Duna
Duna Cullain had marched the armies of Gal’dorok halfway across Derenar by the time she even considered resting. In just a matter of days, they had almost made their way back to Khala Val’ur, city of the Khyth.
The peaks of the Great Serpent, Gal’behem, were visible on the horizon.
Not much longer now, she thought with relief.
She looked back over the men—a mixture of the Fist of Ghal Thurái and the warriors of Khala Val’ur—and finally saw just how many they had lost in the Battle for the Tree. They were a thin, weakened force. Pathetic, she thought. Beaten by a smattering of Athrani and a few dozen Kienari. Truly pathetic.
The next realization came slowly and heavily: they were her army now.
Wherever Tennech had run off to, she knew he would not be coming back; she had heard how the Khyth dealt with failure. The general must have known he was as good as dead if he ever showed his face in Khala Val’ur again. And after Commander Durakas’s brains had become acquainted with a Kienari arrow—and shortly thereafter, the forest floor—she was now the highest-ranking military officer in both Khala Val’ur and Ghal Thurái.
The highest in all of Gal’dorok, in fact.
The epiphany dried out her throat and left her tongue feeling thick and numb. She frowned.
Duna’s thin blonde hair hung down over a pair of green eyes that were spaced just too far apart, she knew, and her wide forehead left little room for the rest of her face to grow. She conceded that she wasn’t much to look at, but if anything, this fact was what had driven her to success; she had thrown herself at her work because throwing herself at men had proven to be a waste of time, energy, and self-esteem. Though the men around her had no interest in her sexually, they held nothing back from her politically, wasting no time with deceit. They treated her like one of their own. Commander Durakas had seen this, and her fearless attitude, and had decided to take her under his wing.
Only now, that wing had been torn off and left on the floor of Kienar, and she was going to have to figure out how to fly on her own.
The sounds of hoof beats behind her jarred Duna back to reality. She was surprised when she looked around to find that her army had come to a stop. She whirled back around on her mount and shouted, “What is the meaning of this? I gave no order to stop!”
A bigger man toward the front of the formation spoke up. “F-Forgive us, Lady Cullain, but look”—he pointed over her shoulder, to a point far off in the distance—“there.”
She turned and strained her eyes in the darkness. Far beyond the reaches of Khala Val’ur, beyond the spine of Gal’behem, was the mountain fortress of Ghal Thurái.
Only now there was no fortress.
Flames and an empty horizon filled the space that should have been Ghal Thurái. Great plumes of smoke curled their way up into the night sky as they reached for the stars, like gray fingers.
“What is it?” one man called out.
“What does it mean?” cried another.
“Quiet!” Duna shouted as she turned around to face her men. “We will know soon enough. But our debt is to Khala Val’ur, and we must make our way there or face the wrath of High Khyth Yetz.” The mere mention of the name made more than a few men shiver, but just as many were steadfast in their resolve.
“It’s a sign from the Breaker,” someone shouted. “We’re needed in Ghal Thurái!”
Murmurs of agreement sliced their way through the rumblings of the army, growing increasingly dissonant. Those from Khala Val’ur wanted nothing more than to return home. But those from the Mouth of the Deep saw what could only be their once-great city in flames.
“Lady Cullain, let us return to the Mouth!” one man near the front begged. “The Khyth can wait. And for all we know, there may not be much time left.”
Duna narrowed her eyes as she thought. Whatever happened in Ghal Thurái was recent. If there was ever a chance to stop what is happening in the city, that chance is now.
She looked back to the faces of her men.
Tired, ragged, exhausted. Determined.
“Then we will continue on to the Mouth,” she said. “I will answer personally for our . . . diversion.” As she spoke the words aloud, she pictured the face of the most feared man in all of Khala Val’ur and shivered. Yetz would not be pleased with their lateness—but he also didn’t know what he didn’t know. And if she kept it a secret from him, Duna reasoned, he never had to find out.
A click of her heels on her mount spurred it forward.
She only hoped that she was right.