Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The desert was cold and desolate.

The dunes stretched for miles, barren and endless, with no hint of life. The ridges were frozen waves of sand, their edges sharp, unforgiving and stark below a dull sky.

The landscape was devoid of colour, a monotonous expanse of browns and greys.

Every gust of wind cut like icy needles against the skin, whipping up rock granules that bit at exposed flesh.

The zephyr howled, and a constant whistle and moan filled the ears. No other sounds rose in this desolate place - no birds chirping, no animals scurrying, no sign of life, no trace of warmth or comfort.

Just the freakin’ gale.

It was a scene of dismal abandonment, where even the stars refused to shine.

Until a great noise roared in. A screeching, howling, raging storm of chaos.

It approached him in a khaboob of a whistling cyclone, spinning sediment and boulders flung into a tempest.

His heart pounded in his chest as the impossible unfurled before his eyes.

Creatures, unlike anything he had ever seen, emerged from the swirling mess. A flock of them covered in iridescent jewel coloured that reflected all available light.

Each had elaborate flank plumes, six flag-tipped long lustrous barbs projecting back from their heads, and glowing head streamers with an enamelled appearance.

Although glossy, their forms were so large, beaks and talons chromed with menace and eyes parsing with radiance. They were a macabre fusion of beauty and feral intensity.

They were chasing something.

Nada. Someone.

His breath hitched.

It was a girl. Although she was in transmuted form, she had a similar multi-pronged krest.

She ran hard and fast toward him, stumbling, wailing, and screaming for help as her pursuers dived for her. In her hand were three koyas, long, lean and shaped into sleek swords, each shimmering with ancient runes that danced and shifted like living embers.

The air around the lass, and indeed up into the prismatic sky, was charged. With gold and sable cinders and end trails of flames, the latter swallowed by the former in a beautiful war of elements and light.

The flock of wild-coloured creatures roared, drowning out the winds, charging at the maiden, who was still advancing toward him.

With a cry, he leapt into the firmament, his feet leaving the ground as he soared towards the colossal birds. It was a desperate move, but he had no other choice.

The girl’s life and his safety depended on it.

She, too, raised the three koya into the sky, where they began to spin in perfect harmony. The swords whirled and shimmered, dancing light and shadow as the monstrous creatures dove toward them.

Then she turned, and his core lurched as her facial features shifted from a stranger’s face to one he recognised with a jolt.

With a smile, she launched the rune-covered daggers.

At him.

Killen woke with a start, heart pounding.

He rubbed his glazed eyes, which were still lost in his nightmare.

One achingly familiar, for he’d seen it many times in the past few years.

It was the same vision: a desperate chase in a lonely place with a young woman and a score of iridescent, freakish creatures.

He recalled it all: the girl’s pleading eyes, koya swords, and the blades of light and shadow.

As dawn’s illumination filtered through the holes of the misshapen prison tent, he freed his mind to drift.

Letting himself wonder about the maiden and the source of the mysterious swirling sandstorm that haunted his dreams.

A commotion at the entrance to the marquee cut through his mental meandering.

A burly winged Kärd stood framed in the doorway, speaking with the watch.

They both turned in his direction, the latter pointing at Killen as he levered onto one elbow.

‘Move. Now. It seems you have friends in high places. Commander Kaxim sends for you,’ the prison guard called out.

Fokk, finally.

Kaxim had kept him waiting a few days now. He and Killen had agreed to this tactic, in part to quell any suspicion that the commander had been seen with or spirited the usurper into Katánē.

His incarceration hadn’t been all that bad.

The detention káján was well-run, providing shelter, showers, and three solid meals for him and his fellow inmates.

He’d enjoyed thick, chunky, fresh bread and rich, hearty soup, drank cold, light beer and maintained his physical fitness with kapo sessions.

He’d also tried to keep up his sābər skills.

The ferocity of his blade work had been enough to deter the more feral of the detainees from approaching too close.

Now, he was almost sad that he had to leave and contend with the real Katánē outside the káján’s refuge.

