XIII. Khagra and the Priests

Orange firelight played across Holland's face as she watched Ardashir turn their rations into something more palatable. The dried meat would become stew and the hard-tack would at least be warm. They'd found a space sheltered from the snow by rock, so they had dry ground to lay their bedrolls out on. She hadn't said much on their journey thus far, even though it had been more than a month since they left Tamaris in the dead of night. Kel Badur was visible from their camp, a great crack that split a mountain in half, offering passage to the northwest. Ardashir had tried to make conversation with her and she had indulged him to a degree, but for the most part, she let him and Vladan do all the talking.

Besides, her thoughts were often preoccupied these days as Deus whispered to her. She tried to tune the Deceiver out, but that required all of her concentration these days. At the moment, the shard was quiet, probably planning the next line to try on her. Holland was grateful for the peace, whatever the reason. It was starting to wear on her, particularly the difficulty sleeping. She was wearing her surcoat over the armor she hadn't bothered to take off yet and had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders over that. Maël was covered up as well, though he was beginning to get shaggy in response to the cold anyway.

A branch snapped out in the woods and Vladan sat bolt upright. The anthroparion had been laying by the fire, soaking in the warmth. The cold bothered him less than it bothered them because of his fur and hot blood, but even he had put on a woolen tunic over his thick hide. "Trouble," he growled, getting up.

"Probably a wild animal," Ardashir said quietly, even though he'd reached over for his sword. His mace was still lashed to his saddle with his shield.

Holland shrugged off the blanket. "I'll go look," she said, standing up. "Stay here."

"Lady Penitent—" Ardashir started uncomfortably. He didn't like the idea of her leaving alone.

She didn't stop or pay much attention before walking out into the snow. It was only a few inches deep, but the crunch negated any chance of real stealth. The woods were dark and quiet as she moved out, at least for a moment. As she turned her head, she caught the flash of animal eyes reflecting back the firelight. The problem was that those animal eyes were actually above her own by a good six inches, which meant something tall. Holland let her hand come to rest on her sword, but she didn't make any sudden movements. She wasn't certain what it was yet, after all.

"Peace," a rough alto voice said cautiously. The fire flashed brighter for a moment as Ardashir put more wood on, revealing a powerfully built female figure in front of Holland, though definitely not a human one judging from the blocky facial features and the gleam of tusks. The figure was holding an eight-foot spear with a diameter big enough to leave an unfortunately large hole in the penitent if she moved wrong.

Holland held up both of her hands so the woman could see them. "Peace," she echoed. "There are two others with me. We are just travelers."

The figure nodded. "As am I," the stranger said, letting the spear lean against her shoulder in a non-threatening position. She was probably over six and a half feet tall.

"Then why don't you share our fire?" Holland offered.

She saw a gleam of yellow teeth. "I would like that," the figure said, moving forward into the firelight. "My name is Khagra of the Wing." The light revealed orcish features. Khagra had a blocky face surrounded by a mane of long, dark, wiry hair. Her dark eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of their small group, but she was still smiling crookedly with some combination of gratitude and amusement. Her jaw was strong to the point of being jutting and her nose was broad and flat. Her grey skin was covered with whorls and dots of red paint, giving her an almost feral appearance, but she seemed quite calm.

Holland offered the orc a polite bow even though her companions had tensed behind her. "I am Holland Cea Trădată. My companions are Sir Ardashir Sadeghi and Vladan."

"Good to know you and yours, Holland," Khagra said, brushing some of the snow off of the furs she was wearing over thick leather armor. "I have a companion. Will he be welcome too?"

"I don't see why not," the penitent said politely.

The orc let out a sharp whistle and they heard the beating of great leathery wings. "Dragon!" Ardashir barked. The horses whinnied and tugged at the leads that held them in place.

