Madness of the Horde by Zoey Draven

Chapter Nine

Iwoke from a dream. It had begun as a memory at first, which had turned into a nightmare. I’d dreamed of my father, of his handsome, sun-kissed face and the wrinkles around his eyes. Of his laughter and smiles, even when we were hungry. Of the toys and games he’d created to keep us entertained, sticks and twigs that had become Dakkari warriors as we, the humans, battled them fiercely and won. Maxen had always whined when he had to play a Dakkari warrior.

Then I dreamed of a Vorakkar. A familiar Vorakkar with piercing red eyes and a deep scar running down his face. He bit my neck, drawing my blood, and then he stood over my father and cut his throat.

Gasping for air, my hands flew to my own neck, my eyes going wide, my chest pinched and tight. I sat up, struggling to breathe, tears streaming down my face.

It was only then that I realized I was being watched…by the very same Vorakkar I’d dreamed of. He was sitting in the chair, which was back in its rightful place close to the bed, not propped up against the door. His eyes were glowing red in the darkness.

“What is it that you fear, leikavi?” he murmured.

“You,” I breathed, still reeling from the dream, my mind spinning. I hadn’t dreamed of my father’s death in months. “And everything else.”

“What is it that you dreamed?” he asked next, never taking his gaze off my face.

My heartbeat was beginning to slow, though only slightly now that I knew he was in the room again. Blowing out a shuddering breath, I looked around the room, casting my gaze around to see if we were alone.

The fire was almost dead, flickering pitifully in the golden basin. Outside the window, I saw the early signs of dawn, streaks of red coloring the sky, though it was still dark. Not only that, I realized I was in the bed, underneath the soft, plush furs.

I’d curled up on the floor, in the corner, and I must’ve drifted off. But that meant he’d put me here. It meant he’d tucked the furs underneath my chin. Had he been watching me this whole time?

I commented, “You haven’t returned me to the dungeon.”

Tensing, I watched as he leaned forward in the chair. He grabbed a bundle from the ground and flung it across the bed. I saw they were clothes. Thick pants and a heavy tunic, similar to the one I was wearing. Boots and a fur cloak completed the bundle.

Surprised, I studied him.

“They will be big on you but they were the smallest I could find,” he explained, his tone a little gruff…as if he was unused to having to explain anything.

“What…what does this mean?”

“I will help you find a heartstone.”

My breath hitched. “You’ll help me?”

“How could I not when what you offered me is so tempting?” he murmured and I sucked in another breath that had nothing to do with relief.

He would help me at a price then. One I’d freely offered to him last night, though right now, sitting up in the bed in the early hours of morning, I didn’t know what had possessed me to offer such a thing.

Desperation made fools of us all.

I decided to ignore the implications of the deal I’d made with him for now. Instead, I asked him, “You spoke with the Dothikkar? He will give Lozza what he desires?”

His lips pressed together and he leaned forward until his elbows were resting on his thighs. His hair, now unbound around his shoulders, fell over one side of his face.

“Lysi,” he told me. “He will agree to the terms.”

Relief whistled through me, bright and clear. It was the first good news I’d had in a long time…perhaps ever.

“We leave as soon as you dress,” he continued. “Our journey will be long and hard. I hope you know how to ride a pyroki.”

I swallowed audibly. He knew perfectly well that I never would have ridden one before, so I chose to say nothing.

Instead, I climbed out of the bed and grabbed the pants, beginning to dress. I pulled them up and tied the sash around my waist as tight as it would go, all too aware of the intensity of his gaze. When it came time to change my tunic, I turned my back to him, pulling the one I was wearing over my head and dropping it to the ground.

It was silly to desire privacy when he had already seen my naked body.

Even still, I stiffened when I heard the chair creak as he rose. His footsteps approached as I fumbled with the clean tunic in my grip. Then I felt him brush my hair away from my back, his clawed fingertips dragging over the tops of my shoulders.

