Alora Read online

  “We must deal with it later. At the moment, we have wounded coming,” Meravelle pointed down the lane where a wagon approached, laden with injured villagers. “It seems Vindrake’s men also attacked other parts of Glaenshire.”

  “What’s more, I hear the sound of drums announcing the return of the Water Clan horsemen,” said Raelene, craning her head the other direction.

  Mera still needed to deal with the boy and his scroll.

  “Young sir? Your name is Markaeus?” Mera inquired, with a polite bow.

  “Yes.” He turned his head, watching her from the corner of his eye.

  “Well, Markaeus, since you’ve already walked safely on the Craedenza foundation after blood was shed in its defense, you can simply return and store your scroll inside the Craedenza. The doors are locked, but of course that will not deter you. When this battle ends, if any oath-bound remain, you can place it in their custody. And if not, it will still be safer in the Craedenza than any other place.”

  She didn’t have time to see if he took her advice, for the wagon had arrived. A man leapt off ahead of the others, tears streaking through the dirt on his face. In his arms, he cradled a child’s limp body.

  “Please! Where’s the healer? He must save Karinda.” He kicked the healing house door open with his foot. “Wellabae! Come quickly!”

  “Wellabae isn’t here,” Meravelle answered, taking a deep breath to calm her palpitating heart. “He and the other oath-bound are up there, defending the Craedenza.”

  She didn’t add that she’d seen the healer struck by a sword and doubted he was still alive.

  “We have no healer?” The despair in his voice tore at her heart.

  “I’m the healer, now. I’ve assisted Wellabae many times.” She tried to sound confident, though her experiences with the healer had been limited to treating fevers and an occasional broken arm or accidental cut. Never before had war or violence darkened the town of Glaenshire.

  Please, God... help me.

  **************

  “But Master Vindrake, it’s not possible to create a ward strong enough to strip a hundred warriors of their gifts.”

  The sallow-skinned shaman trembled, a natural enough reaction to Vindrake’s lethal anger, but somehow as irritating as a seed stuck under his gums. Not for the first time, Vindrake regretted bringing Amon on the journey, having done so only because he expected little or no resistance upon reaching Glaenshire.

  The other shaman who’d accompanied them had spoken with too much arrogance one evening, about a seven-day into the trip. Expecting appreciation, he commented that Vindrake was fortunate to have him—a shaman of great skill—since the Water Clan ruler was apparently in a weakened state from some sort of overexertion.

  He did not receive the expected accolades.

  Vindrake had killed the man on the spot, absorbing his energy. Afterwards, he’d felt strengthened and no distress whatsoever at the loss of the supercilious shaman.

  Until now.

  “And yet, Amon, standing before us are some forty of my warriors who left but two fingers ago and have returned giftless.”

  “But Master Vindrake. That could only happen if a shaman were here in Glaenshire—a very strong shaman. You said there were no shamans in Glaenshire.”

  “No... I said Glaenshire did not have a shaman. You were charged with detecting the presence of a shaman, a task you failed,” Vindrake hissed through gritted teeth, considering whether the man would have more value as a wendt.

  He’d already been forced to create a second wendt, when the Glaenshire citizens slew the first monster. By what miracle these powerless villagers had managed to destroy his killing creature, Vindrake couldn’t imagine.

  Creating not one, but two wendts, had left him fatigued, inhibiting his ability to effectively wield his bloodbond. Amon wasn’t worth the effort required to create a third wendt. He’s so spineless, a wendt made from his essence would probably cower at the cry of an infant.

  The presence of an enemy shaman was but a small impediment to his goal. No shaman in all of Tenavae had the strength to withstand his power when he was fully refreshed. Not even Nordamen of Stone Clan, whom he knew for a fact to be in Laegenshire this very day. His spy had scratched the information in the dirt for him to see.

  Spinning back to face his retreated fighting force, he screamed out, “Go back and fight, you cowards! Finish the battle with your skill and training. Surely you can overpower these inept villagers, even without your gifts.”

