Zordan Read online

  They made their way back up the beach, each calling out orders as they found things amiss. Then they climbed the narrow staircase they had cut into the rock of the high cliffs. Once they reached its zenith, Zordjin turned to look out over the blue-green waters of the bay and into the rolling waves of the ocean beyond.

  “Don’t you tire of the peasants kissing your feet?” Carrus asked, his eyes distant.

  “Not at all,” Zordjin replied, turning to gesture toward the castle. “I myself had humble beginnings and performed my fair share of groveling before I reached this position.” He was an orphan, taken in by the army as soon as he’d turned six years old. That was more than two hundred years ago, and his climb to the top had not been an easy one. Zordjin rubbed his forehead, feeling every one of those years. While the humans lived only an average of eighty years, he had kept on living, somehow aging much more slowly than the rest of them.

  Why it happened wasn’t something he could explain, but his lengthened life span had seen him become the general of the army. When the former king had died without an heir, he’d become king by popular demand, and finally emperor when he had conquered all other kingdoms on the continent but one.

  The enemy they fought on the morrow was that final kingdom. To be honest, Zordjin had been surprised when he was told they were marching on his territory. King Halstad had arrogance enough to match his own, but they had always had a mutually beneficial relationship, sharing crops in times of drought and engaging in friendly trade. Until King Halstad had threatened war the week before last. That did tend to sour a relationship.

  As they crossed the central courtyard, a shadow that was neither from a bird nor from a cloud cut across their path. Zordjin didn’t have time to react before something crashed into him, sending them both sprawling to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

  At first, his reaction was instinctual and violent, but he reined it in before the first strike landed and stared in shock.

  Of all the things that he expected to fall out of the sky and assault him, he never would have guessed it would be a woman. He rose quickly, hefting her into his arms. She was small and light as a feather. Her features were unlike any he had ever seen before. Her hair gleamed in the sunlight like spun gold, and her eyes blazed up at him with fierce intelligence. Her beauty knew no equal.

  Zordjin held her easily as she kicked and struggled for a moment, grinning as her struggles weakened. “Never let it be said that I don’t know what to do when a beautiful maiden falls into my arms.”

  Carrus laughed, then squinted into the afternoon sunlight. “But where did she come from?”

  Zordjin stood and gave his friend a sideways glance before shrugging. “With one this fair, who cares?”

  Chapter Two

  Lielle

  Lielle stopped struggling as soon as she realized whose arms she was in, and then she allowed Zordjin to carry her into the castle.

  Not that she had much of a choice since she didn’t think her legs would support her weight. Being back in mortal form was everything she’d been warned it to be and more. The body was heavy, too tight around her. It robbed her of breath, weighted her down with its chains of blood and flesh.

  The castle they entered was its own type of hell. There was no sparkle, no shimmer, and the awful stench! Dirt, metal, sweat, and the faint odor of excrement. Smells she barely remembered from her life span in the flesh over a millennia ago.

  He stopped in front of a great wooden door, nodding to the man beside them. "Get a few hours of rest, Carrus. We'll meet by the bay at moonpeak."

  "Good luck!" Carrus clapped him on the shoulder.

  Zordjin strode inside, tossing her on an enormous four-poster bed. His hands went to the top of his armor, loosing the buckles.

  She quickly righted herself and climbed to her feet so she was eye level with him.

  He strode over to the bed, raising his arms. “Good, you can help me with this.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not helping you with anything.”

  He chuckled and shrugged off the armor without difficulty. “You expect a male to do all the work, eh? What is your name, beauty?”

  She met his gaze without flinching. “My name is Lielle. Zordjin, you must help me.”

  “Don’t worry, I will,” he replied, his eyes full of promise. He bent to his boots, working the laces with the practiced hand of one who has performed the action every day for years.

  "Zordjin, I don't think you understand what I’m saying."

  His hands paused on the laces of his second boot and he looked up. “What is amiss?”

