Blood & Chaos

By K. Ascher

Niemeh and Amarah don't set out to cause trouble; it just seems to "find" them wherever they go. But when an evil and overbearing Sorcerer of the dark magics lays a claim on Niemeh's white magics—and her by proxy—and without her consent no less—she must rely too heavily on her sister's blade, tame a dragon, befriend Pirates, learn to wrangle and master her own Chaos magics, and be home in time to make the wedding; assuming, of course, the Sorcerers Guild doesn't imprison her for her own "safety" first. Any journey might be fraught with danger, but with the addition of the meddlings of an ill-tempered and evil Necromancer on the trail, even the simple act of catching a night's sleep on the road becomes a hazard, and needing to keep one's weapons at arm's length turns out to be problematic when you inadvertently attack your own kin. The real questions are however, can sisterhood survive the perils, and can they survive the power of the Necromancer's dark magics, save the world, and still find a good revel? But when Chaos reigns, anything could happen…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ascher
• Release date: Apr 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201655471

Book preview

Prologue

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She hummed idly and ran the comb down the length of her long falx of hair as she looked out at the sea from her bower suite. The day was as grey as any, cloaked the bank in a blanket of fog and damp, cold as the crypt from which she had recently come.

She murmured her tune  and moved the comb past her Elfin-pointed ear, past her shoulder, and down and down toward her hip and further still...

Oh, but he had been such a comely lad, untamed and free. And but oh, the poetry from his lips was sweet as the honey-mead they had supped, and such lips as she had kissed... I so want to be in love... she had cried, wrapped in the strength of his arm, the warmth of his embrace, and the trace of lips upon her throat, with thee...

Then be in love, said the wild lad who smelled of the dry grasses of summer and wide plains, with me.

The Elfin lass sighed, all breath and air as his heat swept her from the sea, and they fell into the wildflowers with the stars overhead but none such as to have known how they two had slipped away together, alone.

And he had loved her as tenderly as his poet’s heart could bear, with whispers so sweet as to draw the tears from her eyes and their fingertips like moths against the window glass as the hearth fire warmed within. And the night waned without note of its passing, and in the morn, she sighed full well, exhausted in the most precious of ways that made the dew on the grass blush with envy at the sweat on their flesh.

Would that I could stay... forever upon thine lips... she sighed, her heart so heavy with sorrow, she thought not she could carry its weight.

And would that I, he said with tender kisses upon the backs of her knees, could stay forever the light in your eye... but alas... alas...

‘Twas not her road to tread, nor for his heart to mend, for sure his heart did break as well in twain. I would so have loved thee...

From dusk until dawn, yes, I swear, said the untamed lad with his tongue swept upon her lips yet again. But hush, my love, and know you now what I would know...

And again they were one in the wildflowers, and the man who smelled of summer grass carried her upon the sea’s wind, and they rolled like the tide unkempt by breakwaters and they drowned one upon the other.

The comb snagged upon her long, long hair, and drew her from such lovely a reverie. And the wild lad put the sun in his pouch and took it with him toward the road away from the sea, never to be seen again.

Ere the fog retuned and brought with it from the prow of his great trade ship her husband. To say that he was less than pleased to find his wife’s belly obtuse, was enough to raise his ire thus. But yet, he could blame her not. There was little love betwixt them, and so too, his wayfarer ship kept him from her shore more oft than not.

He sent her away to her Father’s house to complete the pregnancy, and there she languished in solitary, with naught but her Mageling sister to bear her company.

So, she dreamed idly of the comely lad who smelled of summer and had such unhindered a tread. Love would wear his face for evermore in secret thus and sweep her away when her husband was none too privy. The wild lad had lost his young wife, as she lost her mate to the sea, and together they had found comfort, such as was temporary, but oh, so tender-sweet. She would be in love, for evermore.

But the pregnancy had been arduous, not to mention, if one believed her father’s say of it, an outright abomination upon the all-too-proud Elfin race. And when the labor came, it was not without its complications.

