Page 86 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Elisara

C larity ran through Elisara’s mind, gifted with the knowledge of the past. Kazaar could not have experienced this, or else he would have told her.

Each of her steps vibrated along the ground as she strode from their tent and slid her sword into the strap down her back.

She held the Sword of Sonos in her left.

The remaining army were in formation, standing several lines from the edge of the dune, away from Caligh’s sight.

Elisara reached the middle of the back row and stood, waiting until the soldiers turned and created a path to the front.

The other rulers stood at the end, watching and ready to move.

Before she stepped towards them, a cough sounded to her right. She turned to find Vlad.

“We all know,” he said, a thickness to his voice.

“Despite the reputation once laid upon him, he was respected—by all of us.” Vlad raised his right fist and placed it over his heart.

Elisara nodded, keeping her emotions in check as a new, profound focus flowed through her, the power coursing in her blood.

Vlad frowned when Elisara said nothing but marched ahead.

With every step, the soldiers raised their fists and bent their knees, a sign of their respect for him and their reverence for her.

Elisara held her head high, the sun beating down upon them, as though unaware of the second battle to come. The battle she would win. Larelle glanced at her neck and frowned at the talisman she proudly displayed. It was his, yet now it was hers. Gifted in memories.

She nodded to Nyzaia and gripped her forearm, neither acknowledging their pain. They would do this for him. Elisara passed her the Sword of Sonos.

“I cannot,” Nyzaia said, but Elisara forced it into her hands.

“Take it. It is not important,” she said, recalling the pieces that appeared to her while unconscious. Caellum frowned beside Sadira, and Soren narrowed her eyes.

“Of course it is important, Elisara,” Sadira began, but Elisara whipped her head to her with a look that silenced further protests.

“It is a sword made from a special metal in Ithyion, laced in poison. The metal kills anything, whether it is created from darkness or not.” Elisara stared at Sadira.

“It has no imbuement. Either your Wiccan clan lied or were ignorant to the truth.” Sadira jerked her head back, yet Elisara had no time to cradle other’s feelings.

They all began to talk, speaking over her, asking how she could know such a thing, but the time for questions was later—after she took from the man who stole Kazaar from her.

Elisara ignored them and strode for the top of the dune.

Nyzaia caught up to her with Farid and the rest of the royals.

Larelle raised her hand to halt the army behind them.

“Elisara, you need to tell us what is going on,” said Nyzaia, reaching for her arm. Elisara’s head snapped to look at it, prompting Nyzaia to jump. She shook her hand, expression pained when she looked at the talisman.

“What have you done?” Nyzaia asked. Elisara stared back; her eyes boring into Nyzaia’s. “You cannot wear more than one talisman, Elisara. We only did that to speak to the gods.”

“I needed to speak to one again,” Elisara said, facing ahead. The armies drew closer. Caligh stood with his hands clasped, waiting.

“Tell the army to stay here,” Elisara said to Larelle. “I wish for only you seven to come with me.”

“You want us to meet him without an army?” Caellum exclaimed.

“He only wants me; I just need to get close enough. Can you all feel your powers?” she asked, and they nodded. “Other than the imbuement on the soldiers and creatures, they only wane when he wields shadows. Can you see shadows?”

“Not yet, but—”

“I just need to be close enough,” Elisara said again. “Do you trust me?” She waited for someone to object to Elisara’s odd bout of self-certainty and commands. Instead, they nodded. Larelle kept her hand raised, commanding the armies to stay as the group descended from the dune.

“What did the gods tell you?” Larelle asked as they walked. Sand whirled around them as they strode forward, disrupting the ground littered with the remaining Novisian bodies not yet taken back to the tents.

“God. Singular .” Elisara said.

“Well?” Nyzaia pushed, yet there was no time to reveal all she had learned.

Elisara halted partway down the dune, close enough to hear conversation between the two sides.

A clear, sizeable gap festered between them, with their armies behind it.

Swirling sand settled to reveal the surviving human soldiers ready to fight behind Caligh.

Rows of deadly servants in copper uniforms stood, readying for their general’s signal.

