Blue Scorpion - Last Flight of the Ancients

By Karen S Lee

Few women in Simas would take up hard labor, and very few would wield a weapon. So when Evanna settled in the outpost, Drone, standing up to the warlord Salem’s men with a weapon and earning her living as a blacksmith, she drew the attention of many from near and far.

Among those who heard her renown were the crown prince of Simas and his high knight who were traveling the area on another assignment. Their unexpected visit to Drone brought about changes in fortune for this forlorn outpost, and Evanna took on a commission upon their invitation in the royal palace for the king’s birthday. In the palace, she forged friendships with the jovial Sir Torias, the playful but mysterious Sir Matthias, and the noble Sir Endor and learned the story of her past. In the city, she met an old beggar who had the blood of the Nephilim in him, sitting at the palace gates.

But the wheels of the age were turning fast, and things were not always as they appeared. A seemingly diplomatic visit from a princess of the neighboring kingdom of Adar turned into an encounter with the murderer of Evanna’s mother many years ago. The thwarting of the Adarian coup was only the beginning of revelations of the terrible plans of an ancient enemy who most thought was dead. As Simas and its allies became embroiled in the war in their region, Evanna returned to the remnant of her people to raise them to battle and revive the old alliances. Leading five Simasian representatives through the forest into the mountains where her people were hiding, the secret that Evanna had been keeping was finally revealed. And with this alliance, she journeyed toward a battle toward the twisted plot of deception and bloodshed that would unravel in the very city where she was the rightful queen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jun 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796002485

Karen S Lee

Born in Hong Kong, and raised in Australia, Karen Lee now lives in Sydney with her husband, Bernard. From a young age, she has nurtured a passion for writing fiction and poetry and enjoys nothing more than a good book with a good, strong coffee in hand. Drawing inspiration from her faith, and the story that has been given her, she explores worldviews, philosophies and motivations through fantasy and fiction. Her prayer is that her writing will touch someone and transport them along a journey and adventure.

Book preview

Blue Scorpion

Last Flight of the Ancients

Karen S Lee

Copyright © 2019 by Karen S Lee.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BlueScorpionLastFlightOfTheAncients/

Website: https://lastflightoftheancients.com/

Rev. date: 06/25/2019

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

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Contents

Acknowledgements

The Mother Lore

Prologue

Chapter 1 On the Anvil

Chapter 2 A Royal Assignment

Chapter 3 The Third Movement

Chapter 4 The Perfect Piece

Chapter 5 Old Ailments, New Troubles

Chapter 6 Mirages and Revelations

Chapter 7 A Darker War

A Letter to my readers

Acknowledgements

While my name appears on the book as the author, there are just so many factors that have contributed to this piece of work.

I have carried with me the legacy of stories that I have read and heard in the past and the great story in which I still find myself – this has been given me by God, who has granted me the elements to tell this story. I thank God, who has given me a passion for writing and the avenue for doing so.

I also have incredible friends who have willingly given their time and energy to help me along.

To those who have read and commented on my work – Amanda ‘Blue’, who has edited two of my drafts; and Tim D, whose comments helped me refine my ideas. Thanks also goes to Kate W who has read some of my ‘greener’ earlier works and have given me much encouragement to implement in this project.

Thank you also to Xi, whose creative artwork and graphic skills breathed life into my pencil sketches for my cover art.

To Moses, Kelvin, Pastor David, Pastor Steve, and many others who have nudged me along or simply asked how it has been going, thank you for all your support. Dr. Debbie N and Dr. Anne J and many other work colleagues who have spurred me on through my journey to print.

I thank my hubby, Bernard, for being there and for supporting me.

Thanks also go to my parents, Dr. K. K. Yeung and Mrs. Julia Yeung, who have cheered me on and helped finance this project. Their generosity, support, and love have been very much appreciated.

The original edition in 2012 and its relaunch in 2019 would not have been possible without a lot of help from and the wonderful publishing teams who supported me through the whole process.