She had thought her father might, if given half a chance, murder her bastard-child upon its birth. Please, she had cried to her Mageling sister between the pangs, Let not our father raise his hand against mine child!

I so swear it! the emerald-eyed Mage vowed as her sister screamed in the agony of her labors.

But Fate, it seemed, had intervened on her father’s behalf, and stayed his hand from committing so dastardly a deed.

Her halfling child never cried ere it were born.

‘Tis just as well, her father was heard to say. And after a trip to the crypt that day, she was sent home to her husband’s house, ne’er to speak on such matters again.

Her Mother’s eyes though, spoke of a sorrow much deeper than the love she held for her daughter, so that was something, at least.

She set the comb on the windowsill and looked down to where the sea clawed at the shore a hundred feet below...

There were only two things that kept her feet from flying o’er head and to the ocean’s shore below.

Mother! the Elfin child said and ran to his mother’s side.

She smiled and stroked his flaxen hair as his elder sister followed in behind. We missed you so!

*   *   *

Outside her father’s house, the green-robed, flaxen-haired Elfin Mage held her sister’s infant to her breast as she made her way into the wood. A spell had kept the infant silent and still, and another had been put on the piglet that she hath swaddled into a death shroud and lay inside the crypt. Her Father would have her hands if ever she revealed such things.

The Chieftain had been sent for, and, as luck—or Fate—would have it, his bride had given birth that very same morn, and yet he had come to be here, as he had promised. Luck and Fate were one in the same as far as a Nomad man spat, so it made no difference to him which it were.

The Elfin Mage handed over the swaddled bundle to the weather-roughened man. ’Tis better this way, she said in a hushed voice.

Indeed, the burly man said. She will be much-loved amongst her kin.

The Elf straightened her back and pulled her over-cloak about her neck. You could not expect her husband to raise his wife’s bastard-child.

You might well be surprised what I would expect from a man, lady. Had he properly attended his wife, there would be no cause for this ill-got meeting.

You know not of what you speak, she snapped.

He inclined his head briefly and cradled the Elfin half-bred infant with a tenderness that belied his strength. He was certain to be hard-pressed to keep the precious bundle from his wife’s wanting arms, and surely, under the circumstance, she would liken the infants to twins, and nurse both.

Take good care of her, the Mage pleaded ere she turned to go.

Like mine own, the Chieftain said, and returned to the wood, never to be seen by Elves again.

I: Trial by Magic

––––––––

Damn you, boy! Can you not follow simple instructions? Just look you have done to my notes—my desk—my work!

Niemeh stopped so abruptly that her long curtain of blonde hair patted against the small of her back as she came up short at the sound of the Sorcerer’s heated voice from beyond the closed door. She sucked in her lips as her hand paused in its momentum for the latch. And then she heard the page shriek in what sounded like utter terror.

Niemeh’s emerald eyes squinted into a glare at the faintly glowing runes on the door, but once they faded, she put her thumb on the latch and flung the door open. Inside she could see the page reeling on the floor in obvious distress and, she hoped, not pain, but merely fear. Her hope was not only futile, but short-lived as the boy contorted on the floor and let out wretched groan. Niemeh moved her head enough to shoot the dark-eyed Sorcerer one of her most sincere dagger-looks. Let him go, she ordered in a low monotone as she stiffly crossed the room to attend the poor boy.

You should learn to knock, lady, the dark-haired Sorcerer snapped, and petulantly folded his arms into his robes. And to mind your own affairs.

Then you should try a better lock, she muttered as she tried to aid the young page, but he simply curled up in her cradling arms, held by some wicked spell. Let him go, damn you!

The Sorcerer threw out an arm to indicate his lengthy workspace, Just look what the little wretch did to a fortnight’s worth of preparation!

I don’t care what he did! Just let him go!

He merely stood there glaring at the both of them and refolded his arms.

