Chapter 34

Chapter 34

The storm danced on the edges of the desolation, a mighty khaboob that obscured all view of Mount Karth and Kos itself.

Somehow, though, it didn’t penetrate the vast kíwanja, the air space overhead the Desolation where the Kainôs Sābər Hawk army was assembling.

Killen lifted his eyes and inclined his ear.

In head-to-toe ceremonial Katánian robes, he stood at the top of the staircase leading from the grand kälajan.

His eyes locked on the kambí and the thousands of warriors waiting for him to rouse them into zeal for justice and peace.

By first leading them into the inevitable and bloody war to come.

Days earlier, Killen’s use of his shockwave and his appearance as the full Kíríga above the skies of Katánē had caused ripples throughout the entire society.

News of the sky battle with Kalila and her hordes spread, unveiling his true identity to all Katánians and confirming his presence to all Kä’avi, young and old, rich and poor.

When word reached the Kainôskambí, a thunderous cheer rose into the firmament, shaking the planet to its core.

When it came to the Kä’avi, news of the Kíríga unveiling had spread like wildfire.

Most locals of Kos had danced in glee at the emergence of the new Kong. But like the army commanders, some were on edge, fearing the unknown because they’d never seen a King like Killen with his blazing hawkstone.

Some even worried that Killen was not to be believed and that he had ulterior motives for revealing himself at this moment.

Killen knew better than anyone that trust was scarce in these troubled times. He had to earn it one step at a time.

But first, it was time to meet the entire army.

Killen hovered on the edge of the kíwanja and glanced at the plumes in his grey, black, and gold piped wings, which shone in the early morning light.

On his chest was a chrome and gilded breastplate, and on his crown, a matching gilded helmet with sweeping silver and aureate krest worn bound at the top.

In his hand was a polished koya, sharpened, shimmering with its own glow.

Kaxim stood to his right. As the King’s Armourer, he wore a scarlet plume and cuirass, and Kione to his left was in deep sable and sapphire colours.

All three men wore long, flowing capes of lustrous plumage, which concealed razor-like edges sharp enough to slice a man in two.

They also acted as impromptu shields able to block sword and mace blows in the case of an ambush.

Killen inclined his ear, for he’d caught a haunting melody in the distance.

Out of the howling of the wind came a resonance that carried above the whistling and shrieking of the streaking sand on the outskirts of the vast airfield.

‘Is that music I hear?’ he asked, turning to Kaxim, his eyes glittering with curiosity.

‘It’s the Kānāri Horns,’ his armourer murmured with a twist to his lips. ‘The army’s orchestra. They insisted.’

Killen’s heart jolted at the chorded strains.

It was a shot of euphonic adrenalin.

A hyperactive, insistently aggressive and acrobatic sound that entranced him.

Through the dust-laden mist, columns of Sābər Hawks appeared as far as the eye could see, hovering in a tight circle high over the desert sand and rocks.

They all held instruments in their hands. Each musician was lost in an incandescent virtuoso, playing with all their bodies as fantasies and visions of archaic incubus passed through them.

‘What am I meant to fokkin’ do?’ Killen groused.

‘Fly amongst it. Let the wind and song carry you,’ Kaxim murmured. ‘It is the breath of kemí.’

He took a deep inhale, bowed his head and allowed his vast wings to unfurl rearward.

Part transmuted, his mighty rachís spread out as he rose into the air, higher and higher.

Following close behind were his two companions.

The three titanic Kaɪˈmɪəric Sābər Hawks soared and ascended between the euphonic honour guard as they stretched out their plumes.

This created a wall that bounced the haunting refrain from the Hawks to the Klós guards on the starts below before the music surged and flowed over the plain.

The immense orchestral textural sound they generated was detailed yet varied, encompassing light and dark, serenity and turbulence.

It recounted a nuanced story, enhanced and horrified with rhythmic ingenuity.

It’s called ‘The Battle of Kinjata’, Kaxim explained to the Kíríga via their neural node link. It speaks of power, might, transformation and the dawning of one of Katánē’s greatest heroes. Incidentally, one of your ancestors.

Killen took note of the mention, letting his soul fly on the wings of the urgent notes, which told of epic heroism, passion and cruelty.

The chords plummeted, soared, and he lost himself in the stirring cadence, becoming a force of nature.

From time to time, the orchestra would sing out in choral reprise, their forceful, evocative song swelling with emotion and expressiveness.

The dramatic symphonic coda built into a rousing finale that fell to a sudden, silent, windless calm.

Killen served Kaxim with a raised brow as he turned to face the hundreds strong, their instruments and wings glittering in a brilliant blaze of the plain below.

‘The Kíríga is welcomed, and in what majestic fashion,’ Kaxim murmured.

Around them, the vast grassland was walled in by peaks, jutting cliffs and steep ravines.

On the edge of the multitude were silken tents with bright fires in a circular rampart of flames.

It was grandiose, awe-inspiring and jarring to Killen’s soul.

Speak. They wait to eat your words,Kaxim said in his mind.