The Mother Lore

Recorded in history one age-old tale

A beloved song that made grown men wail

Of a mother’s love – its length and breadth –

Of willpower and courage, of life and death

A legend passed down through generations

That shaped the course of entire nations

For it was said that on ancient Itticcan soil

A silent battle emerged through the turmoil

It was rumoured in the heat of battle

When all hope faded, when courage crumbled

A woman, grief-stricken, fled in rabid fear

Pursued by enemies, close at her rear

Her womb full, her precious unborn

Threatened from her body to be torn

Subdued by venom, slowed by pain

Her will fought, her freedom to obtain

And in the dark cold night a shiver

As she tumbled into the deep, cold river

She knew not when or where or how

Nor what strength in her frame she found

To flee into the forest and through the pass

Blindly stumbling through tree and grass

Through the night in semi-consciousness

All else faded into distant darkness

What then occurred, none could be certain

Such events were oft shrouded in confusion

A distant, forgotten village one evening

Recalled events that defied sound reasoning

A late visitation by dame in gold and black

Regal, expressionless, asked for the flour sack

She made payment and left in great haste

In the morning light, her payment was waste

A handful of dust was all that was left

Of rightful payment, a man was bereft

Yet three nights the visitor reappeared

To three different households, left in fear

Of ghosts and ghouls and vengeful powers

A hole they pricked in the sack of flour

To see where it led in the morning light

To know whether they should flee or fight

Fearfully they followed it to discover

A shroud of black and rich red by the river

A newborn, shivering against cold, unfeeling flesh,

Of a woman who passed into eternal rest

The child was taken and clothed and fed

And with heavy hearts they buried the dead

And this, the story, the eternal song of

The embodiment of sacrificial love

Prologue

D eep wells of bluish green sparkled with the silver of the rushing river on which they gazed. The whirling melodies of the mighty river Ilia on a hot, windless day were mesmerising. The rapid currents danced downstream with great speed, carrying with it all manner of aquatic life that could never be recorded in its entirety. It had been said that the great river flowed from the secret, innermost parts of the mountains through valleys, canyons, and untouched forests and meandered towards a mysterious lake beyond the Great Forest to the south.

The forest was alive with noise of grunts and squawks, hisses and rattling, high-pitched whistles and chirping. The breeze rustled the leaves gently as though it were hushing a child. The sounds faded. Deep pools of memory solemnly twinkled in the sun – pools of pain, of sorrows, of joys now passed forever into the shadows of memory and time that was no longer, pools that gazed but saw not into the lush greenness which lay across the riverbank, cloaked in the deceptive beauty which disguised the long cycles of death and life – unnatural cycles that were brought into being when death entered the world, when the first parents followed the great deception and marred the once perfect creation with their rebellion.

A hushed silence fell across the river, its excitement suddenly subdued. The trees swayed with the west wind yet did not rustle; the sun watched coldly from above. The unfeeling flesh of a white hand, stiffened by the shadow that had passed, no longer possessed the warmth that came from a once vibrant life, the softness of one who was once loved, now forever forgotten with the unrelenting wheels that turned fortunes and fates. A gold ring with a red phoenix gleamed in the light.

The night was deep, and darkness descended in waves of seemingly endless intensity that threatened to swallow the whole world in its insatiable belly. Only the feeble glow of a lone ember dared challenge it. Evanna lay with her eyes open and pondered the visions that had haunted her sleep since her earliest memories began. It had been a long time since she had slept through the night. In fact, as Evanna tried to search her memory, she could not remember a time when she had slept soundly. She often marvelled at how well she was still functioning, given the sporadic spurts of rest she had been getting for the past sixty-six years.

The world was young, the air was new, and humankind lived long centuries. Age did not degenerate the body with the speed that it did in the planet’s latter days. Although sixty-six years was a long time, she was considered a youth in her era, and Evanna’s stamina and strength were as good as they had been when she was 20.

It had been a good many seasons since she strayed from the relative comfort of her home in the mountains in search of adventure. She faced a fate worse than a lifetime of imprisonment – to be locked away into a position of immense responsibility over a people who had lost all hope. So, she ran away. She knew secrets which no one would ever have dared dream about, both terrifying things and those of unimaginable beauty – things which she could never share with anyone back in the settlement. She had wandered the foothills, the streams, and the lakes; she stayed where no one had ever stayed and saw what no one had seen. She had wandered the remotest parts of the mountains and known the caverns like the back of her hand.

And the previous evening, she had fought bandits on the highway and been invited into the home of an old man who had the rattle of death in his lungs, Cyrus, and his wife, Selena. Selena had been treating her with suspicious civility, while Cyrus took interest in her Itticcan clothes and unusual adornments and had spent the night telling her about the situation of Drone. She had learnt that Cyrus was a blacksmith who no longer had the strength to work and that men who professed allegiance to an overlord called Salem were after protection money. She had broken bread with Cyrus and Selena, and now she lay on their floor by the dying embers as their guest for the night.