Niemeh met him glare for glare and her hand moved instinctively for the feastknife at her belt. She likely would not even wound him from this distance, but it would be worth the effort. "It is not a request."

An absent wave of the Sorcerer’s hand was all it took to release the boy, but now the Sorcerer’s full attention was transferred to her.

The page was already scrambling to his feet and making for the exit by the time the Sorcerer was moving toward them.

Even in the face of his anger, Niemeh rose to meet him, and judging by the look on his face, confrontation was only the beginning.

The Sorcerer’s hand lashed out and caught her arm above the elbow in a firm grip and he shook her forcibly. I don’t know who you think you are, lady, that you can order me around so!

She snatched her arm away from him, her fists clenched with her anger. And I don’t know who you think you are that you can treat me so!

"Who I am? he mocked angrily and took another menacing step toward her. His eyes looked darker than she ever remembered, and she was certain they could have bored a hole straight through her skull if given half the chance. The wooden door of the study slammed of its own accord. I have been very patient with these obnoxious outbursts of yours, my dear—"

"I am not your anything!"

This time, he gripped both her arms above her elbows in his tight grasp and pulled her closer to himself. Well, his dark eyes looked rapidly from one of hers to the other and back again. We shall certainly see about that.

Niemeh strained against his grip on her, writhing angrily as he tried—and subsequently failed—to capture her lips with his own. He settled for the throbbing pulse of her throat, his lips and tongue moving over her heated flesh in such a way as to cause a deep-throated groan of revulsion to escape her lips. It seemingly had the exact opposite effect on him, however, as if she had only just goaded him into more of the same. She fought against the advantage he took with her and finally managed to somewhat separate herself from him. You dare! she had all but screamed, shaking with rage as her hands grappled her hip for the sword she had neglected to gird on.

He caught her by the wrists and pulled her close again. I have grown weary of this game of cat-and-mouse you play with me.

She was rigid in his grip, her voice low as she stared into his dark eyes. You will take no liberties of me.

He gave her a smile that was entirely void of any humanity. I can. And I shall, lady. Though I would have thought the opulence of my bedchamber a more fitting place than this stone floor—

Whatever filth he would have uttered next was entirely voided by the abrupt delivery of a mouthful of Niemeh’s spit directly to the Sorcerer’s face.

She remembered the sound of the smack as the back of his hand collided with the side of her face, though the action felt more like it should have made a resounding thud. She remembered how the room had spun in that instant as the force of that single blow was enough to send her reeling to the floor.

And she remembered how much she had wanted to kill him in that instant.

The room had gone eerily silent, save for the ringing in her ears. A force lifted the ends of her long hair as if in a breeze as she carefully wiped the back of her hand across her stinging cheek. She was scarcely aware of him standing over her, rattling off apologies faster than she could have snapped her fingers. She only wished he would fall dead under her gaze.

He said he loved her.

Inside the hot, dry, dusty inn, Niemeh chuckled quietly to herself. That was cycles ago now. So much for love.

She downed the remainder of her warming ale and sincerely hoped the customary stew that most inns provided for travelers was not the only thing on the menu. Sitting under her light traveling cloak was making her mildly cranky in this heat, and she normally would not have bothered to hide her femininity under its ‘protection,’ but she usually did not travel alone either. She sighed to herself and signaled the barmaid when the other woman had a chance to look her way.

The barmaid picked up Niemeh’s empty mug and wiggled it in her hand. Another? And somethin’ to put some meat on your bones, lassie?

Niemeh smiled a little, but silently cursed her Elfin blood for granting her so slight a figure. What’s in the pot, good lady?

It was the barmaid’s turn to smile, and her eyes feel to the traveler’s well-worn boots to confirm her suspicion that this girl was not unfamiliar to the workings of these smaller inns. You’re in luck. A pig got the poke and the roots ain’t soft. Onions too.

Niemeh inclined her head politely. And have you a room left?

We’ve the room, her eyes flicked over the fair lass’ travel-worn garb, if you’ve a coin for it.