Killen gave the pair waiting at the entrance a wry chin jerk and rose.

Sheathing his koya barrier, he wrapped his cloak around him and headed out, stepping over the still crashed-out bodies of his fellow internees.

Minutes later, the giant Kärd guide trudged along a winding avenue that wound past a sea of tents in a valley cradled within four massive gulfs of mountainous cliffs.

Killen ploughed behind the sure-footed sentry through the kambí that was stirring to wakefulness.

It was a footslog through delicate sand drifts, his feet sinking deep, the cold seeping even through the thickness of his boots.

When he paused to shake a rock from under his boot, he jolted when an energy snaked around him.

Seconds later, he sensed a slight flutter on his upper arm.

He slapped at it, expecting to come away with a bug in his hand. Scanning the area with urgency, he searched for the source of the tiny stroke.

His steps stalled, and he glimpsed, for just a moment, a shimmering iridescent creature.

A crystalline eagle?

Yet one so diaphanous it was barely visible.

Then it was gone, like a flame burning out.

A vapour essence of a presence remained along with droplets of luminescence.

He could make out its ionic trail as it led to the ranges above them.

He latched onto the ebony-dark mountain and narrowed his eyes.

His hawkstone reached out, sifting through dimensions, and without warning, his cognition was assailed with images.

They flashed so fast he couldn’t focus on any in particular; they all moved at a dizzying speed.

He chomped hard on the ever-present ball of klaw. It flooded his mouth with its bitter mint flavour, giving his mind an instant clap of clarity of sight that burst into his lodestone.

He glimpsed such gloaming that his spirit recoiled. Dark ghost-like filaments flitted through the air, reaching from the ground around him, choking the trees and all life forms.

‘Oy! Kínai! Move!’

Heart pounding, he shook himself from his hereafter vision and jogged up to the impatient Kärd, tapping his boot into the snow.

‘Got places to be,’ the sentry growled and charged forward, not waiting to see if Killen followed.

He did, still shaking from his hallucinations.

To help stave off the horror in his mind, Killen studied the signs of life appearing in the kambí.

From the first smoke of cooking fires to glimpses of daybreak ablutions through half-open shack flaps and the aroma of food cooking over fire wafting over the camp.

A few early risers stumbled into the light and headed for the communal bathhouses while in the mess tent.

Some gave him curious glances, but he was soon forgotten, his silhouette indistinguishable under his billowing cloak.

In the distance, junior warriors jogged in the semi-dark shadows of the plains, already hours into their rigorous training. Killen imagined them shivering as the cold wind blew down from the mountains.

‘’Tis fresh,’ he commented, catching to the sentinel.

The Kärd slowed. ‘Indeed. One day, it’s blowing heated sand in your face. The next, we’re sloughing through floods and snow.’

‘Snow?’ Killen asked in a slow drawl, his silver eyes fixed on the surging weather.

His guide cursed, exasperated. ‘We get all four seasons in a day during the Spells of Kaos in Karth. Nada, you can do about it, but slog it out.’

The sentry turned towards a maze of tents, these more spacious and luxurious than the lesser accommodations for the winged regiments.

They approached a wide gate of the deepest ebony wood embossed with an expansive gilded eagle-hawk-intertwined insignia.

Two lean female warriors stood guard, their sinewed muscles glistening, bearing extensive, glittering spears.

Killen noted how the Kärd bowed to the pair, his expression wary with respect.

‘Kaxuaraí Lancers. Legends,’ Killen murmured. ‘Greetings.’

He gave both warriors a bow, keeping a close eye on their burnished copper wings. The shining rachís extended above and behind them and the sharp edge of their gleaming lances, bracing himself as he swept past their fierce, unmoving forms.

His escort, too, skirted wide around them as they walked through the gates towards an extensive, elaborate pavilion pitched on a platform.

The Kärd lifted a hand to stop their advance. ‘Wait here.’