  “Yes, Sire.” The female commander hesitated, glancing at her comrades. “However, there is more hindrance than a simple lack of gifting. Our balance and speed is altered, such that our aim is impeded.”

  “You will have to compensate.” He was losing what little patience he had remaining.

  She cleared her throat. “But, Sire, what about the other matter? Our front-line warriors began the battle at the Craedenza, striking the enemy with success despite their lack of gifting. Yet after a few breaths, they stopped attacking the defenders and turned against us, until they took their own lives. This is why we retreated, Master Vindrake, not because we lost our gifts. Our bloodbond compelled our return when a third of our warriors had perished.”

  “I will extend my will through your bond rather than letting it work passively, as before. Have no fear... no measly shaman’s magick can compete with the dark power of my bloodbond.”

  Of course my reserves are almost depleted. I will need to sacrifice one of my personal guards to renew my power.

  His eyes roamed across the nervous warriors who remained behind to assure his safety. Which one to choose... Had one irritated him more so than the others?

  Then his gaze fell on the unfortunate shaman, shaking like a lone leaf in autumn.

  Vindrake smiled.

  ~14~

  The portal was quite short—only about thirty yards—but wide enough that everyone could spread out at the end and get organized. Arista opened the door a tiny sliver to peek out. When she closed it and turned to face them, her alarm sent Alora’s heart into spasms.

  “It’s a battle,” Arista said. “With warriors bearing Vindrake’s bondmark.”

  “At least we’re in Tenavae,” Wesley remarked. “I was afraid we might end up in some different freaky world. Maybe one without oxygen. Or someplace underwater.”

  “Did you see Markaeus?” asked Uncle Charles.

  “I saw no one I recognized.”

  Kaevin held up his machete. “With Water Clan warriors present, we must be in Portshire.”

  Her face resolute, Arista nocked an arrow. “I’m not afraid.”

  Alora heard Jireo muttering to Kaevin, “Her lack of fear frightens me most.”

  As Arista turned back toward the door, Kaevin called out, “Wait, Arista.”

  Heedless to his warning, she slipped out, and the door shut behind her.

  “Brightness!” said Kaevin and Jireo in unison, sprinting to the door with blades in hand.

  “We’re right behind you,” Brian called, as he and Wesley raced after them.

  All five were gone within seconds.

  Uncle Charles paused. “Alora, I don’t want to go out there without saying, ‘I love you.’”

  Alora hugged him tight, wishing she could stay there, safe in his arms like when she was younger and innocent... before she learned her dangerous heritage and destiny. But reality intruded, ruining her moment of peace.

  “I don’t have a weapon.” Realizing she was the only one who hadn’t grabbed a knife from Wesley’s box, Alora prayed her uncle would have a spare with him.

  He rummaged in the old brown rucksack she’d seen a thousand times in the backseat of his truck. “Take these. Two knives—one ceramic and one titanium. Both will transport, of course.”

  “Jireo showed me how to hold a knife in hand-to-hand combat, but I’m not too good at throwing them.”

  “Me neither,” Uncle Charles commented as he dug deeper in his pack. “But I’ve a
lso got a few cans of pepper spray in here. If a bad guy gets close and there’s some reason you can’t transport out of the way, spray this in his eyes.” Charles offered her a can. “Of course, you can’t take it if you transport anywhere.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Charles. I think I’ll stick with the knives.”

  Closing the Velcro tabs, he swung the backpack straps over his shoulders, while Alora tucked the knives in her pockets and reached for the door handle. With her heart thumping fast and hard inside her ribcage like she’d been exercising, her hand refused to open the door.

  What if I lose the lid on my pain? Laethan says I’m months away from getting back to normal, and it could kill me if it came out all at once. Or what if see my father and go into panic mode?

  Turning back toward her uncle, she threw her arms around his waist. “Pray for me, Uncle Charles. I didn’t want anyone to know, but I’m really scared. I wish I’d never learned how to suppress my emotions, because now it happens all the time. I had no idea it was dangerous to use my stupid empathy gift like that.”