Two men stood by Caligh’s side. One stood at the front of the army in his tailored suit, another, younger boy, beside him in dark grey leathers, forming a wall of protection behind Caligh should he need it.

The Novisian armies had succeeded in eliminating most of the eyeless creatures; however, those that remained circled high above, assessing their prey.

The shadows Caligh wielded no longer lurked, which unsettled Elisara, who found him intimidating even in the absence of his power.

The way he smirked and trailed his eyes across her body only fed her discomfort.

“Elisara Sturmov. You have agreed to come with me?” Caligh’s voice boomed.

“For you to keep me in chains and take our kingdom?” she asked, power thrumming beneath her skin. She clenched her hands and readied herself.

“We could be great. Think of what we could create, you and I,” he drawled.

“The essence of Sonos could never create something as awful as the thing you have in chains,” sneered Nyzaia, and Caligh scoffed at the declaration the rulers assumed Elisara was the essence of the God of Dawn.

Caligh waved his hand to the left, where the man Elisara assumed was Osiris held a chain that extended from the creature’s neck.

The younger boy mirrored him on the other side.

“This particular creature is chained for a reason.” Caligh declared like he was teaching a lesson.

Elisara refrained from frowning. This was not what she planned.

They were stalling. Elisara knew what she needed to do and did not wish to be delayed.

Her hand moved to ready the plan, but she stopped as Osiris and the boy pulled the chains to tighten those around the creature’s neck.

The creature screamed and cowered, shrinking under the abuse of its handlers.

Elisara glanced at Osiris and Arik to see if they winced at the creature’s pain, lest it was one of their comrades. Neither of them blinked.

“Why?” Elisara asked, and Caligh smiled.

“I thought you would never ask. You have all met before.” Grinning, he yelled, “Shift!” His command made Elisara’s skin crawl, beckoning her to attempt to do whatever he commanded as well.

The creature cried out in a warbled roar, which slowly morphed into a high-pitched scream of a female, changing and shortening. Its human head drooped, wings still protruding from its back. A deep brown braid dangled over its shoulder, brushing the open wounds covering her chest.

“She has not quite mastered ridding her wings yet,” Caligh tutted, and Nyzaia stumbled beside Elisara as the half-formed creature flung back its head.

Tajana stared at Nyzaia with tear-filled eyes.

Soren made to step forward, but Sadira put out her arm to hold her back.

Tajana tried to open her mouth to speak.

“Silent,” Caligh commanded, and her mouth snapped shut.

He was controlling her. Elisara thought of the soldiers’ movements, and the unwavering speed at which they followed his orders.

He controlled them all. Elisara needed to act before he realised what she knew and took it from her.

“It surprised me how easy it was to make this one, though it is simple when one lowers their guard,” he sneered.

“The sister was not so successful.” Elisara’s resolve wavered at the mention of Talia.

“She never fully developed. The eyes always give it away, or in her case, the lack of them.” Elisara avoided glancing at the creatures circling above, remembering Larelle’s theory that those without eyes lacked all humanity: a failed attempt.

“You probably killed her in the battle if she is not one of those remaining above.” Caligh chuckled, gesturing to the sky.

“How many?” Nyzaia asked, her voice cracking. “How many did you steal and turn?” Her voice cracked.

“Steal, my dear?” He smiled and waved his hand over his body.

Shadows shifted and encircled Caligh, concealing him from view.

When the darkness finally retreated, the group tensed at the person staring back at them.

Dusty brown robes replaced the midnight cloak, secured with rope to shield the hunched body underneath.

Wrinkled hands crept from the sleeves to tuck a wisp of white hair behind his ear.

The Historian clasped his hands together.

“You gave them to me willingly,” said the old man in his usual gentle voice.

“So trusting of an old historian.” Elisara could not understand how the Historian stood before them, with Tajana in chains and an army behind him.

Smoke and shadows skated over him again, returning him to his younger form, the version they knew as Caligh: his true self.

“Why?” Nyzaia asked.

“Why?” He laughed, tossing his head back. “For this moment, of course! To get everything I have waited centuries for.”