother on her side of the family to petition for her in family affairs, Dara had no hope of a better lot.
Though exotically handsome, Dara was not the kind of petite and delicately wholesome beauty that every other woman in her family had been. Dara was tall and lithe, sturdy and buxom. She was the kind of young woman that no man managed to notice how attractive she really was until he found himself fantasizing about ripping her clothing off and starting a wild and passionate affair with her.
And now Dara knew why that was. A vital piece of information that the Matriarch had finally revealed just this past week after strenuous, horrifying, and humiliating testing by the Magi. She was a Witch…of a kind, whatever that had meant. Her particular type of witchyness wasn’t from the Priestess Islands…not entirely. Of course, she was a witch “of a kind”. That’s why since she turned eighteen, men she barely knew had been trying to get her to sleep with them, whether they were married or not.
Of course, the Matriarch had refused to tell anyone else that important bit of information that would have changed…. EVERYTHING. Or maybe it would have just led to her being burned as a witch? Oh no. That specific bit of information had to be a secret. No one from the family was going to vouch for her. Well then. Good riddance to the lot of them and may Necromancers suck the life from their bones.
Everyone was expecting her to fail and end up right back here to be condemned if she could not pay back the restitution loan. And Vincent was still calling for her death as she had ‘used magic’ to ‘bewitch him’ and there was no telling ‘what vile deeds she might have planned in the future’. The fact that anyone took that maniac seriously was a wonder of the world.
“I’ll get your things packed. There will be plenty of eligible men in the outlands.” Unspoken was the subtle accusation that Dara had a tendency to seek out those men who were not eligible. Even her own did not believe her. In the short week she had been under the protection of the Matriarch, in supposed seclusion, except for her testing, the husbands of three cousins, men who had scorned her as a wife before her powers had matured, had already propositioned her for a long-term affair. One currently sported her handprint on his face as her answer and a reminder that only one woman had been included in his bride price.
Because Dara had never been proposed to, she didn’t think she was very beautiful. Neither did most of the family believe that Dara was attractive enough to be so propositioned; therefore, the inappropriate party must have been Dara and not the roving hands of other people’s husbands. This was barbaric in her opinion, to say the least.
“I’m not interested in men.” Her bitter words were quiet, but the servant snorted and shrugged them off while trying to maintain her cheery yet disapproving demeanor.
“Then be interested in power, child.” Matriarch’s words resonated throughout the bedchamber as she entered, and the servant squealed while rushing to get out of the way and curtsey at the same time. “You’ve more than enough of it. Maybe if you had been taught to control it, you wouldn’t be in the circumstances you are now.” Dara tried not to sigh as she turned back toward her great-grandmother in the doorway.
“I wasn’t expecting you to come visit.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the servant shivering in terror that Dara had not addressed The Matriarch with proper respect.
“I just wanted to remind you to…stay calm. Vincent and his ‘Men’s Liberation Party’ cohorts are everywhere, and you may want to keep your tongue until you are safely to your new home. Attricia and I know that you are not at fault.” Dara’s eyebrows rose into her forehead at this uncharacteristic show of emotion from her great-grandmother.
“Is it wise to say so in front of the…?” With a tilt of her head, Dara indicated the trembling servant.
“The girl is mine. She serves no other. Besides…” The old Matriarch smirked devilishly, “…if she betrays me, I’ll just have you kill her.”
“Great-grandmother!” Dara’s eyes widened in horror. “I could neve…”
“Pshaw! I’ve seen you kill twice this week already when you felt threatened enough.” The Matriarch walked slowly across the room to sit on the edge of Dara’s bed and chortled kindly in her old woman’s voice as she moved Dara’s favorite book out of the way. “Well, don’t tell her that you could never kill her. I was looking forward to all the rumors of my super magical great-granddaughter seducing my enemies or using her magic to kill them. It’s no use if everyone thinks you are just sweet and kind with none of the Freyan viciousness or killer instinct.”