Killen paused at the foot of the stairway. Waiting as the burly Krypós sentry bounded up the steps and stuck his head into the flap of the giant tent to announce him.

In time, the sentinel pulled his krest back out and beckoned at him.

Killen climbed the stairs to find the large war marquee packed with bodies, wings, and talons.

Inside, a mix of half- and full-transmuted Sābər Hawk and Krypós eagle forms moved with sinuous grace.

The furnishings within were impressive, with a blazing, sunken fire at one end.

The structure’s walls were fashioned from luxurious fabric. It’d been intricately stitched together and slung over high wooden rafters, merging into a focal point where smoke and hot air poured out.

Draped leather curtains on cross beams created spacious rooms and compartments, lending luxury to the mobile palace.

The Kärd let him into one of the silken walled-off spaces.

The inner chamber was divided by a magnificent woven cloth of chrome, metallic, and gold, which shimmered with life.

Nine figures were clustered around a large table above, which was a prominent holo.

They all looked up as they approached.

Five were strangers to him. Four were familiar.

Those he did not recognise stared at his unexpected presence, eyes raking over his silver hair, conspicuous form and glittering eyes.

They paused at his dimmed and shrunk lodestone, their eyes puzzling as they tried to figure out who he was and where he was from.

Of those he knew, he met their gaze as their lodestones illuminated up.

Caution.

Kaxim’s neural command was sharp.

Killen acknowledged the admonishment with a faint nod, dimming his lodestone’s brilliance even further.

Still, he sensed Kaxim and Kione’s pleasure at their reunion.

They’d first met on Devansi not so long ago.

When they’d witnessed his victory over Tempest Light and made acquaintance with the elite Sābər Hawks of Katánē, the most superior of the Katánian warriors.

Kaxim and Kione led a rising generation of warriors who’d rejected war and marauding for the sake of it.

Kaxim was their Commander, a KaɪˈmɪərəKrypós Eagle, a chimeric winged creature with sharp-beaked raptor features and the bodies of gigantic lions.

Today, however, he was half transmuted, his lethal-looking talons and feathers having melded away to reveal his human limbs and face.

Tall, imposing with the same close-shorn silver hair and a brusque attitude, he was the man Killen had trusted to lead him into Katánē and now further into battle.

With an enemy he’d yet to meet.

He bowed to Kaxim. ‘Sky Ash,’ he stated. ‘I greet you.’

‘Kíndunas, pray to leave us so I can receive an old friend in private,’ Kaxim commanded the room. ‘Only Kione stays as he too is a boon companion of this ancient eyrie.’

Moments later, most of the room was vacated.

The three men exchanged warm hugs and clasped hands.

‘Storm Pale,’ Kione stated with a grin. ‘Sight for sore eyes.’

Killen returned the warm smile. ‘I see you, Night Frost.’

He stepped back from the shared embrace and contemplated the two men before him. Due to the jewelled lodestone on his temple, they were his First and Second Armourers, close guardians, compatriots and confidantes.

His very life was in their hands, and he knew they’d been working overtime for days now to deal with skirmishes throughout the planet and prime the army for the coming and inevitable conflict.

‘You two drongos look beat. Like you’ve had your feathers tarred and left to dry,’ he teased.

Kaxim raised a brow. ‘Fokk me, he kicks off with insults. Little does he know how many cowardly attacks we’ve been fending off from the enemy.’

‘I trust your accommodations in the encampment have been to your royal standard and caused no drama,’ Kione stated with a drawl and a twitch to his lips.

‘If you call being thrown in with a commotion of coots and warding off a few unhinged buzzards no drama, then fokk you.’

‘Buckle up, Kíríga, that’s just the beginning,’ Kione murmured. ‘Welcome to our asylum of cuckoos.’

Kaxim jerked his chin at Killen. ‘Apologies for emptying the place, but as you know, not all the commanders, the kíndunas, are supportive of the so-called usurper. Several have let Kalila’s poison infuse their minds.’

Killen sliced his eyes to Kaxim. ‘Which ones?’