The last of the embers went out, and darkness overwhelmed the room. The silence stifled all who heard its cry. But all was not still. Disturbed from her deep thoughts, she lay still, listening, her fingers absently scribbling in the sand. She had been considering what to do with the information she had been given that night. But now her acute hearing picked up the unmistakable noise of human activity.

Slowly, she raised her head. It was far away, and it was approaching the blacksmith’s hut. Beside her, Selena and Cyrus were breathing softly in their sleep, oblivious to the approaching visitors. She could detect the tell-tale tinkle of metal objects pushing together on a man’s belt. They were stifled from jangling around on the belt but not entirely. Three sets of footsteps, she discerned, were approaching the hut. The footsteps were light but not light enough to be female.

Evanna listened for any clue of possible mischief – the barely detectable sound of metal sliding out from a leather sheath – but there was none. The footsteps stopped a little way away, just beyond the gate. Whoever they were, it seemed that they were not too heavily armed, but she had a hunch that their visit had something to do with her arrival earlier that evening.

Evanna lifted herself silently from the floor and stepped out like a hunting cat through the small doorway of the mud hut and into the pitch darkness. From a very young age, she had learnt to sleep with her holster on, and her swords and her short staff secured in them were never far from her reach. Living in the mountains where bandits attacked without warning had taught her much. Stealthily, she launched herself onto the roof and crouched low, watching the activity below.

Three men talked softly around a dim lantern about how they should go into the hut. She could sense the presence of a fourth in the distance. Her hand tightened around the staff. This new presence had a certain air about it; its steps were less furtive as though it was unafraid of being discovered. It was a well-trained pair of feet, ready for battle. The first group was apparently surprised by the arrival of the latter, and two of three made a hasty retreat, leaving only their leader behind. From where she crouched, she could make out in the dim light of a small lamp in the man’s hands the silhouette of a mature-looking tall man with a full beard and shrewd but kindly eyes.

‘Lord Dharius’, Evanna heard the first man say, caught off guard by the arrival of the royal representative and rightful governor of Drone. It was the voice of the leader of the gang of bandits who had attacked her earlier that night.

‘Taking a little night stroll, I see, Seamus,’ an older voice replied with unmistakable authority. ‘I hope you are not out to give our newest subject any trouble.’

‘That lady is your subject?’ The first voice tensed. Evanna raised a brow from where she hid. ‘An unusual sort in these parts, is she not?’

‘Yes, very unusual.’ Lord Dharius was unmoved by the quiet challenge. ‘You will leave this household in peace. She will not be disturbed. I have the King’s work for her to do. I have already sent a personal message to Lord Salem.’

‘What work? Will she work in the smithy?’ came the defiant sneer.

‘What is it to you if she does?’ Lord Dharius answered, half-astonishing himself. Evanna could detect a little annoyance in his tone. The man sniffed indignantly, turned, and left.

The wind picked up and blew ever stronger, sending leaves, dust, and sand into the air. Evanna could hear in the distance the conversations of Salem’s retreating men, sneering and talking mockingly about silk-woven, jewelled swords and purple-dyed blades. But she smiled to herself – perhaps this was the Most High answering her prayer about the smithy. Perhaps this was meant to be.

The lights in the hut had been lit in the meantime as the elderly couple stirred from their slumber. The small shaky shapes of Cyrus and Selena were moving below. They had apparently heard the entire exchange. Lord Dharius swung around, embarrassed at their presence. He thought he had been very quiet.

‘My lord Dharius’, Cyrus said, bowing low to the ground at the doorway. Evanna could see that Cyrus had hesitated awhile in his bow and was studying the little symbol that Evanna had been scribbling in the dirt just before being disturbed by the intruders. She could determine from what she could catch of his expression that a certain understanding dawned on him. As Cyrus straightened, he casually brushed out the symbol in the dirt with his sandals.

‘Master Cyrus’, he replied, not knowing what to say next. ‘I-is everything okay? I was hoping not to wake you.’

‘My lord was not jesting, was he?’ Selena sounded weary. ‘No woman can possibly work in the forge, and even if so, who can produce what the student of Telis could for all these years? She will have to learn for many years how to achieve the same standards. Then what will happen to our customers?’ Under Selena’s tone of disdain, Evanna could hear her confusion and terror. This stranger had been much more trouble than she had known what to do with.

The governor shifted a little uneasily. ‘I do not know, but I felt uncomfortable as I went to bed this evening, and I felt that I had to wake and walk down the street. I had heard a confused account from my men about this lady and what she did to Salem’s men as you returned to Drone. I had meant to speak with you in the morning about it. I did not expect to meet Salem’s men here tonight. I hope I have not been too frivolous in suggesting that the lady work in the smithy, and I beg your forgiveness if I have. Perhaps you can train the lady in some small tasks,’ he suggested.