The sea of wild-hued plumage in front of him trembled in the wind, and the kaleidoscope of ribbons from the ends of horns and trumpets fluttered in waiting.

Keep it brief. They’ll want to see more of your prowess in koya fighting on the battlefield than hear you crow on like the beaked Elders of Kos.

Killen nodded his understanding before stepping to the edge of the expansive airborne dais.

The air stilled as his hawkstone blazed.

He kept it blunt. ‘My name is Killen. Your hawkstone chosen Kíríga. Tempest Light is long dead at the blade of my koya. He whose fury scorched planets, whose marauding instincts pulverised nations and brought them to their knees, has devoured eternal quietus. His rule was not without strife. For he only listened to the Kírorerô, the omens of potent power and prophecy as told to him by the witchers and curse placers.’

He let his hawkstone unfurl to its full glory on his forehead.

It flooded the plain with an ethereal luminosity so glorious it outshone the sun.

A roar rose from the columns of winged warriors in approval.

He continued, his voice booming over their growing applause. ‘I am now the rightful Kíríga, the Regis on the throne. I come so we may create a new Katánē. One that rejects the old ways, the curses, fury and greed and instead embraces u’kweli, the truth and justice for all our people. Together, we can look to the future with courage and confidence. We look to the vision of Katánē, not just free but united. In facing this novel challenge, we can take comfort and encouragement from the lessons of the past. We know that we all carry differences and that dark forces and treacherous íkan are working to divide us further. We all come from different eyries, casts and houses; we enjoy diverse cultures, distinctive values, and unique attributes. Yet we are far more similar than not. Under krests and quills, we are one people, the Katánian Kaɪˈmɪərə. Harmony can and will be attained between us. I believe no insuperable obstacle can emerge between the coming together of our people. Khiron showed us the way, and his legacy remains. One steeped in the truth that unity is strength. I do not know exactly how victory will be achieved. All I hope and hold onto is that we will accomplish it together.’

After a beat of stunned silence, a roar rose from the Kainôs.

The combined cheer was like a thousand thunderstorms raging in unison, the sound waves reverberating through the air and shaking the planet’s core.

It drowned out all other noise, creating a chaotic orchestration. It was a visceral and potent expression of collective triumph, a deafening symphony that left no doubt as to the magnitude of the moment.

A light misty rain dampened the craggy edges of the vast mountain, where a sleek ship was tucked in between two expansive crevasses.

The cloaked woman waved a hand in front of the hidden console on the surface of the streamlined craft.

An opening slid wide, and she slipped through it.

Seconds later, she marched onto the bridge of her vessel.

Her hands flew across the controls as she woke Sika.

‘Sana’a, welcome back.’

‘Good to hear your voice, old friend. Silence and stealth, so please start up and head to this location.’

She tapped a set of coordinates into the monitor even as the intelligence hushed down.

The unseen ship, cloaked and whisper-quiet, ascended from the snow-covered massif where she’d parked it and tracked towards the Desolation of Karth.

Where it stilled to hover above a scene so majestic, Sana’a held her breath in awe.

Thousands of Sābər Hawks, Kärds gyrfalcons, Krypós eagles, and Katánē’s entire host of Kaɪˈmɪəric warriors congregated, whirling together in a slow circle.

The haunting music carried her away with its transcendence and heart-stopping chords.

Her eyes drank the sight of her lover, the magnificent Kíríga, hovering over the assembled Kainôs army.

The sight of the great assembly and its even more majestic leader was so formidable that she was hit with an instinctual wave, raising goosebumps on her skin.

Her spine shivered when he spoke in a voice so resonant and resounding that it roared over the plains, searing her soul with every word.

When his rousing call ended, her essence soared with deep emotion.

Without warning, the fluttering sensation dropped lower to the abdomen.

Her heartbeat came to a crashing stop.

Then, it pounded back into rhythm with a roar.

A euphoric, wild ecstasy swelled in her with dizzying joy.

Followed by a nosedive into such profound sorrow that she sobbed out loud.

She inched a hand over her midriff even as her unbidden lodestone emitted an intense beam that lit up the bridge of her ship with blinding light.

She fell back into her seat, gasping, tears falling unbidden.

‘Fokk me.’

One oath, two blades, three tragedies, four slays, seven fates.

THE STORY CONTINUES …

Sana’a and Killen’s story concludes with …

‘Saber Throne’ - Book 2 of The Hawkstone Realm Series

Sana’a, The Switchblade, the shikari with an oath to fulfil and a mind to kill a King, has fled her lover. With a secret so profound it threatens to shatter her.

Will she return to him? If she does, will Killen, the Král-In-Waiting and Consort, even welcome her back after what she did to him?

Will they get back together? And will he and his army prevail in an ancient world ruled by soaring wings and mired in rules, scandals, secrets and mysteries?

For, they face an unimaginable war against their enemies AND a relentless, dark elemental force in a court and land mired in even more unknown mysticism, magic, betrayal and intrigue.

Find out in ‘Saber Throne’

Book 2 of The Hawkstone Realm

Get it now!