‘Kassian the Black, for one. He’s not here as he’s stirring the Kɛstrəls against you and us as we speak. He’s launching attacks on towns and eyries as he gathers troops and moves north to Kos. He was your grandfather’s most senior Klós Kärd and protector for one and our old commander. He’s older, ruthless, enraged by the old King’s death and has fallen in with Kalila to get rid of you.’

‘Can’t wait to make his acquaintance,’ Killen rasped, settling his large body into a vast, cushioned armchair.

‘However, we suspect one or two of the kíndunas you’ve just encountered have also been compromised,’ Kaxim continued. ‘We just don’t know who exactly. We believe Kalila has made backroom promises to back whichever one betrays the Kainôs first and finds the usurper.’

Kione cut in. ‘We can’t trust everyone until we know who is loyal to us.’

‘No matter,’ Killen murmured. ‘Turns out I like being the usurper, the most feared skylark on the planet,’ he added, clapping his hands around the taciturn warrior. ‘Not.’

Kaxim grunted. ‘I hear you. You’ve got a shitload of work ahead out for you, living to your reputation.’

Kione sucked his teeth. ‘Ignore him of little faith. Welcome to The Kambí of the elite Kaɪˈmɪərə Hunters of the Kainôs Katánē Army. To your kälajan,’ the smiling man gestured about the tent.

‘The moment you’re announced to the military, it will become yours,’ he went on. ‘Its location is the nerve centre of the mobile camp – the war room, where all the generals discuss and agree on the battle strategies. Surrounding it are the tents of your commanders and warlords who lead the different squadrons of the Imperial army. You can ghost in and out of the kälajan as you wish.’

Killen shook his head. ‘I’ll keep to the humble grunt ruse for now and request a small kājān nearby. I want you two, of course, to keep heading the forces as you’ve been doing.’

Kaxim found a seat and settled into it, legs splayed. ‘How are you finding our small settlement?’

Killen sauntered to the fireplace, leaning in to warm his hands. ‘It’s impressive.’

‘So it should be. This valley is one of the most mysterious and evocative regions in the kingdom of Katánē.’

Feeling his temperature rise to a comfortable level, Killen turned to the outer edge of the tent and walked to it, touching it with one hand.

The kälajan’s fabric rippled, and an energy unfurled from his hand, running over the surface and turning it transparent.

Kione stared, eyes wide. ‘Need to learn that trick.’

‘You’re a magíkus; you can do it if you think hard enough,’ Killen drawled with a slight smile.

‘Correction. I’m an enchanter.’ Kione grinned, revealing dimples in his chiselled, handsome cheeks.

‘Which is why half the women of Kos are weeping in their beds this morning from his sweet nothings and empty promises,’ Kaxim groused.

‘To think I missed you two squabbling squawkers these last few days,’ Killen growled with a raised brow.

He moved to the edge of the massive tent and scanned the landscape. ‘What am I looking out at?’ he asked.

Kione jerked his chin and extended an arm to the roiling view: ‘KoLakainos, the Thousand-Mile Lands, a vast region of five continents. However, beyond those lands lie the land of the wild avi and the secretive Kingdom of the Ilki .’

‘I understand the Ilki are sovereign?’ Killen murmured.

‘They are,’ his Second Armourer said. ‘The two realms are separated and profit by trading their gold and other riches with Kos.’

‘But what do I see with my eyes before me?’ the Král-In-Waiting went on.

‘The Desolation of Karth and its untamed ranges. The harsh lands that flay, the skinning place, the paring ground of sharp stones and rugged soil. To get through it, you need to traverse its steep, inaccessible gorges, where one can find the fierce eyries of the fox owl. It’s where the spotted grey and banded kɛstrəls soar to the ‘singing wells’ of the pitch-black lakes.

Killen gave his Second Armourer a quick chin jerk, his eye trained on the eerie and striking ebony form landform thrusting high into the sky. ‘Appreciate the poetic. Give me the real. First, the mountain. Why does it emit so much íkan energy?’