I suppressed a shiver and froze as his hand stroked just below the base of my neck.

I’d almost forgotten it was there. My brand. The Ghertun marking of three horizontal stacked lines. All their slaves were branded, even the Ghertun ones.

His hand trailed away, stroking down the line of my spine before falling away. He didn’t say anything about the brand. He only bit out, “Finish dressing.”

His tone was sharp and…angry. I didn’t hesitate in pulling the clean tunic over my head, followed quickly by the heavy boots that felt like boulders on my feet.

When I finally turned to meet his eyes, I couldn’t resist gathering the energy of my power between us and I pressed it forward. I wanted to know what he was thinking, what he was planning.

I felt the tendrils of his desire, but it was muted by disgust and rage. At the Ghertun, not at me.

I pulled away, shocked, and quickly lowered my head so he wouldn’t see my expression. My temple throbbed but I realized it was more from his emotions than the fact I’d tapped into my gift, albeit briefly.

“Vir drak,” he murmured in Dakkari. When he saw my confusion, he said, “We ride.”

* * *

There wasa story Maman had told us as children. A story of an ancient war, long ago. Of a place called Troy, a place in the Old World. And in that story, she’d told us of a gift horse led into the enemy’s city and within that horse were warriors, waiting to attack from within.

Mamanhad smiled as she’d recited, “Never look a gift horse in the mouth…or else you might not like what you find.”

I thought of that story as the Vorakkar led me to his pyroki. It was still dark, though red streaked the sky. Another hour, I estimated, and the sun would peek over the mountain range to the west.

Coming from the Dothikkar’s keep, I had the distinct impression that we were…sneaking. The Vorakkar had been watchful as we’d left. His energy had been focused, intense. Any guards that we came across seemed to look the other way, though I’d caught the puzzled frown on one or two.

Once we made it to the stables, the Vorakkar exchanged a few words with the young Dakkari boy that was half-asleep on a stool outside the door. The boy had peered up at me curiously but I’d kept my face hidden within the darkness of the hood. He probably thought me small for a Dakkari.

A moment later, the boy brought out a pyroki. Hispyroki.

I recoiled in fear, stumbling back into the Vorakkar’s hard chest. My breath fogged out in front of me and cold stung my fingers as I stared into the creature’s reddened gaze. Just like its master’s.

The beast strode towards us on all fours, its feet tipped in massive black talons that dug into the earth, much like the Old World horse from Maman’s story. It had more scales than flesh, however, glittering black in the low morning light. Just like the Mad Horde King’s flesh, his beast was painted with gold, flourishing swirls leading into sharpened angles.

The written Dakkari language, one that had fascinated me ever since I’d seen it under the Dead Mountain. The Ghertun sibi I was assigned to had purchased a tome from a trader at a steep price and when they went to sleep at night, sometimes I snuck to the shelf, carefully lowered the tome, and caressed its pages. I thought it beautiful.

The pyroki chuffed out a violent breath when it saw its master behind me and the Vorakkar stepped forward, taking the reins from the boy and dismissing him with a gold coin that made his dark eyes go round.

Before I knew it, the horde king turned to me, snatched me around my waist, and slung me over the beast’s back. A startled sound escaped my throat and the pyroki stomped its legs, the impact making my teeth vibrate in my mouth.

“Pyroth,” the Mad Horde King bit out to his beast, taking its snout into his wide palm and stroking softly. “Pyroth. Pevkell.”

At once, the creature calmed. I was siting, frozen across its back, my legs swung over both sides of its massive body. Even through the thick material of my pants, I could feel its heart pumping furiously against my calves.

The pyroki didn’t like me. Not one bit.

Once the Vorakkar calmed his beast, his gaze came up to me. His jaw tightened as his eyes ran over my form and then he swung himself up behind me. Underneath the safety of my hood, my face burned when he pulled me, until my backside was nestled against his groin and his inner thighs cradled my hips.

