1 Blood Song

Smoke billowed from the charred ground — suffocating fumes. They filled Shyana's lungs with their clinging, putrid smell.

Death.

She knew the stench well, almost well as the sight of bodies and the taste of victory on her tongue. A part of her savored the destruction; the lingering quiet that fell over the field when the last soldier met their end.

It was her artwork and her ink was always the same, red.

She licked the sulfur from her dry, cracked lips and watched a satisfied raven fly overhead. They were her patrons, and they never missed a show. This one was already leaving with a belly swollen with humanity. They were the only neutral creatures left in the world, content to consume either Xhian or Thurulcan flesh equally.

A young soldier stood 50 paces away, trying and failing for the fifth time to tie his much too large sword back to his side, fumbling with it as it slid from his grasp and fell to the ground with an embarrassing thump.

The scarred, grizzled man beside him, took hold of the blade and smacked it to his side, tying it firmly. "Get a hold of yourself in the presence of the general, lad."

"Y...yes sir."

He'd gathered dutifully with the rest of the army, those who weren't in need of medical attention — to watch.

General Makea's proud smile faded when she turned from the satisfying battlefield, to the waiting circle, where her blade would become judgement.

When her presence found its way to the valley floor, reverent whispers flickered through the field, like a chorus of crickets warning of the coming darkness.

The boy studied them — four members of his brethren, including a man who had shared a canteen with him just two days earlier, on their knees, heads bowed.

The whispers were replaced by a silence that was thick and terrifying, as the general regarded each bent soul. Her hand rested on the hilt of her blade, tapping it lightly as she paced in front of them. The prisoners flinched with each thundering step of her blood-and-mud soaked boots.

Shyana addressed the prisoners without lowering her eyes to their disgrace.

"There are many sins war will excuse- fear, bloodlust, a bag of coin or food stolen from your enemy. These are necessary evils born from pain and strife. I'll overlook them. But cowardice, cowardice is a sin that shall never be forgiven."

There was an audible intake of breath, when she turned on her heel and paced to the front.

"When the battle took a dark turn, you fled from your positions. You abandoned your kin and spit upon the blood shed today. You betrayed us. And, for what? To save your own lives?"

She stopped in front of the first prisoner. "You've failed."

The hissing sound of her blade sliding from its sheath was enough to jolt one of the four men to his feet, trails of snotty tears gleaming in the light of the setting suns. "Please reconsider, my lady! I am faithful to Xhia! To you! Have mercy, my General! Please Princess…."

Quicker than a snake's strike, Shyana swung her blade up and decapitated the traitor where he stood. Before his head hit the ground, she was already at work on the other three, never ceasing her movements until four heads lolled at her feet.

The young soldier gasped, a strange shaking overtaking his body as Shyana left the pitiful mess behind. When she passed by, he didn't miss the fresh blood splattered on her pale cheek and the sight of it made his heart race.

She was fiercely beautiful. Like the iridescent ziis flower — shimmering colors that invited you to touch and feathery spines to pierce your flesh if you were foolish enough to try.

He grasped his sword, though he knew there was nothing he could do to stop her if she set her gaze on him.

And she did.

He tried to straighten up before her, pieces of armor sliding off his scrawny arms as they trembled beneath her stare. Shyana wondered how long those arms would hold out once the adrenaline of fighting wore off and he realized the horror of what he had seen today — and what he'd done.

His tiny arms hadn't seen thirteen winters. Too young.

"Tell me your name."

Her voice held the regal calm she inherited at birth, while her cool eyes searched the young man's face — trying to place him amongst the wave of new recruits she inherited this season. His head barely passed her shoulders.

"Liram ma'am, son of Kiram the blacksmith."

So that's why the face caught my attention.

"Your father has crafted some of the most impressive blades I've ever seen. My own sword is his creation, and it's never failed me. Pass on this message to him; I'll require a new set of daggers, the blades are beginning to crack, and I want to be prepared in case they break in the next battle."