  Smoothing her hair, he kissed the top of her head. “Alora, I pray for you every day. I believe you can handle anything you come up against. You know how proud I am of you, right?”

  She nodded against his chest, soaking in his encouragement.

  “You can do this, Alora. Laethan taught you how to handle your gift. You’ve been practicing. I know you can do it. You have to. Markaeus needs you. We all need you.”

  “Okay.” She took a deep shuddery breath. “Okay, I can do this.”

  The door slammed open before Alora’s hand could touch it. Arista pounced inside, hair escaping from her loose braid, each curly strand flying about like a living creature.

  “Hurry, Alora! Kaevin says you must bring more warriors from Stone Clan.”

  Arista bounded down the portal passage to the Montana entrance.

  “Wait, Arista! Where’re you going?”

  “To fetch your healer, if he’ll come.”

  **************

  The battle raged in front of the massive stone building with iridescent minerals sparkling in the light of the setting sun. The dead and injured littered the gleaming stone at its base.

  Kaevin ran in the opposite direction, with Jireo at his side and Brian and Wesley behind them. Had Raelene not seen them emerge from the portal and warned them away, they would’ve unwittingly joined the oath-bound on the Craedenza foundation.

  He had no idea how Markaeus had succeeded in creating a portal to Raelene in Glaenshire, and there was no time to contemplate the event, in light of Vindrake’s attack on the defenseless town.

  I wish my father were here in my stead. I’ve no desire to be responsible for so many lives without proper time to consider each decision. Yet, I can’t shirk my responsibility.

  Rushing toward the town square, where shouts and clashing swords announced another battle, he and Jireo moved in perfect tandem. Having his defender brother at his side gave him an extra measure of courage when he desperately needed it.

  According to Raelene, there were no gifted warriors in Glaenshire, other than the four who had accompanied Bardamen and her on the journey from Laegenshire. Though the Stone Clan warriors had been chosen for their gifting and skills, Vindrake possessed a huge advantage in numbers. Glaenshire had little chance of surviving unless Alora brought more fighters to help.

  He narrowly missed colliding with his soulmate when she transported in front of him.

  “Yikes! Sorry, Kaevin,” she said.

  “Come on.” Shifting his blade to his left hand he started running again, falling in stride behind Jireo, Wesley and Brian. He was pleased to see her keep pace without appearing winded.

  Perhaps all her training and preparation has been a good thing after all.

  “Where’s your uncle?”

  “He said he would catch up with us. He didn’t want to transport and lose his weapons.”

  “Good. We need warriors from Stone Clan. As many as possible. And quickly. Tell them, on my authority as clan leader.”

  “Where are we, anyway?” Alora asked, squinting at the shadowy buildings while they trotted down the cobblestone street in the twilight. “Arista said you needed me to fetch more warriors, but she didn’t say where the portal came out.”

  “We’re in Glaenshire.”

  “Glaenshire? Marakeaus actually made a portal to Raelene? I thought the portal had to extend to another gressor.”

  “I don’t know how he did it.” How can I be an effective leader when I don’t have enough information?

  “Why is Water Clan attacking Glaenshire? I thought Glaenshire was the Switzerland of Tenavae.”

  “I have not heard of Switch Land, but it is truly an evil thing to attack the home of the Craedenza.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, knowing my father.” Her voice sounded small, like a child. “You want me to go to Laegenshire and transport warriors here? By myself, without you?”

  “Yes.” He nodded, despite the protective instinct in his head screaming to keep her close by. “You have your gifts and I have mine. You don’t need my help unless they question your authority. I trust you’ll be careful not to draw from the soulmate bond when you transport.”

  He must have said the right thing because he could hear more confidence in her tone when she replied, “What should I say?”

  “Tell them, ‘As Stone Clan leader, I call for warriors to defend Glaenshire against Vindrake’s attack.’”

  “Okay.”

  “Thankfully, we have a large cache of swords and knives here already.”

  “Yeah. Good thing Thalaena sent them ahead with Grandmother and Bardamen. I sure hope this doesn’t mess up our trip to Serenshire.”