He grunted, reaching forward to take the gold reins, his arms bracketing my body until I had nowhere to go. I was tense, frozen, trying to keep as much distance between us as possible and failing.

“Vir drak ji vorak,” he said, his deep, rough voice vibrating through me. The words weren’t meant for me, however. They were meant for his pyroki, who started into motion at its master’s command.

I couldn’t contain the startled squeal that escaped my throat as the pyroki bolted into a run. The stables were on the edges of Dothik and had their own exit out onto the Dothikkar’s road and, by extension, the plains beyond. The pyroki had bolted into a furious sprint towards the gates and when it saw they were closed, that the guards stationed there had not opened them in time, the pyroki came to a sudden stop, kicking up dust and nearly throwing me off its back had the horde king behind me not caught my waist in time.

The Vorakkar growled, “Pyroth!”

I had the distinct impression that the pyroki tossed its head to signal its displeasure.

The Mad Horde King mumbled something in Dakkari, watching as the guards finally sprang into action and began opening the gates. It didn’t take long and once the pyroki saw the road cleared in front of us, it started to run again, though not quite the jarring full-sprint it had done before.

Craning my neck behind me, I watched the walled city begin to fall away. Before us, the Dothikkar’s paved road was lined with towering trees and the forests beyond them looked dark and sinister. But they blurred by as the pyroki increased its pace.

The Vorakkar began laughing and I tensed at the foreign, husky sound.

“What?” I asked, gritting my teeth when my rump landed painfully on the pyroki’s scaled back.

“She does not like you,” he told me once his laugh faded away. “I have never seen her so displeased about anything.”

She?

“I gathered that for myself,” I murmured, wincing when I landed hard again.

I prayed that wherever our destination was, it was close by. I’d been on the pyroki’s back for mere moments and already, I felt pain blooming.

“Livri,” the Vorakkar said next and all at once the pyroki gentled its sprint, slowing down to a trot.

I almost sighed in relief. And then I committed the word to memory. Livri.

When I shifted, my backside brushed his groin again and I sucked in a breath, leaning forward. When I rested my hands on the pyroki’s thick neck, hanging on, it flung its head backwards and I cried out, losing my grip and falling back into the Vorakkar’s chest.

My heart was thundering but I righted myself immediately. All right, so the pyroki didn’t want me to touch her. Fair enough.

It seemed the pyroki was just as prickly as its master.

“Will you tell me where we are going now?” I asked instead. I’d asked before we’d left the Dothikkar’s keep but all the Vorakkar had said in reply was that the heartstone we sought was not in the city.

“To my horde,” he said.

I jolted. “What? Why?”

Dread coiled in my stomach. My gut had told me something wasn’t right and I should’ve listened to it.

Never look a gift horse in the mouth?

I should have.

I was running out of time. Every day I was away from the Dead Mountain…the poison in my blood grew thicker and thicker. We didn’t have time to gallivant around Dakkar. I didn’t have time.

“No, please, just…” I shook my head, my throat growing tight. “Please, I need to get the heartstone and quickly.”

The Vorakkar didn’t say anything. Not at first, and I felt familiar desperation claw its way up my throat.

“Tell me one thing about you,” he finally said, “and I will tell you a story. About why we must go to my horde first.”

From behind, he pulled my hood away and it tumbled around my shoulders. Cool air threaded through my hair and it felt good.

A story?

“You know I cannot say anything about Lozza,” I told him. “Or the Ghertun.”

“Then tell me how you came to be in their possession,” he murmured, his voice low, almost like a purr, like he was weaving a spell around me. I stiffened when his hand dipped up the back of my cloak, until his hand curled around my hip. His palm was hot. I felt it even through the thickened material of my tunic.

“I—” I started. “I don’t…”

Before us, the sky was beginning to lighten. We hadn’t quite reached the end of the Dothikkar’s road but I could see where it gave way to the plains. The quiet, endless plains of Dakkar.