"His name is Zajar," Khagra said helpfully. A drake, its body the size of a draft horse, landed on the road beside their little camp. Firelight danced across its dull red scales and almond-shaped golden eyes studied the group. It yawned lazily, forked tongue flicking towards them as its serpentine tail flicked in a cat-like way. Its powerful back legs folded beneath it as it crouched down in the open space. It had no front legs, instead replaced by giant bat-like wings. Holland spotted a saddle on the creature with a bow that looked as tall as she was lashed to it. "He is my brother."

"I'm not seeing the family resemblance," Vladan said with a chuckle.

It made the orc laugh too. "Soul-brother," she said, correcting herself. "Don't worry for your horses. He has already eaten."

"Oh good," Ardashir muttered as he stood up, going over to see to the horses.

"We were just about to eat too," Holland said. Khagra wasn't acting like a threat, which made her inclined to be hospitable. They weren't north with the intent of making enemies, after all. "Would you care for any food?"

"That would be good, thank you," Khagra said.

Her manners were far better than Ardashir and Vladan had been expecting—both had heard the many stories of the bestial, violent nature of orcs. For her part, Holland had no real expectations one way or the other. The penitent took over dinner as the hooded knight tended to their mounts and Khagra sat down to make herself at home. The drake took up a position near his rider at the far side of the fire from the horses, laying down on the ground so he could rest his head beside Khagra. The orc scratched behind one of his backwards-curving horns.

Vladan looked fascinated by the reptilian creature, but he was keeping his words to himself for the moment, letting Holland take over on the diplomatic front. In another minute or so, Holland had fished out the warmed and softened hard-tack for all of them along with bowls of stew. Khagra thankfully had her own bowl, because Holland hadn't thought to pack for a guest. "So what brings you out here, Khagra?" Holland asked, sitting down near the orc. Ardashir was still tense when he returned, sitting down across the fire from the stranger.

"I seek answers," Khagra said before she started wolfing down her food. She did not speak again until the bowl was empty and the hard-tack was gone, which took almost no time at all. She looked up at Holland. "The priests of the Denah have spoken—they say that a great evil stirs in the south. I am sent to find out what."

"The Denah?" Vladan said curiously.

Khagra gave them a puzzled look. "You do not know of the Denah?" she said with confusion. "It is...the force that flows through all living things. What binds us and makes us one. How is this not known?"

The anthroparion shrugged. "I'm only five," he said. "And my magus was not a religious man."

"Well, we may be able to answer some of your questions," Holland said. She tried to keep the grimness out of her tone with moderate success.

The orc looked over at the penitent, clearly filing away Vladan's comment for future reference. She obviously had her own questions, such as how such a large creature could be so young and what a magus was. "Truly?" Khagra said when she turned her attention to the penitent.

"Do you know of the Deceiver?" Holland said.

Khagra made a sign with her fingers to ward off the gaze of the entity Holland had just mentioned. "Yes," the orc said in a low voice. "But He is scattered, destroyed."

"Maybe," Holland acknowledged. "But something like Him never really dies."

"True enough," their new acquaintance said. "How do you know it is Him?"

Ardashir looked over at Holland curiously. She'd never told him much of how she knew—he just knew that the Lord Protector trusted her. "He has been calling to His servants," Holland said. "Some of them from the far west attacked one of the southern kingdoms, Yssa."

"It is true," Vladan said firmly. "My magus saw their armies assembling. It is a force without equal."

"We came north seeking allies on behalf of the Queen of Yssa," Holland said. It wasn't a lie and it gave her a little more authority than she would have had on her own. She trusted Seva would have her back. "The servants of the Deceiver intend on conquering the world. We intend on giving them a fight."

Khagra grinned. "It would be my pleasure to aid you, then. The priests of the Denah will wish to speak with you as well," she said. "They are ancient enemies of His ilk, as it was even before the Revealing. Will you permit me travel with you?"

"If you want to crack their skulls and spill their blood too, I would call you friend," Vladan rumbled. "But that decision is Holland's."