  She released his hand, slowing to a stop. “I’ll try to be fast and careful.”

  “Alora, wait!” Kaevin halted, dread growing in his gut. He sensed the night would not end well, though it couldn’t affect his decision to send her alone. Reaching her in two long strides, he looped his arm around her waist, crushing her against him and kissing her hard.

  When he released her, she was breathing fast, holding her hand on her throat. “What was that for?”

  He shrugged. “A man on your TV did that right before a battle. I thought it was your custom in Montana.”

  She smiled, her eyes half-lidded. “Great custom to adopt.”

  **************

  Alleraen transported to Glaenshire in the second group, but not because he wasn’t among the first ready to go. In fact, he always slept fully clothed with a blade beneath his pillow, a custom he’d adopted since escaping from his brother’s cavern dungeon.

  “I’m sorry, Alleraen.” Alora linked arms with him and one other warrior. “You’re just so big, you know? I didn’t want to risk it. But now I know where the weapons cache is, so we’re going straight to it.”

  He wanted to ask questions. How many Water Clan warriors are there? Is the battleground open or confined? And most important, have you seen my brother?

  But within a breath, he was in Glaenshire, his blood coursing through his veins in response to the nearby battle sounds, and Alora was gone again.

  Thalaena barked orders. “Quickly, quickly! Grab your blades. We’re not too late to save the village, though many have already perished, including some of our own. Surprise is our ally, so make your approach without conversation. The villagers have made a stand in the square. Their safety is our primary concern. Do not—I repeat—do not leave the square, unless by my command.”

  Her eyes locked with Alleraen’s as she made this last statement. Indeed, he was already battling an intense urge to seek out his brother.

  How does she know?

  He pressed his lips together to forestall a protest, but he knew Thalaena was right. He had to put visions of revenge out of his mind and concentrate on protecting the innocent citizens of Glaenshire and the Craedenza.

  On the other hand, if my brother shows his face in the
square, his life belongs to me.

  Alleraen’s feet crunched on the gravel as he raced around the building, but he didn’t have to worry about alerting the enemy with the noise. For at that moment, the scream of a wendt sent all eyes to the sky. The villagers dispersed in terror, running haphazardly in every direction. Protected from the wendts by their bloodbonds, the Water Clan fighters used the mayhem to their advantage, slaying some who were seeking shelter in nearby buildings.

  Ignoring the wendt, Alleraen lunged forward. His sword sliced the neck of a Water Clan warrior just in time to avert his attack on an elderly fleeing villager. The old man tottered away, still clutching his weapon, a short blade better suited to slicing meat on a table than for use in a battle.

  The wendt screeched again, closer this time. Alleraen saw a moonlit shadow growing larger as the vile creature plunged toward him. Moving swiftly, he grabbed the lifeless body of the Water Clan warrior at his feet and tossed it into the air.

  Sharp talons closed on the body, teeth tearing into flesh. Heavy wings flapped, lifting the dark sinewy form. A shrill squawk, and the wendt rose higher. Higher. Arrows flew, bouncing off the thick, scaly hide. More arrows. Then an arrow imbedded in the creature’s neck, appearing almost as if by magick. The wendt screamed in pain, but continued to fly with its cargo of human remains. Another arrow sunk into the animal’s chest. Still, it flew. Another arrow struck his chest, and the dead body slipped from its claws. With the fourth arrow, the monster plummeted downward, landing with a resounding thunk and a sickening crack of bones.

  Alleraen spied the source of the wendt-killing arrows. It was no surprise to find the Montana man, Brian, and his son, Wesley, perched on a flat roof, holding their special bows. But Arista also brandished one of the odd bows and joined in their strange celebration, slapping one another’s hands in the air.

  Her animation brought a fleeting smile to Alleraen’s face, but with the death of their wendt, the Water Clan warriors renewed their attack. Alleraen enjoyed the confusion on their faces as more and more Stone Clan fighters entered the fray.

  The enemy warriors fought with clumsy movements, stumbling and tripping, their aim often awry.