The only sound I heard was the clattering of his pyroki’s taloned feet on the stone. And a slight rustling of a breeze through the trees.

It was almost…peaceful.

My shoulders sagged.

I licked my lips and said, keeping my voice hushed, “About a year ago, they attacked my village. They came at night. We had no warning.”

I could still hear the screams. I could still feel the terror. I remembered my grandmother shuffling us into the hidden cellar, which my father had dug out years before. But just as my mother, my brothers, and my sister had dropped down into it, the door behind her had crashed open. I remembered the rasping sounds of their laughter, the wet sound of their blade as they plunged it into my grandmother. Her blood had dripped down, through the cracks in the floor.

Her sacrifice had meant nothing because the Ghertun had found us anyway. They’d killed my grandmother because she was too old to be of use to them.

“They slaughtered most of the village. They looted what food we had, the food we’d grown, pillaged our homes, and took some of us back to the Dead Mountain as slaves.”

“They chose you and your family?” he asked.

“Yes,” I whispered. “They—”

I frowned.

“I—I didn’t say anything about a family,” I said.

“I assumed,” he murmured and I stiffened when his hand came to brush my hair aside, draping it over one of my shoulders. “Why else would you do this if not to protect those you love? I know desperation better than most. I know the lengths to which we will go to protect our family. Or to honor them.”

I need to be careful with him, I thought.

He was intelligent, that much was obvious. He was a horde king. He was a leader. Of course he was intelligent. And observant.

“Why did they choose your family?” he asked next.

My lips pressed together.

Because I’d used every last bit of my gift to make them spare us. I’d used it on every last Ghertun that had attacked our village, persuading them to choose us, though I’d been passed out for days afterwards and the pain hadn’t subsided for weeks.

“I answered your question. I want my story now,” I said.

He chuffed out a sharp exhale that I felt whisper across my neck. His hand tightened on my hip.

For a moment, I thought I’d been fooled. Misled. Then he started, “Over a century ago, a horde warrior stole a heartstone during its transport to an outpost. It has been lost ever since and this is the heartstone we need to find.”

My stomach sank. Lost?

“There are only five in existence that we know of. Do you know what they do?”

“No.”

I hadn’t given much thought to the heartstone, only that Lozza wanted one desperately. I didn’t much care what it did.

“They possess great strength because it is said that Kakkari’spower lies within them. That they are fragments of her divine power.”

“And this darukkar…he stole it?”

“His wife was pregnant with their first child,” the horde king told me. “She had fallen ill and the horde’s healer believed that the child would be lost…as would his wife. The warrior would lose both in one single moment.”

My heart twisted in my chest, my brows lowering in understanding.

“He was desperate,” I whispered.

“Lysi,” he rasped. “He stole the heartstone, spirited his wife and unborn child away from the horde and to a place of Kakkari. There, he asked for her help in healing them both.”

“Did it work?”

We were nearing the end of the Dothikkar’s road. When I cast a quick glance behind us, I could only see the glittering turrets of the city, high and proud in the sky. The Vorakkar turned his pyroki east. Towards the Dead Lands.

“Everything has a price,” he told me gruffly. “He paid it with his life.”

I sucked in a breath.

“But lysi, leikavi,” he murmured into my ear, his lips brushing the shell of it, making shivers explode down my spine. “Lysi, Kakkari spared his wife, who has long passed into the next life, and his daughter.”

I gave a small smile he couldn’t see, though it was touched by sadness. I was glad. It was an act of love that had spared them, though how his wife must’ve suffered, knowing his sacrifice.

“How do you know all this if you said the heartstone has been lost since then?”

The reins in his hands loosened.

“Draki,” he commanded his pyroki, who began to pick up pace now that we’d reached the edges of the plains.

His lips returned to my ear.

“Because his daughter still lives,” he told me.

My breath hitched in hope.

“She is a member of my horde.”