Kione stepped up to the view. ‘It is rumoured to be where Khiron the Great, the first Kíríga of Katánē, lies.’

Kaxim cursed under his breath. ‘The Desolation below and the kíwanja above it are sacred battlefields where spirits, powers, and principalities have warred for eons. Tis a place of mystery and legend. On the lee side of the ridge is the Umbra of K’Sia. Where the arokí roam and stir up their kätu and dark charms carried in the wind all over the planet.’

Killen’s eyes stayed fixed on the obsidian, craggy pinnacle looming ahead. ‘Those mountains have been speaking to me since we arrived on Katánē. One of these days, I’ll fly to those pinnacles to find out why they call to me.’

In the distance, below the murky glass-like summit, was a sprawling metropolis of ebony marble hovering above an arid black-lava landscape punctuated with rocks and boulders.

Even higher still, elevated over the peaks of the grand city, was a massive ancient sculpture of a winged bird of prey.

Killen jerked his chin at it. ‘And that? I came in from the south and missed any northern aspect views.’

‘It is one of the oldest effigies in all Katánē. A representation of our deity, Kagṣān - the Sky Eagle, the giver of a favourable wind. It’s seen as a protective talisman against enemies, both human, natural or otherwise.’

‘If you scope with care at the city’s layout, what do you see?’ Kione teased.

Killen leaned forward, studying the angled aerial view of the great burg.

‘Damn, I see it now,’ the Kíríga stated a moment later.

Kos was set out as a dazzling relief of a colossal raptor, the zoomorphic shape made out by the buildings and avenues within, reflecting the giant sculpture above.

Killen swung his head to take it all in. It was also nothing like the cityscape he’d left behind on Eden II. A place that had unnerved him to the core with its crowds, air traffic and endless noise.

Kos, while less dense, was, like most megapolis, a battle of the senses.

He longed for the silence of the fissured deserts of Devansi and wondered once more why the hell he’d insisted on carrying this heavy mantle on his soul.

Killen looked back at Kos, shaking his head to focus on the present. ‘My hawkstone shows me murk and ruin in the souls that flit amongst the higher perches.’

Kaxim lit a synth-cheroot and dragged on it. ‘Much disaffection stirs in the city. Rumours of your killing of the old King run rife, and they’ve no idea what to expect. The eyries who lost many senior hawks in the skies above Devansi are screeching with anger. Their witchers have also inflamed the masses against you.’

Surrounding the city was a phalanx of winged creatures in silent guard aloft the black metropolis.

Killen narrowed his eyes at them, entranced.

His First Armourer followed his gaze. ‘The regal Klós K’lia. They are your krest, spearhead, and sābər tip in battle. They are the finest and elite of the Imperial Sābər Hawks and Krypós Eagles. You met most of them in Devansi, where they vowed to stand with you. They now surround Kos to protect it. They hover in a rampart to ensure their curses and poisons do not leak into or out of its walls. Until you’re ready to face the capital and take the throne.

Killen studied the city for a long moment. ‘I appreciate their loyalty even though I’ve done nothing to be worthy of it.’

‘De nada,’ Kaxim added. ‘Every one of their souls is true to you because you bear the hawkstone. They will give their lives for you. Each has sworn a sacred oath to fulfil their calling as your royal sentinels and elite crown phalanx when you go to war.’

Killen sucked his teeth. ‘Respect,’ he murmured.

After a beat, he cursed, ‘This damn war, I’m not looking forward to it. Not when it means putting such fine warriors to death.’

‘Neither do we, but thank Khiron, you’re here now,’ Kaxim muttered. ‘I’m keen to pass this shit bucket to you - so you can take over our small rebellion and wrest control of Katánopolis and its courts and seats of power.’

‘It sounds like I’m sort of unreal holo in a drama playing out with a terrible climax to come.’

Kione clapped a hand on Killen’s shoulder. ‘I sense your reluctance. It’s a great burden, but worry not about it for now. Focus instead on being ready to be presented to the army in the coming weeks.’