To her surprise, his eyes began to water. He tried to speak, fighting against the lump in his throat. "I'll send a prayer to him, my Lady. His life was taken by Thurucaln…this morning…I…I couldn't get there in time."

Another boy becomes a man, too soon.

Brushing back her battle-worn cape, Shyana's stern face broke as she took the boy in her arms and held him close, her voice for his ear alone.

"We have all lost. I'll send my own prayers to your father. Accept the men and women around you as your new family. In the end, it's all we have."

He tried to choke back a sob long enough to reply, "Yes, Ma'am." But it came out in a pathetic noise, as she squeezed him and the blood on her cheek rubbed off on his own.

Then she left — just as abruptly as she had come, fiery hair blowing in the breeze, a trail of traitor's blood dripping from the tip her sword.

Shyana's heart pulsated in her ears. She was no stranger to the scent of copper and the feeling of wet on her face, but Xhian blood was different than Thurucaln. Remorse, justice, pride, nausea — she felt them all intensely, equally, and all at once.

When she was far enough from the silent crowd, Shyana put one scarred hand to her stomach and waited for the nausea to pass. She fought back the urge to vomit, her lips instead offering an ancient prayer for the lives lost and for the families fissured.

She drew a hand to her lips and kissed her own palm, signaling the end of the prayer and the release of the soldiers from her army.

~~~

Her throbbing feet reminded her of the long days of battle as she reached the slightly elevated patch of dirt where her tent was pitched and the stoic frame of her advisor waited.

"Ah, General Màkea, you return in one piece."

"More or less."

"I trust you aren't too fatigued to discuss our gains and losses of the day, are you?"

Shyana sighed. "I'm prepared Akiem, but first help me take off this wretched cape. I'm dying in it."

He smiled and lifted the tattered piece of clothing from her sore shoulders, his tone softening. "You'll never get used to it, will you?"

"It's ridiculous. If the enemy is close enough to see I am a general and I haven't ended his life, then I'm not worthy of my reputation, am I? The stupid thing just gets in the way. I almost tripped on it twice today."

He draped it across the back of one of two chairs, gesturing to the other side of the table. "Have a seat. Best chair in the house."

Shyana sat with a groan and rested her head in her hands, inhaling a deep breath.

Akiem worried the fabric between his fingers. He noticed the slump of the general's shoulders, the increasingly dark circles budding beneath her eyes. "If you wish, I can bring matters up later, when you've recovered."

As tempting as rest sounded, Shyana shook her head, working out the tension in her right arm. "No, let's settle things now so I can finally get some rest later."

"We both know that won't happen. You've never been able to sit still for two seconds, Shy."

Her eyebrow arched at the informal pet name. "Regardless, what are the final matters before we can return home? My men are ragged."

Akiem nodded and motioned to the table where he'd already set out two maps, worn and creased from the endless nights of pouring over their secrets. "Yes, this battle lasted longer than expected. The Thurucalns are becoming bolder and bolder in their efforts. I think they're plotting something bigger."

Shyana slouched back in her chair, massaging her left shoulder. "Of course, they're lashing out. The Thurucalns are wounded animals. These aggressive fronts are only the final, desperate action of a broken people. Nothing more."

Akiem's golden hair fell forward, as his calculating gaze traced along the map. "I know you want to see it that way, but I can't help thinking there's something more. Camps have been spotted, here, here, and here along the river."

He motioned to three different sections of Tarru that were strangely far apart.

Shyana sat straight. "I'm not concerned about the two locations by the river or the canyon, any low-grade officer will plant their troops there, however, the one resting so close to the Fepican Forest is curious. What could they want in that forsaken place?"

Shyana knew what lurked in that forest. There were beasts in those trees. Monsters who could suck out a man's soul, leaving him a possessed shell, destined to return to his homeland and devour everyone he knew. The memory of such a soulless man stumbling about the castle courtyard, when she was only five winters, still plagued Shyana's nightmares.

