Chapter Six
696 Words
Chapter Six
Mistress
Arinmalia whimpered in her sleep. Part of her slumbering mind struggled, trying to wake, but the nightmare held her captive, drawing her further in. She eventually surrendered—she always did, in the end.
Her surroundings came into focus, sharpening until they became so clear, she forgot they weren’t real. The sea below her roiled, the white-capped waves crashing into one another as they rose and fell. The rain pelted against her skin, leaving her shivering and numb. Wind whipped snarls of red hair into her eyes. Overhead, the dark clouds churned. They filled the sky, which glowed the deepest shade of violet. Cracks of thunder tore through the air, making her clap her hands over her pointed ears. The hair on the back of her neck rose, and a strange scent tickled her nostrils. Moments later, a bolt of lightning burned through the air only a few arm lengths away.
She clung to Zashmir’s neck ridge as the dragon struggled to escape the storm’s path. Zashmir’s inky scales were almost invisible in the near darkness. A twisted staff of wood tucked into her belt bumped against her side with each frantic wingbeat. Zashmir was small for a dragon, but she was lithe and quick. Arinmalia knew she could outfly most of her dragon brethren, but they had already been in the air for hours. She couldn’t keep up this pace forever.
Turning back wasn’t an option. Even if the storm didn’t pursue them, Ralvaniar was gone. The only home they had ever known had been ripped apart. It had already started sinking when she had found Zashmir and made her escape. Now, they could only keep going forward and hope they found land. But land was nowhere in sight.
I never thought it would end this way...
A familiar, fell voice seemed to come from the air around her. Its words were indistinct. They seemed to echo from a great distance. Her skin prickled, goose bumps forming on her arms. She twisted her head from side to side, trying to locate the speaker, but her only companion in the sky around her was the storm. She shook her head.
Impossible.
The voice spoke again. The words remained unclear, but they rose in a harsh chant. Thunder boomed in accompaniment directly overhead. She could sense Zashmir’s strength flagging beneath her. If the lightning struck again, she doubted they would be able to dodge it in time. She closed her eyes and bit back a sob of fear.
The tingling returned, this time making it feel as though her skin were on fire. The scent of ozone overpowered her. An earsplitting crack seemed to come from everywhere at once, the terrible voice screaming with it.
The lightning bolt hit Arinmalia full in the chest. Her eyes flew open. She and Zashmir hung suspended in a blaze of light and agony. Zashmir’s screeches filled her ears. A part of her mind realized another voice screamed with it.
She realized it was her own.
Arinmalia stood in a patch of sunlight that penetrated the ash clouds of the nearby fire mountain and the murk of the swamp. She suppressed a wince as it warmed her dusky skin. The pain it caused was bearable, and the demonstration of power it gave her was worth the price. Her minions cowered in the shadows before her. Although she couldn’t see them past the glare, they radiated awe. She gripped the twisted wood of her staff and smiled. In some ways, this was her most fearful guise.
After allowing a few moments for her audience to recognize their place, she raised her voice to give her instructions.
“The time has come to increase our numbers. We have skulked in the shadows of the swamp long enough. Tonight, you will go north of the river. Look for those who are foolish enough to wander too far from home, and turn them to our cause. Take any elves you find as prisoners and bring them to me. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Khashada,” they said in unison. “We hear and obey.”
She raised her arm and dismissed them with a negligent wave.
Khashada. She savored the word and all its implications. The Black Tongue gave it nuances Elvish never could.
It meant ‘mistress.’
- Writer