"You are welcome with us," Holland said, agreeing very much with Vladan's assessment. They would need every ally they could find. "Could you take us to the priests of the Denah?"

"You are on the road to them already, but yes," the orc said pleasantly. "They dwell in the temple at the heights of Kel Badur. You will need my help to reach them, I think, unless your beasts can fly like Zajar or climb like spiders. Such strange looking creatures."

"Thank you for the help, Khagra," the penitent said sincerely. "It's appreciated."

The next day, the small group made their way into Kel Badur. The great rift in the mountain was quiet at the moment. There were definite signs that dragons guarded the area: bones and carved warnings on the wall painted a dire picture for those who trespassed. Holland felt relatively secure since they were moving through the area with Khagra's blessing. The orc walked alongside them, her drake on wing above. Sheer rock stretched up for hundreds of feet on either side of them, enough to make the whole group sans their newest companion a little bit uncomfortable. All it would take was a single plunging stone and their lives could end in an instant. After an hour of walking deep into the pass, Khagra stopped and turned to them. "The temple is above," the orc said. "I can only take you up one at a time, though—Zajar is not large enough to carry us all at once. And the horses must stay below."

"That's fine," Holland said, slinging her shield across her back before sliding down out of the saddle. "I don't think they'd like being picked up anyway."

"I'll stay with them," Ardashir said. He looked nervous at the idea of being on a dragon. "I trust you'll be alright, Lady Penitent?"

Holland flashed him a quick smile and a nod.

"I will as well," Vladan said. When Holland looked at him with surprise, the big anthroparion shrugged. "Heights make me sick. Besides, it is a little dragon and I am not little."

Zajar glared at Vladan with intelligent eyes, as if insulted by the insinuation that he was small. The drake couldn't speak, but it seemed to understand speech well enough. It made Khagra chuckle. "You will be fine," she told Holland. "Just get on behind me."

Holland had never ridden on a drake before, but she had a feeling it was going to be interesting to not be earth-bound for the first time in her life. Zajar crouched down so Khagra could swing up onto his back with the ease of a woman normally in the saddle. Holland climbed up behind the orc and put her arms around Khagra. It might have been awkward if she gave it thought, but she was honestly too excited about the idea of flying to be concerned with it. It called to the thrill-seeking part of her nature. The drake was hot to the touch, shaped differently than a horse, and shifting in a strange side-to-side way. "Ready," she told her new companion.

"Hold tight," the orc advised. She whistled and Zajar launched them up into the air with one powerful leap and a beat of his leathery wings, racing up into the sky. Holland could feel muscles flexing under her as the ground plunged away from them and those wings found their rhythm. The speed and strength of the beast was amazing. Almost as if showing off, Zajar flew in twists and spirals up towards the great ledge where the temple was.

Holland was grinning by the time they reached the top, the first time she'd really smiled in weeks. The clear air and adrenaline had pushed her doubts out of her mind for a moment. Her only real regret was that Seva wasn't present to give it a try too. "That was incredible," Holland said brightly after Zajar landed, reluctantly sliding off the dragon's back. She was glad her armor was light, otherwise she might have felt guilty for weighing him down more. "I can't imagine why you would ever walk."

Khagra laughed. "Sometimes, he gets tired," she said as she jumped down. "We will have to tame you a drake, Holland."

"Maël would get jealous," the penitent said. "But I do like the idea. Did you tame Zajar, or raise him?"

"I raised him, since I was young. Or perhaps he raised me. It is hard to say," Khagra said, clearly pleased by Holland's approval as she stroked Zajar's eyebrow-ridge. "He is a fine brother. Such a handsome dragon."

Zajar made a deep, rumbling purring noise.

Holland smiled and gave the dragon a bow. "Thank you, Zajar," she said politely. She wasn't entirely clear on how intelligent he was, so she was erring on the side of caution.