Akiem brought his hand to his mouth, gnawing on his thumbnail, as he contemplated. "That's exactly what I want to know. The camps occupying the opportunistic landmarks make sense, but to set up near the Fepican Forest is beyond me. Even for the Thurucaln, that's unheard of. What could be so important?"

Shyana analyzed the maps once more before she laced her long fingers in front of her face, resting her chin on their bridge. "For any normal Thurucaln, yes, but there's one who may be crazy enough to explore those untapped resources."

Her gaze caught Akiem's. "I didn't see Vikas at the front today."

"The prince of the Thurucalns must be hiding from you."

The edge of her mouth turned up. "This is serious. He's the only Thurucaln I've wanted to fight for two winters now and he hasn't shown his face in the past three battles. The crack of his whip is something that doesn't go unnoticed. Do you think it's possible he's leading an ambush of some kind in that cursed place?"

Akiem shrugged, but the thought played across his face. "I suppose any act of madness can be expected when your army is deteriorating. What do you wish to do with this information?"

Shyana tapped her index finger on the table. "It may be time to call on an old friend. Have we been able to locate Revarian since our last encounter?"

The advisor shook his head, pouring her a glass of wine.

"No, my lady, the last we heard of him was in this general area." Akiem gestured to the entirety of the map.

Shyana rolled her eyes. "Have I told you lately how incredibly helpful you are to me, Paws?"

He placed the wine chalice in front of her with a bit of a thump. "I believe we agreed you wouldn't call me that anymore, Princess."

She lifted it to her mouth and swallowed the blissfully bitter liquid, however, her trained gaze didn't miss the flash as his green eyes momentarily shifted, then changed back. It felt like an eternity since she had seen his wilderness.

Her sultry lips curved, truly satisfied at the nerve she struck. "You stop yours and I'll stop mine."

Shyana tapped the side of the metal chalice with her ring and sipped, quietly pleased with the annoyed shudder that passed through her advisor. Though she enjoyed teasing him, Akiem was the one true friend she had and the only one whom she would allow to see her as more than the general of the Xhaian army.

He understood her savagery better than anyone could.

While there was no official name for what kind of creature he was, legends had been written ages ago of men who were possessed with the spirits of beasts. Akiem was quite literally a cub when Shyana met him so many winters ago in the courtyard of the palace--a small lion caught in one of the traps set for the weasel-like rekons which had been especially bad that year.

Since Shyana had such a bad habit of freeing them before the huntsman arrived, she'd set fast to work to free what she thought was a lost kitty. Her surprise when that golden cat transformed into a naked boy before her eyes, was enough to warrant a visit to her father and a pardon to stay in her home as a playmate.

They'd been inseparable ever since.

Akiem even joined her when she had run away to fight in Xhaia's army, though his real strength lied in his books and charts, while the field called to her.

Along with learning the ways of war, the cursed boy had discovered the ability to tame the beast within to the extent that Shyana hadn't seen it in many winters.

When he turned to show her the plans for food rationing, a gruff voice called from outside their tent.

"General Makea! Lord Akiem! We've captured a Thurulcan spy!"

Both advisor and general looked to each other with deadly sincerity and Shyana assumed the callous sneer she was famous for. Akiem draped the dreadful cape on her shoulders, the costume she needed to switch back to warrior, before they stepped out of the tent to face the prisoner.

Two of her guards held a man on his knees, his hands bound, a crude sack over his head. She nodded for it to be removed.

Tresses of black hair spilled out. Thurucalns never cut their hair when they reached fifteen summers, believing their god gave them strength and honor with it. It hung down so low, the tips rested in the dirt. Shyana found it fitting for someone of his stature.

Her cold gaze scanned him. "What's your name, creature?"

When he didn't acknowledge her presence, one of the guards grabbed his long hair and pulled until his chin was vertical. "You speak when the general addresses you, scum!"