Niemeh leaned back onto the bench seat where she had put herself in the far corner away from most of the regulars. It was a paltry attempt to be inconspicuous, but her hair tended to garner her more attention than she was generally comfortable with, and snice she was alone, she opted for safety first despite the sword on her hip. She took a pair of silver from her coin pouch and laid them on the table. It was enough for the room, more than she would likely be able to eat, and more ale than she could possibly drink, but she was in no mood to barter.

The barmaid took the proffered coins without protest but deigned to get a peek under the traveler’s hood. She rubbed the two silvers together to draw Niemeh’s attention. I’ll bring you some change, lest there be somethin’ else ya need?

Niemeh finally turned her emerald-green eyes up to the other woman. And how much for information?

The barmaid cocked her head, her features a little wary despite the purse on her lips. I would say that depends on what you inquire.

I have heard tell stories of a particular Sorcerer who resides near here. Something of an evil Sorcerer... Niemeh let her voice trail off as she noted how the chatter around her seemed to have abruptly dropped off. I have heard that he does not allow the rains to fall, and that crops are beginning to fail, and that livestock are giving birth to defective and unviable get, and that the meat from such creatures isn’t fit for dogs to eat. She glanced to the table at her left as the trio of men got up and meandered off to another table. She looked back to the barmaid. I have even heard rumors that he steals people away from their very homes, many of whom are children, on which to practice his dark arts. She cocked her head in near-deaf silence that surrounded the once muttering inn. Is there any truth to these rumors?

The barmaid’s features had turned hard, and her lips were set in a thin line as she dropped one of the silvers back on the table. I'll get yer meal and a key.

I mean to do away with him, Niemeh raised her voice slightly before the barmaid could get very far off and the woman stopped in her tracks.

The barmaid seemed to think better of whatever she might have said and resumed her pace to disappear behind the bar.

Niemeh sighed to herself and slumped back in her seat. She opened her left hand and let her right thumb rub against the tattoo that took up the majority of her palm her father had painstakingly marked into her flesh. It was the image of the sun with curling rays coming off the sphere that denoted her as a Mage and its single eye noted her also as a Seer. It was simply unfortunate she could not read her own future, and she so would have appreciated some information.

A slightly over middle-age man sat down at the table beside her, a tankard in his hand as he pointed a finger toward where she rubbed at her tattoo. He’s full Sorcerer, or ‘least that’s what I hear tell.

She gave him a wry, crooked smile. There was no lying about her tender age when he was this close, despite the fact that her Elfin blood made her age harder to read. And I’m just a lowly Mage? she drummed her fingers nervously on the table. They still bleed, you know? Sorcerers.

Meh... if yer close enough, aye.

Niemeh shrugged uncommittedly, but despite the sharpened blade at her hip, it was little comfort.

The man shook his head with a sigh. I wish ya luck, lassie. Ye goin’a need it.

She watched him rise from the table just as the barmaid was dropping off her supper and the key to a room upstairs.

Not much of a last meal... the man grumbled as he wandered off toward the bar.

Niemeh ate, and drank, in silence. She had not really wanted company, but she might as well have announced she had the plague the way they avoided her corner now, even as the night saw more customers. She tried to eat the pork more happily, as she reminisced about how her kin would have thrown a real revel over the luck of such a feast. Her people loved nothing so decadent as a good, acorn-fattened hog, but this too only served to remind how out of place she was alone. Without her sister, it was like missing her sword-arm.

Once upstairs, even more alone, Niemeh dropped her saddlebags on the floor near the bed and finally peeled out of her light traveling cloak. She huffed and tossed her long braid over her shoulder as if it were her hair’s fault she were agitated with the heat and everything else she had endured this day. She unstrapped her sword-belt from her hip, hung it on the bedpost in easy reach, and unlaced her arm bracer.