Through the darkness, Cyrus smiled weakly, and Evanna could sense through the thickening darkness that the old man’s body would not last much longer. ‘Lord Dharius is free to suggest what he wishes.’ Cyrus smiled. It was a knowing smile, one that betrayed his knowledge of special help. Lord Dharius gazed at him with incomprehension.

‘Even if Lord Dharius was jesting, he may not have the girl to worry about – she has left her sleeping place,’ Selena added quietly, looking around the small hut with her lantern raised.

‘Ah, I see.’ Lord Dharius sighed with some relief. ‘Well then, I guess we may yet return to normal tomorrow. Perhaps she has fled.’

‘I think not,’ Cyrus replied. ‘This lady is more than meets the eye. She single-handedly dispatched twelve men with a staff, and she had at least two swords on her back. Not many men can do that, let alone a woman in these parts. The lady is no ordinary lady. I do not feel she intends to leave us to our devices.’

‘How can you be so sure, Cyrus? You have spoken nothing but good of this stranger since she arrived.’ The tone of disdain returned to Selena’s voice. ‘We know nothing of who she is or where she came from.’

‘I cannot explain it all right now, Selena. Perhaps I will do so in more detail in the morning.’ Cyrus sounded weary.

‘I see.’ Lord Dharius was only half-listening. He was exhausted, and the whole exchange was more than he had bargained for when he decided to take a late-night stroll into town. He nodded politely as Cyrus continued.

‘She has the build and demeanour of a well-trained warrior. Her arrival has spooked Salem and his men, and I suspect that is why they are so eager to find out more about her tonight. And whatever had transpired, this lady most surely saved us from certain death. She is nearby. I am sure of it. We may not need to be so hasty in getting rid of our guests. Surely, we cannot live forever in fearful self-preservation.’ He shot a rebuking look at Selena, who said no more.

Chapter 1

On the Anvil

A lady? In the forge? Lord Dharius thought. He was only bluffing the night before about having the lady in the forge. He peered into the old man’s smithy, and a beautiful dark face with solemn deep eyes greeted him as though she was already expecting him. So this was the mysterious visitor who had brought so much drama overnight. Cyrus was right – she had the build of a warrior, but even so, Lord Dharius’ Simasian sensibilities struggled to process that. Simasian ladies were never in the habit of hard work outside the home; even those who lived in the tough outposts only took up farming and other labours if there was no other way out.

‘Begging your pardon, lady, where is the old master?’ Lord Dharius asked, bowing a little with polite courtesy.

‘Cyrus is unwell. He said he has your blessing to put me in charge of the smithy. Is there something I can help you with, my lord?’

Lord Dharius regarded her for a moment and marvelled at her. For a woman, she seemed almost perfectly at home in a smithy. He looked her up and down, observing the dagger hanging at her side from a rather beautifully embossed leather belt that stood out in contrast to her rather plain-looking tunic made of blue-dyed cloth. Her hair was surprisingly well kept, shimmering black in the dancing firelight. She also wore a harness which criss-crossed her chest and held some longish items on her back, one of which was shrouded in black cloth. She looked almost harmless and serene, but there was a catlike alertness about her, cataloguing and listening to everything around her, always ready to spring into action. Other than the thick, grubby working gloves in her hand, she looked uncommonly noble and held herself in a way that expressed a dignity and self-respect seldom seen in the women of Simas. Lord Dharius found himself unexpectedly impressed by her and wrestled in his mind about what he should say next. Surely, she could not be a blacksmith herself – no woman ever worked with the forges, at least not in Simas. Perhaps she was cleaning or polishing for Cyrus. It was curious that Cyrus would even allow a woman in his smithy.

‘Perhaps I should come back when your master is better then,’ Lord Dharius finally said, and at once, he could sense her displeasure.

‘Not meaning any disrespect, but I really need to see him,’ he quickly added. He did not wish to upset a lady.

‘Please come in, my lord,’ she said. The Governor could sense that, even in that polite request, she was not going to suffer being argued with.

Lord Dharius entered cautiously and sat down at the table. The lady poured him some tea which she had been boiling and sat down opposite him. ‘Perhaps Your Lordship does not know, but Cyrus is gravely ill. He no longer has the strength to work. This last journey out of Drone has exhausted him. When you spoke to him last night, he concealed his illness from you to keep Your Lordship from worrying. He may not have long to live. That is why he has handed over to me the operations of his business. His elderly wife, Selena, still needs to live. I am no apprentice of his. My training has been completed many years ago.’