It was the first time that Dara had ever thought of The Matriarch as old. But the woman was. Her once ebony hair had faded with streaks of iron and though her dark eyes were still hard as flint the skin around them had the beginnings of tiny lines. Matriarch might have been a force to be reckoned with, but she was aging and weary.
“You, not just you, all of my descendants, need to be stronger. You need to be the embodiment of what the people of The Matriarchy believe those of the Freyan line to be.” She scooted further onto Dara’s bed and patted the mattress beside her. Dara took a calming breath as she sat beside her elder.
“Matriarchs are the law of the land. We are the embodiment of the power of our people. But the people need to see that. Your grandmother, my daughter, has never been strong. Loud? Yes! Petulant? More so. She has never developed her own authority, always relying on her position and name, never on the relationships and deeds that give one real power. You and Attricia have power,” The younger woman snorted at her great-grandmother’s statement.
“Hardly!” Dara muttered, and The Matriarch smiled and tilted her head kindly.
“You two possess different kinds of power, but you are both powerful, nonetheless. She has influence over people with her spirit, earning their loyalty with her actions and words. Both her kindness and her cruelty. You have influence over people, and maybe many more things, with the magic that seethes within your veins. Of all my grand and great-grandchildren, you two are the only ones who embody the attributes which our people associate with the Freyan lineage. You two are the only two who would be capable, currently,” She emphasized the word with her frustration.
“…of succeeding me to my throne. But Attricia has her hands full from marrying that pig trying to soothe those foolish men who think they should be included in the right to succession, the right to be included in politics, and all that…” Her hands waved the nonsense away with a roll of her eyes and a displeased sound in her throat.
“And you, you are not in the line of succession. We thought you were safe from the machinations of Vincent’s lot. They have too much influence with foreign merchants and the dissatisfied members of our own country. This exile is the best we can do for you now without giving one of the other houses the opportunity and excuse to overthrow house Freyan. You need to succeed at the task you have been set; to prove that you are not only not a necromancer or one of the witches of the Priestess Isles, but to learn to control your power…and prove that Attricia was right to spare you. That she is strong enough to lead The Matriarchy unchallenged.”
CHAPTER 9
An Inauspicious First Day
Month 1 Week 3
The Hive – Horde Territory
The air was bitterly cold, flurries of snow swirling in the dark of the morning air. The others of his new patrol unit huddled near the fire drinking warm drinks and nibbling a bite to eat before setting out for their daily rounds. Brox was just coming off his turn as night guard and was blearily readying for sleep. None of them were ready to set out at the appointed time as Kron was and eyed him suspiciously as he walked up to the fire in full gear and ready to go.
“Kron.” Krol shook his head tiredly, stifling a yawn. “This is an ungodly hour to… be so prepared for a day’s work. Sit down and rest a spell before you make the rest of us look bad.”
“If it’s just as well…” Kron tried not to bristle at the lackadaisical attitude of this patrol. Didn’t they realize that they were the first line of defense against attack? “…I’d prefer to start my patrol as soon as possible. Unless my partner isn’t ready then I am perfectly willing to wait.”
He’d added the last sentence in a hasty rush as it hadn’t occurred to him until that instant that he might actually be partnered with someone. That was how patrols were supposed to work usually though and now that the thought was dancing through his mind, he realized that he was looking forward to at least having company to keep his mind off his growing misery. The patrol leader’s next words dashed that burgeoning hope before his subconscious had fully birthed it into thought.
“No. I’ve not assigned you a partner.” He waved a hand at the rest of the group, none of whom appeared delighted with the prospect of partnering with a known berserker. “If you are eager to start you might as well get on with it then. You’ve got your map, haven’t you? It’s fully up to date, just walked that route yesterday myself.” Kron nodded and the patrol leader continued. “Follow the outer edge of the Orc territory as outlined in the treaty. See if any humans are on Orc land, scare them away if you do. If they don’t scare away or become hostile, or have set up any kind of permanent structures, retreat and come back to base to report.”