  "You must come with me across the ocean to where your brother awaits you. To where your brethren—your true brethren—plan for a war against the greatest enemies they've ever faced."

  "I have no brother.” He frowned and rubbed his forehead. “But who is this enemy?"

  "The Ardaks. They are going from planet to planet in the universe, killing all who live there."

  "R-daks?"

  "Yes, fierce, intelligent jungle cats. They come from the sky in great metal ships, and fight with red-bladed swords that can cut through solid rock and metal, and they have ray guns that can paralyze or kill on contact."

  For a moment, his expression was grave, and she thought he’d finally comprehended her. Then he threw back his head and laughed loudly, one hand going to his chest as it heaved. "Now I know you jest. Cats from the sky with swords and guns. Once upon a time I would have been charmed by such tales. But the only battle that matters at present is the one to be waged in the bay with the next dawn's light."

  She waved that away. “This battle between men is nothing. It is only the battle for Aurora that matters. You must prepare.”

  “When will this battle occur?”

  She paused. “I’m not certain. Perhaps only a few days, perhaps more.”

  “I care not what happens a few days hence. We meet the Belavians in battle on the morrow.”

  “Please," she began, a sense of fear clawing its way up toward her throat. "I have been sent here to find you.”

  “Who?” His expression grew dark. “Who sent you?”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but no words emerged. If she told him she was from the higher elven realm, he would surely not believe her. “Someone who believes you can help us.”

  He snorted and kicked off the second boot. “As much as I’d like to believe the tale that I could save all of Aurora, it is much more likely that my enemies sent you to distract me from the upcoming battle.” He rose to his full height and smiled. "But come, the only battle here tonight will be the one waged on the bed beneath your feet."

  She rolled her eyes toward the heavens. "There will be no battles waged between the sheets this eve. At least, not with me."

  His brows drew together, his expression bemused. "Are you unwilling then?” He drew himself up to his full height. “All the women want me. I am the great Emperor Zordjin." He swooped toward her, placing an arm around her, splaying his fingers across her back and pressing his warm lips against hers, nibbling and searching. “You cannot say you don’t find me pleasing.”

  She pushed at his chest, avoiding his mouth. His good looks were exceeded by an arrogance that made them lose their appeal. "That doesn’t matter. I'm not going to—sleep with you."

  He frowned. "Who said anything about sleeping?"

  She groaned loudly. "You know what I mean."

  His eyes sharpened as he finally seemed to understand that she was serious. "You're not like the others, are you?"

  "If you mean all the women who want to wage war in your bed, then no."

  "I am not going anywhere until the battle against the Belavians is won." He loosened his belt and dropped his pants. There he stood in all his glory, his maleness thick and hard, rising before him. "And although your beauty is endless, my patience is wearing thin. Either remove your clothing and join me, or remove yourself from my chamber. Either way, I will have a few hours of peace."

&n
bsp; She stood there, still and small for a moment. Where would she go if not here? The land of humans was no place for a woman without protection. "Would you mind if I stayed here and slept on the floor?" she asked in a small voice.

  With a great sigh, he strode to the bed and heaved an enormous square pillow at her. "Do what you like. Just be silent. And if you try to kill me in my sleep, I will stop you."

  She placed the pillow on the floor and curled up atop it. It was surprisingly comfortable and much more forgiving than the cold stone beneath it.

  Although she would not have thought she could sleep, the mortal realm was heavy, and it weighted her eyelids shut.

  Before she knew it, strange sounds woke her. It was Zordjin, buckling his armor.

  "Let's go, fair maiden," he said gruffly. "War is on the horizon."

  Chapter Three

  Zordjin

  Before leaving the castle, Zordjin stopped by his private altar to pray. The intricately carved figure in the center was the god who watched over his lands, the relief wings to the sides displaying his gifts of the bounty of the land and the sea.

  People may have thought he was a god, but Zordjin knew otherwise. He knelt in front of the altar, bowing his head in homage, seeking guidance for the upcoming battle. May I appease you with the strength of my forces and the brilliance of my strategy. May your will carry us to victory, and may your gaze never grow dark upon my lands, but hold them always in the sun.