Taken aback by the lady’s firm but quiet rebuke, Lord Dharius softened. All this time he had been dealing with the master blade smith, he had not known. He knew that Cyrus was not well, but he had merely thought that it was a passing ailment, and it had not occurred to him that the situation was so desperate. He sighed, half-annoyed that Cyrus would conceal such a thing from him and half-perplexed by the situation he found himself in. ‘He is dying?’

She nodded.

‘Then I will have to reconsider my options,’ he murmured to himself, not quite knowing what else to say. He rose to take his leave.

‘Would Your Lordship not go to him?’ the lady asked softly.

Lord Dharius turned and gazed at her. Even under her gentle suggestion, he felt her reproach. It had never occurred to him to go to see Cyrus. He nodded uncertainly.

She led him down the corridor of the smithy, through the dark alleys, and into an old mud hut. The large bearded warrior entered gingerly. He had been in Drone for some time, but he had never entered the house of one of its residents or seen the conditions in which they lived.

‘Oh, Lord Dharius, how good of you to come! Cyrus took a turn for the worse after last night. He has a terrible fever and could not stop shivering.’ It was Selena, her eyes brimming with tears.

Lord Dharius merely nodded and then stooped by Cyrus’ bedside. The old man was a shadow of his former self – the one who used to beat metal into formidable weapons now lay helpless and shivering in a small, low bed of skins and rags.

‘Oh, Lord Dharius.’ Cyrus’ soft voice sent shivers down the Governor’s spine. ‘I trust you have met Evanna.’

He nodded.

‘She is well qualified to take on my work. The Most High is faithful to the last. The help He sends is nothing less than what we need.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Lord Dharius hesitated a moment as he glanced over at Evanna, who stood to his side, watching the whole interaction. ‘What do you mean she is well qualified?’ He turned to her. ‘Where did you train?’

‘I am trained in the arts of Telis by a master who cannot be named, but Master Cyrus can verify the symbol by which all students of Telis are marked,’ Evanna replied, nodding at Cyrus, who smiled back weakly.

‘If you say so, Cyrus,’ Lord Dharius conceded, not knowing much more about the subject.

‘Test the girl for yourself, Dharius,’ Cyrus challenged. ‘Let her make a sword for you – one fit for the service of battle.’

Lord Dharius looked thoughtfully at Cyrus for a while and then nodded in agreement. ‘Go then, Evanna, and prove yourself worthy of the service of the King.’ He stood up and was about to turn to go.

‘In the meantime, we have only a small batch of dough left and three coins to buy some fruits. What shall we do?’ Selena glanced up at Evanna, her face full of worry.

Lord Dharius stopped, took out five gold coins from his own purse and counted them out in Selena’s hands. The woman gratefully dropped to her knees, trembling at the sight of the money. ‘This should help pay your bills for a while and get you some medicines that you can use to ease Cyrus’ discomfort.’ Lord Dharius laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Let me know if you need anything else.’ He turned and left them.

Evanna turned to the old couple. ‘Is there somewhere I can get additional work?’ she asked.

‘Yes, the tavern owner is always looking for someone to help.’ Cyrus sat up briefly before lying down again, his head spinning with the effort of sitting up. ‘But no one will go because Salem and his men like to frequent there. You can tell Tobias I sent you.’

‘Don’t exert yourself, Cyrus. I will go and see about getting some work there,’ Evanna answered as she went out of the hut.

She stood for a long time in Cyrus’ workshop, running her gaze carefully over the materials that Cyrus had accumulated over the years. They were fine materials, and there was much she could do with them. That very morning saw the flames of the great forge rage, and the pounding could be heard from far away. People came to see what was happening – it had been some time since Cyrus had worked in his smithy – and were astonished to find a foreign woman working in there, singing to herself. Evanna was no stranger to hard work, but her work was cut out for her if she was to support this small family. When darkness fell that second night, she went to the tavern to see the owner.

For a month, she worked away solidly – at the smithy by day and at the tavern by night – to earn her rent and money to obtain some much-needed medicines to ease Cyrus’ pain. There was precious little work at the smithy at first; even Cyrus’ usual customers were wary – few would come to a woman for their tools or weapons. The first customer was a poor old lady who needed her only shovel repaired, and the other blacksmith – Cyrus’ ex-apprentice up the road – refused to do it. Evanna made small items that were useful and took any job from a minor repair to a polish, and gradually, more substantial jobs came her way.

