Page 29

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

DAGHEL

I stand to the right of Vorn’s throne, my expression as carefully blank and composed as ever belying the dark, icy fury stirring within my gut. I am in an unforgiving mood this morning, especially since I was summoned in the earliest hours of the morning. Although Anya has been living with us for many days since our mating, there is a newness to it that is still rocking through me. I had fully expected to go on our usual sweep today as we have the past several days, but to be so rudely summoned and commanded to come without my mate makes hostility and wariness prickle through me.

I stare at the gathered orcs icily. There is not a female among us. Not even the assembled gathol orcs are present with their mates. It is unnerving. There is nothing good to come of this.

Vorn stares down at us coldly from the throne. “As some of you may or may not know, I have been corresponding with other powerful clan lords that have risen to the height of power within their own clans and wrestled power from the queens. It is mostly outlier clans, as those of the inner mountains with their deep fortresses are still deferentially loyal to the old ways. It is because of this alliance I have learned what our enemies do not wish us to know.”

He stares at the males, his gaze shifting among them, holding their gaze with his beady stare. “They are launching strategic attacks against clans where the claim of rule is uncertain, and an entire contingent consisting of gathols and warriors are heading our way to join with the factions in hiding within our own peaks,” he shouts as he gestures to a covered table in front of him. “We must destroy this faction encampment before the gathol and supporting warriors can arrive and muster their strength! We must strike the death blow from which they will never recover, so that they turn away from the Fang Peaks and never threaten our power again!”

At his nod, Ajek whips the fabric from the table, revealing a carefully carved layout of the mountains. I recognize this map only distantly as I recall the queen pouring it over a time or two while Linahna and I played as pups in her chambers. There are markers now set upon them with carefully placed pieces, and I realize quickly that the red pieces are the attacking forces that he mentioned.

His gaze drifted over the males, his expression cruel and pitiless. “This cannot be allowed,” he thunders, his fist striking the arm of the throne and the sound echoes throughout the throne room. “I have summoned you today, all powerful warriors and leaders of your own ranks, and call on you to prepare for battle. They dare to attack our peaks on the eve of the solstice, on the longest night of the year. Well then, we will meet them and bathe the night red with their blood. We will descend upon them, and we will tear them to pieces and feast upon their bones!”

A shout goes up through the room, a roaring sound of bloodlust from the gathered males, and my eyes narrow on them. The warriors gnash their teeth violently, their fists beating their chest in salute and allegiance to the prince. There are those commanders around the outer ring who remain quiet, warily observing the chaos of the fanatics eager to rise to Vorn’s cause. Just beyond them, the gathol wing leaders are assembled and I note the distinct discomfort plainly on the face of many of those among their numbers.

Vorn settles back into his throne with a smirk of satisfaction, gesturing aimlessly at Ajek to take the lead now that he has gotten his followers riled up. His gaze shifts to me and his smile widens ruthlessly as he leans toward me on his throne.

“Daghel, you have special orders. While the other gathol go to gather the war-platforms, you will fly ahead and scout for the best vantage point to direct the gathols. There will be no survivors, do you understand? You will not interfere with my warriors, nor will you allow any other gathol to. If any disobey your command… drop them. Is that clear?”

I meet his gaze coolly and incline my head as I prowl away from the throne, my gaze trained on the gathol that I am now entirely responsible for. I pray that this does not come to haunt me in the days to come.

“Move out,” Ajek bellows, thrusting his first into the air. “May we be picking their bones out of our teeth for the days to come!”

A howl erupts from among them and the gathols move back a pace, their gaze shifting over to meet mine. There is no getting out of this, certainly not in the current setting. The maddened orcs would be quick to rip apart their own clan members if any of just choose to leave, risking our families. I tip my head toward the staircase going to the assembly platform and they nod. We will mount there and descend to gather the war-platforms from the outskirts of the village below. The males give one last glance to the room and withdraw toward the staircase, their path swift and silent. I follow them grimly, the fall of our boots echoing in the staircase as we make our terrible march to the summit of the plateau.

In contrast to the frenzy descending through the palace, we remain silent as we exit the stairwell into the frigid air of the assembly, where the wyverns wait for us at the ready. Drisk catches the mood quickly, and he bends his head slightly to peer at me expectantly as his gaze shifts in search of our mate, but I give a small shake of my head. I will speak with him privately when we are airborne. The fact that Vorn has intentionally separated us from our females in this flight makes my skin prickle uneasily. Drisk does not offer complaint, but his eyes narrow as his head turns toward the palace, his long, pointed ears pricking as they draw from their tight tuck against the sides of his head. He rumbles quietly to himself with heavy suspicion but remains completely still as I launch myself onto his saddle and wait patiently for the strands’ invasion.

They launch themselves over me, crawling rapidly as they twist themselves so rapidly and violently into place with his impatience that I am forced to gasp to drag in a lungful of air.