  Lielle remained respectfully silent as he prayed, then walked swiftly beside him down to the cliffs overlooking the beach. “Please reconsider, Zordjin,” she begged.

  He only lengthened his stride, forcing her to run to catch up.

  “You are wasting your time with these humans. The outcome of this battle is irrelevant to the larger war.”

  Zordjin rubbed his forehead, taking in her troubled gaze with a glance. “There is no larger war. But when this one is finished, I vow that I will hear your plea with my full attention.”

  He left her, despite her protests, with the other women who were to aid the archers with supplies. He didn’t know what to make of her. If it were only her beauty, he might have ignored her more easily. But there was a certain strength and passion about her that made her difficult to dismiss.

  He snorted. He’d been too long without a woman. That was the only reason he would fall prey to such a tale. A land to the north, a brother, enemy cats—it was simply beyond belief.

  Or maybe he didn’t want to believe it. He’d fought a war in Scythia, where jungle cats had been a constant worry. Fiercely intelligent, stealthy, silent, and capable of hunting alone or in packs, they roamed freely on the ground as well as the treetops, dropping upon his unsuspecting men and killing them in seconds. No weapon was fast enough for close-range contact, and they could cross enormous spaces of ground in seconds. He shuddered to think of what those felines would do if they had weapons and could fly in space.

  Zordjin took his position at the top of the cliffs, dead center above the bay. He was in time to see the first ten warships as the sun crested the horizon. It was, at first, an impressive sight. One after another, ship after triple-masted ship followed, the sails growing smaller toward the top. They painted an intimidating picture, but when the warriors flooded from the ships into smaller boats, it would be easy to pick them off as they made for the shore.

  Yet he counted only ten of them.

  He cast a look at Carrus. “Should we be insulted?”

  Carrus shrugged. “Who knows what that crazy old man is thinking?”

  They watched as the ships kept coming and coming, eventually breaching the bay.

  When the three in front didn't bother to drop their sails, Zordjin raised a brow at his second-in-command. “Maybe he’s not so crazy. If you want to take the city…”

  “Burn the boats.” Carrus finished for him.

  Zordjin cursed himself then. He should have burned them sooner. They were going to run the ships aground, the warriors going straight from ship to shore as they tipped. Not using smaller boats to ferry the soldiers from ship to shore would also give Zordjin’s archers less time to pick them off. And Zordjin knew if he were the commander, he would use those cannons first.

  "Fire twice—then take cover!" he yelled. There was no time to use the signaling flags. His command echoed down the ranks and then the first volley of flaming arrows was launched. Cannons boomed from the shore and there were shouts as the men hurried to refill them.

  The three ships in front turned swiftly to the side and began to fire their cannons at the beach. Zordjin’s army returned a second volley of flaming arrows, and the cannons returned fire to maximum advantage on the sides of the ships. But the damage had been done, and Zordjin heard the screams of too many of his men who had been injured by the unexpected direct fire from the cannons.

  The ships skidded forward slowly over the sand with the sickening sounds of wood against sand, their crushing weight and speed giving them momentum to carry them into the shallows. Soon, hundreds of warriors were surging toward the beach.

  Distantly, Zordjin admired the strategy, the skill of the Belavian ship captains in carrying it out.

  As the last of the ships entered the bay, Zordjin raised his sword to chop the first rope beside him, a violet cloth unfurling down the cliff’s face. It was the signal to the fliers on the cliffs to jump. Almost as one they spread their cloth wings, soaring over the tops of the ships behind the first three, lighting and dropping balls of fire onto the sails as they flew overhead. The sailors yelled orders, distracted by attempting to extinguish the flames.

  If they had thought to run only three ships aground and use the others as a show of force, they were going to be sorely disappointed. With no way out, the Belavian warriors would fight like demons, but they would not be able to retreat past the ships burning just outside the spits of the bay. They would fight and win, or they would fight and die. And Zordjin meant to see that they died.