She set the hardened leather cuff on the small table beside the bed and began on the laces of her well-traveled boots. The heat had been stifling all day, and the clinging of her clothing just made it worse. She peeled out of her stockings and unlaced her jerkin, hoping the sun would set soon and bring more relief.

Before she could sit back down though, she still had work to do. From a heavier pouch on her right, she took out her carefully shrouded crystal sphere.

She cradled the orb. It was cool to her touch, and she shifted it from hand to hand a moment. Staring at the cool stone, she contemplated her kinfolk. Surely, they were reveling in the bounty of late summer, with early morn hunts and feasting and drink and laughter and stories and music, and all without her there in her rightful place by their sides. Her father would be furious for her sneaking off the way she had, to be sure, and he might just skin her alive whence she returned—assuming, of course, that she survived this meeting of rogue Mage to evil, overbearing Sorcerer.

Niemeh covered her face with her free hand and groaned aloud. How, exactly, had she gotten herself this far? From one bad decision to the next, she seemed to be acquiring a knack. Her sister must have been having kittens by now, fretting over her, and likely picking a fair few fights with her brother in the meantime, just to blow off the steam. The thought made her giggle briefly, but the reality of her fate made her groan again. If she survived the morrow, she would have more than a few apologies to beg for.

She sighed audibly. She still had work to do, sleep, or at least some kind of rest, would have to wait.

She held the crystal globe on the tattoo of her left palm and made her way across the small room toward the window. Now that the sun was mostly set, she pulled back the drape in the hope that a slight breeze might grace her skin, but Luck was not on her side, it seemed. Below her, the streets were dark and quiet, but the moon was nearly full and shone down upon her though it did naught to improve her mood. She stretched the fingers of her right hand out on the air and could feel beneath the heat a coldness that seethed corruption and dark magics. If she had not been anticipating that very touch of malevolence, it would have made her recoil, but now it simply verified her suspicion that she was closer to the dark Sorcerer than she was comfortable with.

Niemeh drew back from the window lest he should get a sense of her presence and ruin her element of surprise. She secretly tucked her spells of protection and obfuscation closer about herself and resumed her seat on the cot. She passed her hands over the surface of the cool stone before fixing her gaze deep into the depths of it. Kalin Khediv, she murmured to the stone as she concentrated her magical talents on the visage of the dark Sorcerer.

The mists within the crystal swirled and then cleared for her eyes alone, and the image solidified into the form of a black-clad man in wizards robes. He was well involved in making a six-pointed star on the floor with some kind of dust which glowed like embers.

You work your talents late, necromancer, Niemeh thought as she watched him set small black candles on the points of the star. She had no desire to see what it was he were about to conjure there in the dark of his private study, and was about to dismiss the image altogether, when a wicked little thought crawled up her spine and settled in between her shoulder blades. She invoked her own magics and blew lightly on the face of her crystal.

In the image, the dust that made up the necromancer’s casting circle suddenly shifted across the flagstone floor and scattered about the space of his study.

Niemeh giggled to herself.

In the image of her crystal, the necromancer turned, and for a moment she drew in her breath as his dark eyes seemed to bore into hers. She felt a great tug on her magics, but she pulled them closer about herself and hoped beyond measure that he had not actually been able to see her scrying on him.

In the crystal, the image of Kalin Khediv waved his hand palm-out to her direction and the crystal instantly went dark.

It took another moment for Niemeh to realize she had been holding her breath, but there was no more of a sense of the Sorcerer or his magics, and she decided to breathe normally again. She rubbed at her eyes, as if his glance had physically harmed her somehow, but for all she cared, he could put up all the additional barriers to her scrying eye as he liked, she had no more desire to look on him.

She put her crystal back into its pouch and fell onto the bed. She missed her kinfolk, and the security of all things familiar, but such were the pinings of fools such as she. She almost felt like crying, but the effort involved would only make the heat worse, and her nose stuffy, and the tears would likely just leak into her ears where she lay, so she left off.