Night and day, the village was hers to observe, and she soon learnt the names of the local and regional warlords – who reported to whom, who was more important than whom, and all the gossip of the town. She witnessed the harassment the rival gangs in the region gave the small outpost community. There seemed to be at least three main groups – the greatest and most influential of them followed a warlord by the name of Lord Salem, and the two other gangs were small-time, petty thieves who pursued their own agendas. Evanna observed the cold, uneasy truce between them and Lord Dharius’ men and their frustration as they sought to keep order with limited resources.

Lord Dharius too had been watching Evanna with some curiosity. He had seen her at the tavern; in fact, she had served him many times. He would often nod at her in acknowledgement and gently inquire about Cyrus’ condition. She spoke almost natively the business-speak of the outposts of Simas yet maintained an altogether gentle, feminine touch; Lord Dharius knew that Cyrus had been coaching her during the nights, and she soaked it all in like a sponge.

He had seen how she worked at the smithy and how skilful she seemed at the trade. He had even seen her wield her sword behind the smithy in the tiny courtyard between the smithy and the old hut as she practised. There was an ease with which those weapons flew through the air, the way she almost made it look like graceful dance but with an incredible momentum which he had never witnessed before. He had seen her do her slow dance, a strangely mesmerising piece of choreography that came from the Elenite people, which seemed on one hand calming and on the other hand powerful and controlled. She was some piece of work.

He witnessed the way she cared for Cyrus and his family. Evanna came at just the right time, almost by Providence, just as Cyrus’ condition made a turn for the worse. She had been a lifeline for him and his family – and while work at the smithy was slow, she managed to earn enough tips at the tavern to buy food for the family. She was far from a common girl, though she dressed like one. She had an air about her which commanded respect. Visitors to Drone spread word that a woman blacksmith was in the region. Warlords from other outposts sent messengers to Lord Dharius’ territory to examine the rumours for themselves.

Her arrival and her sudden novelty status did not go unnoticed among the underworld of Drone. They sent men to spy on her day and night, and although they did not openly move to attack her for fear of angering Lord Dharius, whose favour she seemed to have gained, they would follow her and reported back on her every move. An uneasy truce fell between them, and all Drone was pregnant with tension. It did not take long before Lord Salem himself arrived with some men in the outpost to see Evanna, much to Lord Dharius’ annoyance. Lord Salem made himself comfortable in the lodgings above the tavern. They descended into the tavern to eat and drink their fill, much to the terror of the usual patrons, and many of them stayed away from the tavern. Only some brave souls or off-duty soldiers dared visit the usually crowded alehouse.

‘Give us your best beer!’ Lord Salem bellowed at the tavern owner. ‘One for each of my men, and make it quick! We are thirsty!’

The old man quickly filled tankards and served each man with a well-practised, courteous smile. Some of the men muttered thank-yous as he came past, but most merely grunted and snatched their drink from him. Evanna worked quietly in the back, all dressed in black-dyed leather so that she was almost imperceptible in the darkness and watched as the men talked loudly and drank noisily.

Tobias returned as calmly as he could behind the counter, but on his face was fear. Evanna raised a brow to him, trying to discern the situation. ‘Stay quiet, my daughter. This is Lord Salem,’ he whispered beneath his breath as he passed her. ‘I doubt we will get one coin from them for all they consume tonight.’

Evanna nodded quietly and continued observing the men from where she stood while she cleaned the used utensils with methodical efficiency. These men all had emblems of the scorpion with a cobra’s head in place of a stinging tail embroidered on their tunic, a symbol she had not seen on the tunics of the resident gang members. These men seemed to be a different rank of the underworld altogether, something much more ominous. She observed that some patrons were already starting to leave as discreetly as they could. They did not want any trouble with Salem or his men.

‘Old man!’ Lord Salem called to the owner of the tavern, who came trembling to him. ‘Tell me all you know about the lady blade smith.’

‘You wish to purchase a new weapon, my lord?’ Tobias feebly attempted conversation.

‘What I wish to do there is none of your business. Just tell me how to get there,’ Lord Salem snapped almost savagely.

The whole tavern fell silent, and apprehension hung in the air. Tobias shrank back. Lord Salem smiled to himself, pleased at the attention he was getting. Evanna glared at him with indignant eyes, fighting back her urge to retaliate, causing the tankards in her hand to make a clinking noise. Lord Salem turned to look at her, suddenly aware of her presence. ‘Ah, you have finally found yourself some help? You have got good taste.’ He hissed at Tobias, trying to hide his complete surprise.