The temple that awaited them was an ancient stone behemoth with great pillars carved to look like trees supporting a domed roof built into the side of the cliff. The ledge here looked like a great garden that had gone wild. A mirror-like pool of water at the center of its ruinous courtyard reflected back a perfect image of a clear sky. Zajar approached it to drink. Around it were beautiful, verdant trees and tangled vines that had grown up through cracked steps and tumbled over stones from the First World. The mountain snows had somehow not touched this place. Holland followed Khagra inside, one hand resting on her sword. She wasn't worried about an attack—it was habit. Chunks of the ceiling had long ago fallen in, allowing sunlight to spill through the dome and form golden patches on the grass that grew everywhere inside the dome. It was a downy blanket of green rather than some carved temple floor. Holland felt more like she'd entered a woodland glade than a temple. They were not alone, either. Strange, four-eyed deer-like creatures watched them enter without a hint of fear, clearly not used to thinking of people as predators. Birds sang above with trilling notes, many of them brightly colored or given to strange plumage.

"Why have you brought a servant of demons to us, Khagra?" a voice asked harshly. Holland turned to see the speaker. He was broad-shouldered orc painted with patterns in woad, his lip pierced in multiple places, but instead of wearing armor and a weapon, he wore simple robes. One of his eyes was a strange, milky blue and the other a feral yellow like Khagra's. He sniffed the air again, pulling in a deep breath and exhaling in a snort. "Your...guest...reeks of sorcery."

Khagra looked back at Holland and frowned. "You are mistaken, Brother Dunak. This is a servant of the Queen of Yssa, not demons."

Dunak's laugh was cold. "Is that what lies the servant of the Deceiver spins?"

"You smell the remnants of a life dead and gone," Holland said. "I was born an Imperial, but I promise you that I am their enemy now."

"How do we know that can we trust you?" a softer voice said. A slender human woman emerged from the shadows behind Dunak, dressed in the same robes.

Holland sighed. "I can't banish all of your doubts, but I can promise you that I mean you no harm," she said. She moved her hands to her sword-belt and began unknotting it. "I will put my weapons aside and we can talk."

"We have no interest in the words of a demon-ki—" Dunak started to growl.

"Dunak," the human woman said gently, cutting him off. She looked to Khagra. "Please, introduce us to your guest, Khagra."

"This is Holland Cea Trădată, Lady Penitent," Khagra said obediently. "She has come to gather allies for the Queen of Yssa to fight the Deceiver."

Dunak raised an eyebrow. "A penitent?"

"I have a lot to be sorry for, as you might expect," Holland said dryly. She finished unknotting her belt and took it off.

The human woman laughed. "I am Sister Asthore and this is Brother Dunak," she said. "I am sorry that the others are not here to greet you, Lady Penitent. They are out with the drakes. If you will leave your weapons, we will trust you to speak."

"Thank you," Holland said, offering them a bow. "I am grateful for your forbearance." She was even more grateful that she'd thought to leave the piece of Deus hidden in her saddlebag, muffled by the small scrap of ferydae she had left. She had used the special cloth to carry parts of demons before and could only hope it would reduce His influence. If these priests could sense her own sorcery, they would surely detect that evil. She wrapped her belt around her weapons and then balanced them on her palms, offering them to Dunak.

The male orc relaxed a little bit at that and accepted them. "I will not damage them," Dunak promised. He gave her a skeptical once-over. "Though if you are truly a western warrior, I doubt you require them to do harm."

"There are no dangerous weapons," the penitent acknowledged. "Only dangerous people."

"And you are surely among them," Khagra said with amusement. She had seen Holland move, both on foot and in the saddle. While she couldn't say for certain what kind of fighter the penitent was, Holland seemed to carry herself with the confidence of someone who had spent a lifetime in war.

"I used to be," Holland said with a shrug.

"So tell us of why you have come," Asthore said. "I imagine it is a tale worth hearing."

Holland nodded. That much she could certainly do.