She could not even recall the last thing she had said to her sister before sneaking away into the wilds, and if she died tomorrow, would they remember her fondly, or in ire? She would simply have gone missing, and they would ne’er know where, exactly.

Her eyes welled, but she did not bother to stop it this time.

*  *  *

Niemeh patted her big, black horse’s neck and allowed the animal to browse at the little patch of grass it had found in a crevice of shade. Well, my friend, she said to the animal, gods willing, I will see you anon. She moved up the steps to the stone manor house, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she regarded the large wooden doors, and she took a deep breath.

Before she had a chance to touch the large iron knocker, however, she heard the heavy bar slide aside and the door opened a crack. Two small eyes peeped out at her, and she managed a smile at the young page.

Madam, he whispered, and his voice was very small, you should go—as quickly as you can—before—before my master knows you are here.

Alas, Niemeh sighed, but it is your master for which I have come.

The boy continued to stare up at her, then his eyes shifted to the sword at her hip,  but still he shook his head. He does not like to be disturbed.

He is already disturbed, Niemeh thought wryly. Well, she said instead, and put her hand flat on the door to push it open, he will be disturbed for me.

The boy’s eyes opened even wider, and he stood there gaping at this woman who was either entirely mad or had not the slightest notion how much danger she was in simply by being in proximity to his master, the Sorcerer.

Niemeh closed the door in a feeble attempt to keep the heat out, then put her finger under the boy’s chin and closed his mouth. Do run along and tell your master that his worst nightmare has just arrived. She ruffled the front of his hair and then produced a small copper coin as if by magic in front of his eyes. And be so kind as to look after my horse?

He marveled at the coin. Yes ma’am! he pipped and ran off.

Niemeh sighed and leaned back against the heavy door, hoping her nerves did not end her before the Sorcerer did.

The page had trotted down the hallway, but then dropped to tiptoeing up to the door that led to his master’s dark study. He dared to peer into the darkness and then all but whispered, Master Kalin...?

The Sorcerer’s thin, black-clad form sat pouring over a large, leather-bound tome. I have told you not to disturb me, he droned without bothering to look up.

Yes, master, but... the boy wrung his hands nervously, but she said you would see her...

Kalin Khediv’s face froze before he slowly looked up from his book. "She... whom...?"

The boy realized too late that he had neglected to get her name, and merely shrugged. She said... your worst nightmare...

The Sorcerer’s raspy chuckle cut the lad off. She would. Yes. It was with a seemingly great effort that the older man lifted himself from the wooden chair and turned stiffly. Put her horse in the stable with a good feed, he snapped with an edge of irritation in his voice, then find yourself in town. I do not want to see you again until dawn, is that well understood?

Yes master, the page squeaked, cringing into the shadows as the black-robed Sorcerer swept past him, the fastest he had ever seen the man move.

Niemeh sensed his presence well before she could distinguish his form in the gloom. She took a deep breath in an attempt to steady her nerves but fortunately felt no touch of sorcery from him. Still, she coalesced her own magics about herself.

Relax, lady Niemeh, the necromancer called as he approached, but his voice was the sound of dry leaves skipping over stone. I’ve no intention of harming you.

She batted her emerald eyes at him, but her smirk was mocking. Well, that’s a nice change of pace.

He stopped abruptly as if her words had actually been an affront to him. He took a breath and folded his arms. I should have known that was you who disturbed my work last e’en. Clever.

She shrugged slightly, still mocking.

Come in, lady. Come in, he held a welcoming hand toward her as he continued his approach as if an afterthought. You are always welcome in my home.

Home? her eyes flicked about the darkness of the stone space, only a few pools of light where some meager torches burned in the sconces above her head. There were cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and the place smelled of mildew. It looks more akin to a tomb.

The Sorcerer winced only very slightly. Still have your wit, I see, but I was not expecting company—

I can see that.

Kalin took a moment to steady his growing temper. "Come in all the same, lady, and allow me the privilege of offering you a drink."