Kaxim grunted. ‘The fact is the kíndunas of the squadrons will not bow to you until you prove yourself in a fight or battle.’

Killen exhaled. ‘If it’s a small matter of freshening up my koya skills, I’ve been doing as much these last few days.’

His two companions exchanged glances.

Kaxim’s expression was the more sceptical of the pair. ‘I think you’ll need more than a fresher. Denada, we can discuss that later.’

He went on. ‘What’s pressing is that the Kiama was decimated on Devansi. Many of them are presumed dead; Kalila Densu is livid at her brother’s death and has turned even more treacherous – she’s sent k’chawis and arokí all over Katánē and beyond, trying to sniff out the usurper.’

‘She needn’t go into that much trouble. I’m right here.’ Killen shot a smile at Kaxim, who met it with exasperation.

Kaxim raised his hands in frustration. ‘Tell him Kione. This is no game.’

The handsome Krypós Commander nodded. ‘She’s weaving dissent via rumours, lies and powerful spells throughout the noble houses and remnants of the old Kiama council. She wants the high-born eyries to fight for the throne so she can pick on their bones. If it weren’t for the Kärds forming a protective shield around it, their private mercenary armies would have already infiltrated Kos. As it stands, Kalila is paying off Känˌdôr gangs with strongholds in the city to keep the peace and enforce her will.’

‘Can’t we just take Kos?’ Killen murmured.

‘We rule the skies, but not the streets,’ Kione sighed. ‘We lack the foot warriors to manage the inevitable riots if we storm Kos and reinstate you without the support of the noble eyries. The squadrons devoted to us are spread thin.’

Kaxim sucked his teeth. ‘Also, we require a plan to quell all the little fires starting up all over the Kingdom, including Kassian, whom we mentioned before. He survived the battle on Devansi, returned with warriors and men loyal to him, and disappeared into the glass plateaus beyond Karth. Since then, his troops have marauded throughout the provinces and have forced many into their ranks in the hopes of building an army to storm Kos. He’s got a formidable number, almost twice what we do.’

‘Ambitious. How do we thwart him?’ Killen asked.

‘We send part of our elite hawks to stop any further raids, but that will mean splitting the forces faithful to us.’

‘Then let’s do it,’ Killen murmured. ‘Have a small army contingent ready to defend any vulnerable eyries, towns and cities on Kassian’s path. Kione, you’re best to lead this charge. The rest will remain here, with Kaxim, to continue training and amassing recruits for war. Also, do we have anyone who can infiltrate Kos whisper-quiet to listen in to what’s going on in court and amongst the noble houses? Someone high-krest enough to have eagle-sight into what they’re scheming?’

‘A cuckoo strategy,’ Kione said.

Killen nodded. ‘Something like that.’

‘Not half bad,’ Kaxim conceded. ‘We may already have a songbird in the cuckoo’s nest. I’ll reach out to them.’

Killen shrugged. ‘Good. Who else do we need to look out for?’

Kaxim indulged him. ‘The Kythnians.’

Killen aside a brow. ‘The sage medics? My mother and I were to visit them to help restore our sight until we connected with the SHärd. What of them?’

‘They’re not only medical specialists but also scientists and Katánian by origin,’ Kaxim said. ‘They are the descendants of an eyrie that was one of the first when our people moved into the sector from beyond the veil. They cleaved from us planet-bound locals to create a high-tech mage society that lives on the moon of Kythnia.’

‘They embraced technology while the Kíríga and his Council rejected it,’ Killen said.

‘Naam,’ Kione confirmed. They are much superior to Katánē in that regard. Apart from the Kogun, they helped us develop our warbirds, the ships your grandfather used for marauding throughout the sector. Since then, they left us alone—until they got super ticked off by your grandfather’s threats a few years ago to ‘take back’ their territory. Rumour has it they’ve far more advanced weapons ready to fight back if attacked.

‘Fokk me,’ Killen said drily.