The owner flashed a look of horror at her. Evanna, straight backed and confident, lay down what she was doing and turned to face the great warlord squarely. Lord Salem chuckled, on one hand impressed with her courage and on the other slightly affronted by her lack of respect before curious onlookers in the tavern. He studied Evanna from top to toe, letting his eyes linger lustfully on the contours of her body. Evanna’s glare held his, daring him to make a false move. The tension was palpable as the long silent challenge fell between them.

‘You’re not from around here, are you?’ one of Salem’s men barked at Evanna.

She ignored him and continued to hold Lord Salem’s gaze.

‘Either you’re completely ignorant of who Lord Salem is or you’re an idiot,’ he taunted her. The tavern owner shrank back and tried to busy himself with other tasks behind the bar.

‘Well then, perhaps we’ll need to give our newcomer some time.’ Lord Salem held his hand up as if to say to his men that he was up for the challenge. As he was about to rise to his feet, a bright oblong flashed across Lord Salem’s face and distracted him, and he broke his gaze.

Lord Dharius was sitting back on his seat, playing with his new dagger, and flashed a warning look at his unwelcome guest. Lord Salem knew it was unwise to offend his host. Lord Dharius was a formidable warrior – not even Lord Salem was reckless enough to take him on, not at this moment in any case. Evanna smiled to herself, for that meant, at least, that she had some assurance that Lord Dharius was watching her back.

Lord Salem considered his options for a moment. Then he sank back onto his stool and composed himself. ‘Another drink’, he ordered, his voice dangerously quiet.

Evanna’s gaze never left his eyes as she poured him his drink as though daring him to step out of line again, and he assessed the challenge. An unspoken understanding came between the two, and neither would back down from their stand. Lord Salem raised his goblet at his host as a gesture of appeasement and contented himself with the barman’s fear-driven hospitality for the night.

The outpost shifted about its daily routine with some unease as news soon spread of Lord Salem’s return, trampling their streets with his band of men. Lord Dharius’ men watched on quietly, ready to respond to any incident. There was rarely peace where Lord Salem set foot.

As Lord Salem neared a small hut close to the edge of the outpost, he heard drifting from it the pounding of a mallet on metal and saw smoke billowing from its chimneys. As he and his men reached the door, the pounding stopped; and as he looked inside, he found the form of the tall Elenite lady, her gaze fixed expectantly at the door, her hand on an unsheathed dagger with its point on the table before her as though she anticipated his arrival. They were the same pair of eyes that challenged him in the tavern the previous night. She was dressed in a dyed leather tunic; her hair was neatly tied behind her back. He straightened himself and bowed slightly. He was determined to be polite. ‘Ah, the lady at the tavern’, he remarked quietly, surveying the walls of the hut. ‘We meet again.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ she replied equally quietly, ‘we meet again.’ She briefly noted a large silver pendant dangling at his chest of a scorpion with a cobra’s head in place of its stinging tail – like the emblems embroidered on the tunics of his closest men. It looked bizarre either way.

‘Finally, I have the pleasure of meeting the lady they have been talking about. My humble apologies for the previous evening,’ Lord Salem continued without a shred of sincerity in his voice.

Evanna nodded in acknowledgement without taking her eyes off him.

He fingered the sword that lay on the table near the door. The quality of work was uncommonly good. Rarely had he seen such a quality of work in Simas, though he once knew of a blade smith in Itticca whose work was very close to perfect, and this Elenite’s work was not far behind. His mind began to entertain the possibilities that a blade smith of her quality would do for his own army – and a lady at that.

‘My lord is missing out on a beautiful day at the tavern.’ She smiled quietly; her eyes never left his face. Beneath the civil exchange, Salem could feel a certain sense of authority from a commoner and a woman to which he was not accustomed. She sheathed the dagger she had been holding and laid it on the table. She ran her eyes over the six men who had come to visit her. Three were well-trained men, but the other three seemed less disciplined than the rest. And the one at Salem’s immediate left was the most dangerous of all of them.

‘Mind if we watch you?’ Lord Salem leant against the doorpost as he studied the form before his eyes.

‘My lord can see for himself what he came to see.’ Evanna pulled off her thick gloves and went over to the washbasin to clean her hands.