She certainly did not miss the irony in his tone, but inclined her head to him nonetheless.

I have sent my page away, so that we may be undisturbed whilst you are here.

Still have your penchant for little boys, I see.

The Sorcerer stopped a pace behind her, a dagger-look to his dark gaze.

Niemeh tried not to smile as she glanced back at him when he paused, but her constitution failed her completely, and she actually giggled slightly.

He had not anticipated such a reaction from her, and to his complete dismay, he utterly delighted in the sound. He proffered a hand to indicate that she should take the stairs up. And you, it seems, still have a knack for raising my ire.

Old habits, she muttered as she took the stairs, but it was there her bravado failed her completely as a wave of nausea washed over her and made her weak in the knees. Her eyes flicked back to Kalin, but there was only a glance of mild surprise to his features as she faltered and gripped the railing. She steadied herself before he had the chance to reach for her. I’m fine, she spat unconvincingly, even to her own ears.

Must be the heat, Kalin drawled in a fashion that told her he knew better. Come, you should have that drink ere you fall over.

Niemeh nodded her agreement as she took the landing and tried to get a grip on her emotional state, but her eyes moved down the long hallway to where her chambers had been, and the wave crashed over her a second time.

Kalin stopped a step behind and a step below where she stood on the landing. Old habits, he said, like old houses, can have old memories, no?

She turned to look at him, but since he was a step below where she stood, she gazed directly into his eyes for the first time. Niemeh opened her mouth as if to speak, but her tongue hung in her mouth as her feet tripped over themselves and the distorted shape of his pupils did naught to ease the sickness in her guts as she recoiled from him completely. She tore her eyes away from his horrid, twisted gaze and gripped the railing on the landing. What have you done? she breathed.

The Sorcerer took a long, steady breath before mounting the landing where he was once again head and shoulders taller than the young Mage. "Suffice it to say that I have become fairly... nocturnal of late, hum?"

Niemeh shook her head as she tried in vain to get the image of his cat-like pupils out of her own head. If the eyes were indeed the window to the soul; what had he done to pervert his pupils that way? Oh gods... she muttered

I am in no way in need of, nor deserving of, your pity, my lady. Come,    satisfy your curiosity so that we may be able to have that drink with a measure of privacy, yes?

Having had a moment to try to regain her composure, Niemeh made a mental note to keep herself a safe distance from him before she turned and moved down the hall. Although she was unsure there was a place on the entire continent she was safe from him now. She shook her head again in hopes to clear the image from her mind and stepped into the room that had been hers. As if a complete afterthought she snapped back to him, "And I am not your lady."

Of course, Kalin said simply as he folded his arms and leaned casually against the door frame.

Standing in this room made Niemeh equally as ill at ease as the rest of the manor, and equally as physically ill, but she made no mention of it. The air was thick, as if the windows had not been opened in some time, and what with the heat, nearly made her choke. The blankets and drapes were dulled with dust and the linen sheets she had been indulged with were yellow with age.

I’ve not touched anything, Kalin remarked from the doorway.

So I see, Niemeh muttered absently as she looked upon the book, she vaguely remembered studying all those moons ago and yet it stood open on the desk. She pushed it closed and disturbed the dust. You could have at least run a cloth around every season or so.

I did not wish to disturb your things.

She was not really listening to him as her eyes flicked over the items on the desk. Her quill and inkwell were still there, though the latter was quite dry by now. An old, faded strip of ribbon she recalled she had used to tie up her hair, her sealing wax for all the letters she had sent home, and a small spider, though the spider had not been hers. The only other trace of her lingering presence was the solitary white robe that hung in the cupboard which yet stood open. She stared at the graying fabric, remembered when Kalin had gifted it to her, stating that if she were going to be a Mage, she ought to start dressing like one. She realized absently that her hands were moving down her simple breeches, and that she would likely never have met up to his standard for her.