“As you say.” Kron confirmed his orders and stalked off through the frozen air pushing aside the branches of evergreens laden with freshly fallen snow, his cloak swirling around his ankles in his wake.
The heat of his temper melted the dainty flakes that landed on his brow, dripping annoying little rivulets into his eyes. Furiously he slapped away the lower boughs of the small evergreens that grew up this close to the Hive and soon found his arms coated with the piney resin of a half dozen kinds of tree. The aroma inundated his senses and overpowered the underlying perfume of organic humus and decaying woods.
What was he doing? Why was he working himself up over this? This was how it was now right? Taking stock of his emotions Kron slowed his steps and took a few deep breaths. One good thing had come from his assignment to this patrol; the first day that Krol walked him out to the patrol’s camp he had made a big show of taking deep breaths and then sighed and turned to Kron.
“You smell that? That’s the smell of being alive. It might not feel like it right now but it’s a thing you ought not to squander.”
Even remembering that the drunken lazy old fool had said something so sage seemed like a hallucination in the dark grey of predawn as icy water ran down him and soaked his warm furs. Ah well. He might as well follow orders for now. Kron tromped along following his map and enjoying the brightening day despite the chill.
Despite his general malaise, the young warrior’s senses were keen as ever and by midmorning, he sensed a general wrongness in the area he was patrolling. It wasn’t anything obvious or overt. There were no signs of human settlement, no dangerous animals. In fact, the place was downright idyllic.
Somehow the forest on the human settlement side of the mountains was less desolate than the woods he’d been traveling through his entire life. This was the back ass of the Hive so to speak and it was lusher and more beautiful than any place Kron had ever seen. No wonder so many of the Orcs argued that they should end the truce with the Matriarchy and take back this part of the land.
The bubbling of a stream splashing nearby reminded him that his water skin was empty. He could see the inviting liquid winking in and out of sight just through the trees as it tripped between moss-covered boulders. The trees grew closer together along the watercourse. Loath to put himself in a position where he might have to fight in close quarters, Kron looked for another way to the water.
Finding none, he cautiously slipped among the denser trees near the edge of the rivulet twisting one way then another, deeper and deeper; deeper than he had thought the way was until he found that he could not twist any longer. The Orc had gotten himself tightly closed in on all sides. There was no path to advance upon and glancing behind him, there was nowhere to retreat. Even the gaps between trees he had just passed seemed to have disappeared in the moments between then and now.
CHAPTER 10
Talking to Trees
Month 1- Week 3
The Horde – Hive Territory
If he was going to have to make a decision of whether to struggle onward or back the way he had come, the choice seemed clear to Kron. His orders were to find things that were strange, out of the ordinary. This certainly seemed to meet those criteria. Straining past crystalline ice-encrusted branches, Kron forged on, twigs scratching his face, brambles jumping out from empty air to gouge at his eyes, vines and roots sprung newly to life to trip his feet and clutch at his ankles.
Kron pushed on the forest, and the forest pushed back. When he realized he was struggling with the living trees as if they were an opponent, the large Orc experienced a moment of temporary shock. His whole body turned still and numb. And with his cessation of struggle, so too did the…thicket…or whatever it was he was caught in, cease its efforts. The gentle swaying of the trees and brush in the breeze returned to its completely ordinary appearance.
This was new. How was he to get free if every movement he made was countered? Was it only if he moved forward? Experimentally he leaned back against the wall of vegetation behind him. No, there was no give there. It was all movement at this point. Some enchanted or magical thing had caught him securely in its grasp. Stories from his childhood sprang to mind that such things could be good, or malign, or neither; but they always punished those who did not respect their territory. Feeling like an idiot but seeing no other way out he hung his head and sighed.
“I don’t suppose you’d let me go if I asked nicely and assured you that I mean you and this place no harm?” It seemed so natural, yet as he watched there was a shift in the slowly moving greenery before him, the undulations caused by the wind gradually showed that there was an opening now where there had been none before. A path leading down to the streambank and dappled sunlight.