‘Fokk us all if we don’t find a way to make peace with them,’ Kaxim clipped. ‘We’re engaged in battles on every front, and the last thing we need is their lunar firepower raining down on us.’

‘Agreed,’ the Král-In-Waiting growled.

‘For now, we must focus on making you the spearhead for the army. That’s what will conquer this war despite our shit numbers,’ Kione growled, his usually smiling visage grave with concern.

Killen jerked his chin in agreement. ‘Heard the saying, ‘We, the willing, led by the unknowing, are doing the impossible for the ungrateful? You’ve done so much for so long with so little that we can now do anything with nothing.’

The Kíríga let his words sink in for a moment before continuing. ‘What’s the plan to ramp me up?’

‘Here’s what we’re proposing,’ Kaxim said. ‘First, we have to appraise your combat capability. Your ability to wield your sābər koya is the one thing that’ll win over any doubters.’

‘How so?’

‘In disguise as my apprentice, you’ll join the kambí’s warrior training to assess your form and tweak your skills. Next, we’ll get you into sparring matches with our elite sābər warriors. Once you demonstrate your prowess, we’ll reveal you are the rightful Kíríga. With your hawkstone laid bare and your proficiency is proven, you’ll acquire the unilateral support to either march on Kassian or meet him in the battle to halt his advance.’

‘I think I can hold my own,’ Killen murmured.

Kaxim and Kione exchanged glances. He caught onto their hesitation.

‘You don’t think so? I’m no prodigy with a sword, but I’ve spent more than a decade learning the ways of the koya wielding from my mother in Devansi. I can also draw on the knowledge within this not-so-secret inheritance of a hawkstone. To gain the required fighting skills from the Kings whispering into my thoughts every freakin’ day.’

Kaxim pursed his lips. ‘Not enough Kíríga. Sābər Hawk combat has come a long way since the KiaMalkia was on Katánē and since the ancients as well. It’s faster, more brutal and more lethal than she taught you. I witnessed you fight Tempest Light and -,’

‘And you think I require some serious brushing up on my competency,’ Killen interjected.

‘Something like that,’ Kaxim conceded. ‘Respectfully, of course.’

Killen stood for some time looking at the ranges beyond, then tracking his eyes to the city, his hands crossed over his chest. In time, he stirred. ‘If this is the way, then so be it.’

‘Anything else we need to discuss?’ Kaxim growled.

Killen almost said something but bit his lip.

Wanting to share the one other unknown factor.

Sana’a.

She was here on Katánē.

He sensed her spirit on Kos.

He’d tagged it the second his hawkstone had swept the burg.

He had no idea why.

He could only surmise she was back to finish the job she’d started.

Worse still, she was invading his dreams, like she had last night, twisting him into knots with her bewitching essence.

Her soul was a swirling sea of danger and desire, pulling him deeper into its depths until he was lost in her wild and untamed energy.

Even this far off, a city, valley and desolation apart, it radiated with the intensity of a thousand suns, engulfing the íkan-laden atmosphere in an intense blaze of passion and power.

Her presence on the planet was relentless and all-consuming, like the sun on a scorching summer day.

Her essence trailed from the marble city, caressing his head, scalp and shoulders.

Her fierce, unadulterated vitality tangled with his own.

She was a wildfire, radiating a blinding, intense white heat threatening to consume everything in its path. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and his fantasies of her were becoming a hindrance to his clear thinking.

But he needed to maintain his composure and not let his allure to her hinder his purpose.

He had a planet load of strife to overcome, a promise to fulfil, and nothing left over for distractions.

Killen cursed under his breath. Existing on the same plane with her without wanting to own her would be a battle of wills that would test his resolve to the limit.

Yet, his traitorous soul longed to discover what flames lay within her fiery depths.

However, his logical brain told him he needed to focus on why she was here.

Of crucial importance was whether she was still a threat to his existence.

He sensed she was a storm in Shotelai form, a spark-filled squall that would consume him whole, leaving nothing but ashes in her wake.