You never did do me the honor of wearing it, Kalin’s words drew her from her reverie. I see you still refuse to dress appropriately.

She shot him a decent glare for the insult. "White is unfit for traveling."

He cocked a wry grin and ran his hands over his black-clad sleeves. You always were the fairest of the fair.

She scowled at him. "And you were oft too keen to try and get me out of my various pieces of garb, lest I should offer such easy access as there is to be had in the ample volume of a Mages robe?"

He simply shrugged. One could hope.

Well don’t hang your hat on that.

He chuckled where he stood in the doorway. "Damn your tight-laced garb and your stubborn resolve, he said, but there was no real venom in his tone this time. Certainly, you cannot fault me for trying."

Oh, but I do, she replied, nodding emphatically, then held up her tattooed hand to forestall anything he would say next. Your incessant advances were a constant nuisance and exhausting in their persistence.

Determination is generally considered and admirable trait, lady.

Exhausting, she reiterated.

But oh, my lady, we have not yet begun on the extent of my determination—

"We are not going to be doing anything. And I, am not, your lady."

He gave her a lazy smile. So you have said. Repeatedly. And yet, the day is young, my dear, and you and I have a date with a glass or three of wine.

One glass, she said, and held up a singular finger for emphasis, One. And only because I’m thirsty in this unrelenting heat your cold bones are so fond of.

Of course. Kalin pushed himself off the door frame and led her toward the library where he kept a decanter of wine.

Niemeh threw herself into a large, upholstered chair and set her boots ungraciously—and purposely—on the low table, but only because she knew it would annoy him. ‘Civilized’ people, of course, would not put their feet on the furniture, particularly if said person had also been on the road for a few good moons and their boots showed it. She squinted with her magesight as she watched him pour her a goblet of deep red wine. There’s no blood in that, is there? she said warily.

Only the blood of grapes and the body of yeast. He held the goblet in front of her eyes and let it swirl in the glass. I recall your aversion to flesh.

She made a snide little face at him for taking yet another stab at her chastity, but then had to wonder idly if it were just that apparent on her. The thought that he may have actually touched her with his sorcery made her skin crawl. She squinted at him over the rim of her glass, watching as he poured his own wine. She searched for some remnant of his features she had once found appealing, but perhaps she had become too jaded to be objective. It seemed as though the dark sorcery had twisted his from, added streaks of gray to his raven-colored hair, and his once-thin frame seemed now almost skeletal. He looked nearly twenty cycles her senior, though he was not.

Do tell me, he said as he lowered himself into the chair opposite her, pausing only long enough to scowl at her filthy boots on his table, which, admittedly, could have used a good scrub itself, what brings you back to my home after all this time?

My boots, she said simply, and wriggled her toes for emphasis, secretly hoping it would further irritate him by depositing more filth.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as if he had not really smiled in quite some time. I had forgotten your easy humor.

I’d have given you more credit. Or does necromancy rot the memory as well as everything else it touches?

I should think by now my talents would be none of your concern, lady.

You thought the same then. Had you bothered to listen to me, things may have turned out very differently.

Oh? And how’s that, then? In a hand-fasting ceremony with your rash of kin in full revelry and consummated in blood-stained sheets?

Niemeh shivered quite visibly, but it only made the Sorcerer laugh haughtily.

I thought not.

She tried to un-cringe her body. "You just had to throw in the blood."

Mmm... his dark eyes burned over the rim of his wine. "As what a fine sacrifice you would have made."

At least he was still speaking in the past tense. I guess we’ll never know.

You may speak for yourself on that one. I’ll hang my hat on that hope if you don’t mind.

Of course, she minded, quite

Reviews for Blood & Chaos

[S Brewer · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It had a lot of action, and the characters are 3 dimensional and the world building is deep. Neimeh's magical skills are a great foil for the necromancer (who is a truly nasty villain). Amarah can cross swords with the best of them & Quinn is just so chill! This book has magic, sword fights, monsters, and enough action to keep you turning the page.