  The warriors from the boat surged toward Zordjin's army on the shore. Zordjin dropped the golden flag for the archers, and volleys of arrows blanketed the advancing army.

  Zordjin cut the brilliant scarlet flag and his army roared, running forward as if to meet them. They stopped just short of the trench, which was hidden by collapsible coverings strewn with sand and seaweed, but the Belavian army crashed headlong into it. They were moving too quickly to stop, and the pressure from behind as the rest of the army reached the shore was too much.

  As the bodies which crowded the trench began to rise, Zordjin began to wish he had ordered it to be cut wider and deeper. Soon the Belavians would simply run across their fallen counterparts.

  He cut a third rope, and this time a copper flag tumbled down, telling the cannons to fire into the fray just on the opposite side of the trench. He was making an example of the Belavian army, so no one would think of attacking Vidora again or rebelling for at least another hundred years. The truth was that human lives were simply too short. The sons repeated the sins of their fathers. Then the grandsons. And the great-grandsons. They had to be taught and retaught and then taught yet again. Over and over, until Zordjin and his army became myth or legend—and even then some fool was apt to try again in a century or so.

  Halstad’s army was a prime example of human idiocy. Bright red garments, flashy buttons made for easy targets. Zordjin’s army wore linens plain or dyed in browns to blend in with the beach and the land.

  As his archers’ flaming arrows set the rest of the ships ablaze and downed man after man, the Belavian forces started to fragment. He hadn't even engaged most of his army yet and it looked as if small groups were already trying to retreat down the shore.

  Zordjin looked back to the other ships, expecting more warriors. But it appeared they weren’t as full as they could have been, or more had been killed than he’d expected as the ships had burned.

  By the time the Belavian warriors were able to cross the trench, his army was ready. He dropped the final
flag, overdyed so much as to be almost black, and his army engaged. The beach rang with the clash of swords, the shouts of orders, and the screams of men dying.

  "Zordjin!" The enraged cry of King Halstad split the early morning air, and Zordjin turned to see him marching across the ridge toward him. As the king ran, he glanced at the beach to see his warriors being cut down from all directions.

  It had been decades since Zordjin had felt the hopeless anguish of defeat on the battlefield, but it wasn’t something he would ever forget. So he knew how King Halstad felt at that moment.

  He drew his sword and strode forward, three leaping steps at the last moment giving him the momentum to meet King Halstad's sword. They clashed with bruising force, and the king's broad swipes and quick thrusts were fueled by passionate rage.

  Zordjin found himself stepping back more than once, mostly due to his leg. King Halstad was taking full advantage of the injury, attacking him on that side, forcing him to parry awkwardly. The king was slowly maneuvering them out of sight of the cliffs and most of Zordjin’s army.

  Their swords clashed again, and Zordjin used his greater power to force the king backward. "You never should have come here, old man. Had you left well enough alone, your men wouldn’t be bleeding out on my beach and you wouldn’t be about to die.”

  Pure hatred blazed in King Halstad's eyes. "You didn't have to kill them all, you bastard.”

  Zordjin smiled blandly. "Have you forgotten that you came here? You knew the risk and what you stood to lose. Their blood is on your hands, not mine.”

  He attacked Zordjin with renewed fury and they fought their way across the landscape, stumbling over rocks as they avoided the high edge of the cliffs. Every time one of the others tried to interfere, Zordjin or Halstad would put up a hand to stop them.

  In a way, Zordjin was unhappy it had come to this. “Why did you come here, old man? Was it paranoia? Or simply one last stand in your old age?”

  Zordjin jumped over a boulder, following the king's momentary retreat. If the king wasn’t worried about his legacy, he should have been. His son, Prince Halstad II, was spoiled and lazy. It wouldn't be long before he ran Belavia into the ground. But he wouldn't tell Halstad that, especially since the elder king was about to die.