Lord Salem could see the curious dagger still at her side. Now in the daylight, he could see it much more clearly. It was not highly ornamented but an exquisite weapon nonetheless, longish and straight. It was almost certainly not Simasian. It was a weapon used for self-defence. Ladies in Simas rarely used anything more than a kitchen cleaver, and very few would carry weapons, for very few would know how to use them.

Lord Salem stood by the door, his men settling themselves on crates, drums, benches, and floors. They watched as Evanna glided from station to station, tending several weapons at different stages of their completion. There was something captivating about the way she walked and worked.

‘That is an interesting ornament you have there,’ he mused, indicating the dagger. Evanna took no notice of him but just grunted. ‘Were you given it?’

‘My lord guessed it. Yes, I was given it.’ Evanna threw a civil smile at him. ‘But my lord is not here to make light conversation.’ Her gaze intrigued him in an uncomfortable way. It was as though she could see through him. He laughed quietly but not out of amusement.

‘What is it to you if I am?’ His voice had just the slightest hint of an edge to it.

Evanna simply nodded and then continued about her business.

‘You are very bold young lady. Where are you from?’

‘Nowhere of consequence’, she replied calmly.

Lord Salem hesitated. He never had any patience with games and was certainly not used to being refused, but this lady intrigued him greatly, and he felt almost obliged to continue. Her mysterious quality drew him. He wanted her not merely for the skills she had but also for more – much, much more. What reward would he not gain from his master if he could bring her back, if he could but harness the power and make it subject to himself? But he knew she was no easy target.

His eyes suddenly fell on the back holster on Evanna’s back and the two swords that were nestled in their places there hidden under her jet black hair. He wondered how he had not noticed them before. He tried a different tack. ‘Why continue here in this outpost?’ he said gently, coaxingly now. ‘You have no lineage or ties here. Come back with me to my estate in the hills, and I can give you much more than these glum walls.’ He walked towards her.

Evanna glared at him, daring him to take a step farther; and if the look she gave him did not convince him enough, the naked blade in her hand – with its point inches from his face – certainly gave weight to her message, and he stopped in his tracks. The speed with which she unsheathed the weapon was phenomenal. From the way she was holding the weapon, it was apparent not only that this lady knew how to craft metal and give it its deadly edge but that she was well capable of inflicting damage with her works of art as well. His men behind him were only just registering what was happening.

‘Do you not know that I serve a great overlord who can grant you life or death? His name would strike fear into the hearts of many. Stories of his conquest have spread far and wide and over several ages. It would not do to make an enemy of him. I am not your rival, lady. There need be no grudge between us. But refuse me, and you will be my adversary,’ he continued; the edge was returning to his voice.

Evanna could see that she was wearing him down. She could sense that he had never encountered a lady who stood up to him or who had the gall or ability to thwart his advances.

‘You will consider my offer. I will be back in three days to hear your acceptance.’ Salem finally decided to beat his temporary retreat and leave for the day. He turned to go, aware that Evanna’s eyes followed him to the door. For now at least, Evanna had some temporary peace.

Lord Dharius knocked on the door, and Evanna opened it, her hands dirty with grease and guts from preparing roasted fowl for dinner. He had received Evanna’s message and had come to see what he could do. On the far side of the small hut, a sickly fire burned, and a pot of stew bubbled in a small pot which Selena was stirring. All the activity in the hut stopped as the great warlord entered. In the dark night, the hut felt claustrophobic, and Lord Dharius sat down gingerly on the ground before a bundle of rags wrapped around a shivering form.

‘Cyrus,’ the great warrior felt helpless in front of the sheet-white face of the old blade smith lying on his deathbed, covered in cold sweat. ‘I’m so sorry.’

The old blade smith let out a noise that sounded like a cackle – but one could not be sure, for it quickly dissolved into fits of coughs. Selena swallowed tears and stirred the stew in a small bowl with her shivering hands and tried to feed it to Cyrus. ‘Don’t worry, Selena,’ he managed to say. His voice was by now raspy, and gurgling noises were coming from his throat. ‘I will not live to see the morning. I know it.’ Evanna wiped away his sweat with a wet cloth. She knew that Cyrus was right.

‘You can’t die now,’ Selena whispered, her voice weak with grief.

‘That is not for me to decide.’ Cyrus sighed. ‘Our sons were killed many years ago, and we have no children to leave anything to. Evanna, look after my family. I will leave everything to you because I know you care for Selena. Lord Dharius, you are witness to this.’ He turned his head ever so slightly towards his guest and patron.

Evanna nodded.

‘And, Lord Dharius, look after them for me, will you?’

Lord Dharius could scarcely look at