“Apologies,” Drisk mutters along our connection and I frown down at him in reply, knowing that he will have his way of reading the expression without looking back at me now that we are connected.

Drawing his wings up wide, he launches us into the sky and carries us rapidly away from the assembly with the furious beat of his wings, leaving the gathols to catch up with us once they fetch the war-platforms. I cling tightly to him as we sail past the peaks covered heavily with ice and snow, and still he climbs, arching slowly in adjustment of his course as I pass along the image of Vorn’s battle plans and his explicit instructions.

Drisk hisses in my mind vehemently. “The gathols can never stand by and do nothing. He means to sacrifice the higher ranked, older, mated gathol and has separated them from their females to weaken them when they are most vulnerable without their females to keep watch tethered to their sides. They are the only ones who have been assigned on this round to carry the war-platforms.”

I also did not miss that. “This is exactly his intention. And he means for us to not return in the midst of defending ourselves from the other gathols when they turn on us in response,” I reply grimly. “He wants none to remain but the younger and unmated whom he can fashion into what he wants the gathols to be—a sexless, loveless blade for him to wield against his enemies.”

“What are you going to do? You cannot sacrifice them.”

My lips curl, chilling. “I agreed to his orders. I never intended to follow them in the spirit they were stated. We will merely follow up with a report that they are all dead and give them all a bit of a fiery show.”

Drisk cackles, his clicks echoing over the mountains as we pass through them. “And what of the warriors?”

“I suspect that many of the warrior commanders will have been given orders to make camp and wait for retrieval, but once Ajek realizes that we are still alive, I suspect that he will demand that we carry him and a few of his more prized warriors back with us. Though I am certain that he will be disappointed in not being given the opportunity to carry out his charade of reporting my death to the remaining gathols in order to rally them in support of Vorn.”

“So sad,” Drisk replies with another cackle.

My lips twitch in response. Drisk never laughed before Anya, preferring to be of terrible mood and temperament to everyone around him—even me to a degree, but I suspect that it is only because he knew that I would not take offense to his scathing tongue. But in recent days, it seems that he is quick to laugh, even if it is perhaps more menacing and terrifying than any growl that the male produces. I settle into the saddle and peer along the mountains, matching them up to the map I am carrying in my mind. There is a small sign of smoke in the distance, outing the camp, but that is not my concern at this moment.

“The other gathols will soon be arriving,” I mutter to myself and for Drisk’s benefit so that he hears the thoughts clearly and understands the plan. “I need to plot a route so that they may escape from the battlefield without raising suspicion.”

Drisk grunts in acknowledgement as we continue to glide close among the cliff faces as we pass through the mountains, keeping our profile low as I carefully plot the angle of attack. The warriors will strike head-on northward, so that means that the two peaks, Andra and Dwana, the closest set of the Fang Peaks, will be a blind spot. I smile triumphantly as I give Drisk the command to circle back around.

We are returning to the point of attack just as the gathol wings soar in formation over the lowest peaks; the wyverns carrying their heavy burdens in their powerful rear claws. The bellow of wyverns crack through the air and the warriors in the war-platform beat their chest with their fists and their weapons upon the high walls of the platforms carrying them. The combined sound is like a violent roll of thunder and the “enemy” reacts swiftly.

Males pile out from the camps, many of them pulling on their armor in the process as their heads tilt up to the wyverns gliding over them. Weapons are raised and some javelins are tossed into the air as a shower of arrows fly upward to meet us. Wyverns duck low, sailing below them to skim the snow with their packages before releasing the war-platform to break through the snow as they jettison across the expanse toward the rallying faction.

I stare down in shock at them, noting the many humans in their midst. It is not unusual to see human males in the villages when they are brought among our people as pups and raised with our own, but usually they take to tasks such as farming or weaving, though there are some who are stationed as village guards. To see them fighting so bravely against orcs much larger than them fills me with respect for them and an unexpected sorrow when I see them cut down.

A bellow rises, cutting through the air, and then another as warriors pile from the platforms, many barely waiting for them to slow completely before leaping clear of it to continue the charge on foot. The clash of force is vicious. Even from my vantage point above, I can clearly see its gruesomeness as the Fang Peak warriors, half crazy and out of the minds, attack not only with their weapons but with their tusks, teeth, and claws once they brought them in close, goring them savagely and ripping at their flesh. In fact, many seem to be forgoing weapons for clean deaths altogether, to tear bloodily into their enemy and rip them apart just as Vorn instructed. Without outside support, the small faction encampment is heavily outnumbered three to one and being savagely obliterated as they are leapt upon from two or three directions. Some few of the Cold Fang Clan fall, but it is not enough, not nearly enough to make a retreat.