The bank was strewn with rocks, varying in size from the larger boulders just upstream which formed a mini waterfall to pebbles smaller than the pad of his thumb. At the water’s edge, coarse sand of tinier pebbles whorled along the clay soil that lined the watercourse. And just before the little waterfall the clay arced charmingly over the stream capped by a bright green carpet of some moss-like growth that dropped trailing tendrils into the stream below. Said tendrils waved lazily at him from the slow-flowing clear liquid while small fish darted among them.
Despite the…interesting nature of how he had arrived here, Kron didn’t want to just trust this water from an unknown source. Upstream then. It would have to be as there was no path back the way he had come, and the endless dark tunnel of trees framing the downstream direction and surrounded by impenetrable walls of forest seemed uninviting somehow. Quirking his lips into a wry grin over his tusks, the Orc turned upstream toward the brighter light of open sunshine.
There was a clearing ahead…and flowers, he could smell them now, the faint honey scent that underlaid their sweet nectar and powdery pollen wafting toward him. And water. The stream was quieter up ahead so it must be near the source, or at least slowing flowing, less likely to have debris. No one liked grit in their drinking water, did they? And it seemed whatever entity had led him to this place agreed. Why else would the way to the source be so much more inviting?
With the fatalistic unconcern of one who knows that his right to life could be revoked any day, Kron took the offered path toward the rivulet’s source. After all, it wasn’t like he had any magic. He didn’t possess any kind of magic. And it was his job to patrol this area. Might as well do it on a lovely path.
The water’s source was a large pool surrounded by a small meadow full of wildflowers. Clear as glass and reflecting the blue of the sky it was equally appealing for a swim as for nourishment. Kneeling, he filled his waterskin, keeping his attention on the surrounding woods. There was no way out of this lovely place other than what it permitted.
Standing back, he took a drink and replaced the water skin on his belt to unroll the map he’d been given. Kron was fairly certain he was still within Orc territory. If his memory served, he hadn’t passed any of the landmarks which delineated the end of his designated area of surveillance. Spreading the leather roll out, he smoothed the edges of the map against a rock and tilted his head out of the way to get direct light on his map.
It should be relatively easy to determine where he was since he had such a significant landmark to locate himself with. He’d also taken a fairly straight path from his Hive so it shouldn’t be terribly difficult. It was as he reviewed the map that he figured out exactly what the wrongness was that he had been sensing since finding the stream. There was no stream on the map. A map which he had been assured was completely accurate as of the day before.
“I see.” So. The map wouldn’t be able to help him find a way out of this. Could it perhaps be a trick played on him by Krol? Some well-known nature spirit that he’d been sent into the clutches of as a test or perhaps a lesson. No. No matter his generally ridiculous behavior, the patrol leader wouldn’t do something like that.
There was only one way out of this predicament that Kron knew of, to continue the unsettling course of the mystery stream through the forest. “Alright,” Kron spoke out loud to whatever was controlling his fate. “Clearly, I’m supposed to go somewhere or see something. Lead the way.” Even though nothing really changed around him, the path seemed to, he wasn’t sure…be brighter…now that he had decided to follow it.
It seemed more well-trodden than he had thought it originally to be. Possibly even the remnants of paving stones scattered here and there. As if this was once a much-visited place that had been abandoned long ago. Perhaps when the Orcs had taken this land from the humans?
The trees continued packed tightly together yet with enough openings among the high branches that it allowed a dim green light to filter through the needles. There was no ice or snow though and it was warmer than it should have been this time of year. His path wandered on meandering, and with the unchanging light, it was difficult to say how long he’d been walking. It wasn’t getting dark yet so it must have still been early. Maybe mid-day at the latest. The trees thinned and the path became at the same time both more and less distinct as it wound among the growth.
There were more than just evergreens now and the leafless skeletons of seasonal trees now made larger patches of light with brambles and bushes, most of them also leafless, running rampant with the brighter conditions here. Still, the path went on, always near the little stream. Over the sound of the water, a new sound drifted to him.