The midday sun seared the ground, heat waves emanating from the earth. This didn't make Shyana's patience any stronger. She switched to the tongue of the Thurulcan, which sounded harsh and gutteral in her throat. "I asked you a question, and I'm not in the habit of repeating myself."

The guard yanked once more and then released the Thurucaln's hair. To their surprise, he replied with a sardonic, "Forgive me, great General Makea, but I didn't know you were speaking to me. I don't answer to 'creature.'"

"In this camp you'll answer to whatever we call you, slime."

The guard on the left scolded with a swift kick to the man's abs. This elicited a round of wet coughing and certainly at least one rib broken.

Shyana waited until his coughing ceased before she stepped closer, a dangerous, predatory look on her face. She bent down so that she was face to face with the prisoner and reached for the dagger latched to her side. Its golden handle fit perfectly in her grasp, like the presence of an old friend and the curved blade found its way under his chin, forcing him to look up at her.

"Patience isn't something I'm known for. Now as you can see, the men of my army are quick to punish any other mordant comments you may have. This can be easier than you believe. So, if you want to continue to see the charitable side of me, I suggest you corporate or I swear by the fate's blood I will spill yours and drink it myself."

Shyana knew the myths the Thurucaln ancestors created to frighten young soldiers into battle; grand stories of the Xhaian army sacrificing their children and drinking the blood of their enemies. It was always better to speak in a language they understood to most quickly achieve her goal of sweet, beautiful information.

Her violet eyes locked with his golden irises and she purred. "So, let's begin with your name, shall we?"

He tried to keep her gaze, but quickly folded under the scrutiny swirling within it. "Dehn."

She smiled. First contact had been established.

"So Dehn, how many summers have you seen?" She asked gently running the tip of the dagger up and down the fragile flesh of his throat. He swallowed when the sharp end met the soft part of his neck, where dirt and sweat had gathered. "Eight…eighteen…."

The general nodded, examining the faded scar of a blazing sun which branded his shoulder as a member of the Thurucaln army. The Thurucalns were seen as barbarians by the much more refined Xhaians. Their skin tanned in the blistering sun, creating a frightening mix with their golden eyes and that black hair, which depending on their age, could easily be longer than a female's.

Xhaians were normally a creamy white, preferring to stay inside their elaborate halls instead of sleeping under the open sky like animals.

"And what exactly possessed you to join the army?"

Dehn became more and more twitchy when she stroked the tip of the dagger up and down in the space between his collar bones. Beads of sweat and the musky scent of fear wafted from the boy.

"I won't tell you anything! You'll have to kill me!" He yelped when the small strokes of the dagger began to feel like searing heat on his skin.

Shyana tilted her head to the side. "Why all the hysterics Dehn? I haven't even asked you anything serious yet. I'm just trying to get to know you first. I like to build a solid relationship before I get into the real torture. But you know what the interesting thing is?"

She laced her long fingers through his dark hair, bringing his ear close to her lips. "A part of me is hoping you don't talk. I've lost some good people today and I really, really want to torture you. I'll give you some time to think about which kind of pain you'd wish to experience."

She released him before standing with her shoulders back. "Take him away."

The guards yanked the prisoner to his feet and Shyana cooed. "Gently, boys, gently. We must show our guest the utmost in Xhaian hospitality."

When they dragged him away from her sight, Shyana released the breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding. Akiem stepped closer and patted her shoulder. "Scary words, Shyana. Do you really intend to torture that boy?"

She stretched her sore shoulders, turning her face to the three suns which were barely visible on the horizon. "Let's hope not, it would be a pain to clean more Thurucaln blood from my blade. Fear is far more motivating than pain. Right now, he's imagining a punishment far worse than I ever could do. Better to let his mind torture him for me, I have more important things to do."

Akiem smirked and watched her walk back into the tent, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Indeed, my lady, you truly are a goddess of war."