I can feel the cold touch of the darkness gathering near the battle, but its approach this time, unlike other battles, it is silent. It is an electric hiss within the atmosphere and a charge of power rippling through the air as it descends upon us as the skies darken and an icy wind blasts over the mountains with the howl of the damned.

“It comes,” Drisk rumbles and I nod.

“I am aware.”

“What shall you do?” the male purrs, and I close my eyes.

“Wait for the right moment,” I reply.

I am not a fool. Although I have chosen to ignore the fact that Drisk comes from the depths of the mountains, I have known all along that his purpose for flying the long expanse over the mountains was one full of complexities and secrecy. All along he has been waiting and watching and while he follows my direction and lead when it comes to the darkness, it feels now like one long dance that he has patiently waited to play out. It is as if he knew that this decision would come. He is aware of it seeping around me, its seductive whisper teasing my senses as the evils and atrocities below fill my vision. Orcs grab fallen victims of both species, ripping flesh from the fallen bodies, gorging themselves on their bloody flesh as they howl and roar triumphantly before springing on their next victim.

Beyond the presence of the darkness boiling around me, there is a sense of horror as the wings of gathol hang in the air, almost frozen in place by the brutality below. I watch them from the corner of my eye but also rely on Drisk’s observations as he keeps me informed regarding the gathol wings. None of them makes the move I’m waiting for and I gnash my teeth in frustration.

A sudden movement to my left has my gaze shifting from the battlefield, snapping up as one of the wing leaders abruptly drops in a sharp descent with his wyvern, his look of horror melting into determination. This was the moment I was waiting for, so that my approach did not look too suspicious from below.

“Cut them off, Drisk,” I command coldly, and my bonded-wyvern complies, circling slightly before folding his wings in a rapid drop on course with the other wyvern.

The wing leader’s wyvern pulls up with a bellow as Drisk’s wings snap out right in front of him so that we are flying in place and the male barely avoids the collision.

“Daghel! What in the name of the hells are you doing?” the wing leader shouts. “There is something wrong with all of this. We have to stop it!”

“There is no stopping it,” I growl back, lifting my voice to be heard above the wind. “To stop it is a death sentence for all of us as well as them. They kept our females away from this battle not only to weaken us, but to hold them for their vengeance. Do you think Vorn will kill them quickly and mercifully if we go against orders? He wants all of us dead and thinks to see to it that exactly that happens in this battle.”

The male pales. “My Daniella,” he whispers. “We are all damned.” He shakes his head sorrowfully, his lips moving in a silent prayer for the dead, but his gaze meets mine steadily despite the grief welling up within them. “What do we do?”

“Perform,” I reply with a sharp smile. “I will chase you among the wings. Shout your orders to the wing leaders and I will pursue the lot of you between those peaks there.” I tip my head toward them meaningfully even as Drisk’s neck coils, making a vicious strike against the leader’s bonded.

Understanding lights the males and his wyvern shoots up away from us so quickly that I tip my head back to watch him ascend. We pause for a moment to allow him to gain distance, Drisk flapping his wings in a way to suggest that he is recovering from a bite, before his wings snap us through the air in hot pursuit.

I watch everything play out almost as an observer watching it all from the distance, a cool smile on my lips even as the screams from below fill my heart with dark rage. Drisk’s wyvern fire flares through the air over and over and I can hear roars of triumph rising to me from below in response. My lips twist in a cruel grin as Drisk continues to give chase, pursuing the wings of gathol across the skies. They truly believe that I am on their side?

I laugh aloud, but the sound is so cold that I have little doubt that it would be easily mistaken by the right people. And when we finally arrived beyond the two peaks, sliding expertly through the narrow gap, Drisk releases his flame in a performance that would never be forgotten if any will live to tell the tale to future generations. And through it at all, the darkness rides beside me, watching and smiling… waiting.

“Have you decided?” Drisk asks, his fire spent now that the performance has played out and we are the only gathol in the sky.

“Yes,” I growl. Time to give it what it wants.

Drawing in a deep breath, I turn to meet the darknesses’ black eyes. It is seated on the shadowy form of its own wyvern, but it is more of a shadow of something that once was rather than containing a true substance like the darkness itself. The darkness smiles and I incline my head. The air vibrates thunderously around me—as if destiny is suddenly winding into place and time stands still—as I let the darkness in.

Not it… Durethikal.

He flows into me, his mount vanishing and becoming nothing more than Drisk’s own shadow as the darkness clasps my forearm and invades me, drawing us together with a magnetic force that is pain and pleasure, joy and anger all once as he settles within me. Fire and ice meet and I bellow at the shock as raw seams of a tear I never realized was there meets and mends and he fills an empty hole as if it was waiting just for him.

Not he… not we…. Me. Everything is still roiling in confusion as my entire being is knit together anew, but one thing is for certain…. It is time to begin the next act in our little performance.

“Driskal,” I rasp. “Let us go and… play.”