Notes: 1) If you see this story anywhere but Literotica it isn't supposed to be there. 2) Because of shorter chapters, this is being posted in chunks.
* * * * *
*Twenty-two*
Syreilla couldn't keep from laughing as she soared through the air, her arms extended and her brilliant dragon's fire held as much as possible in the form of a bird around her. The volley of arrows rose to meet her as she descended, trusting her luck that the idea she'd had about landing would work.
She formed a ball of dragon's fire and landed on it, letting it take the force of her impact. It exploded. That wasn't quite what she expected but, she dusted dirt and debris from herself as she walked out of the shallow crater, it worked well enough. She gave the few men who weren't screaming and trying to flee a wide, mirthless smile.
"I am the Golden Rook. You may call me Lady Rook. My husband and cousin are here, meeting with the False Rook. Take me to them."
One of the men offered a trembling bow and led the way. The soldiers parted as she strode through them. In the encampment, a man dressed in a fine tawny robe bearing a black bird with wings extended across the chest, flanked by a few others in less fine brown robes intercepted her.
"You are a liar and a charlatan!" He held up his hands and began to draw on a bauble in the belt at his waist for a spell. The air was so dry of magic she could feel it where she stood.
Syreilla's grim laughter made him hesitate as she pulled the power from it herself and blew across her open hand at him, setting him alight with dragon's fire. He made it only a few steps before the hunger of the flames took him to the ground.
The men with him dropped to their knees.
"I would have expected mages to be able to tell the Golden Rook from a pretender."
"Lady Rook! Forgive us, Lady. We knew this one was a poor imitation of your greatness, but we served her for the power. The magic has gone." The one that spoke looked up to judge her reaction.
"The huntress has dried it up, but I intend to release what I can if possible. I was trained by mages when I was a mortal. I don't hold it against you but I require your service now. I'll liberate what power I can for you; you'll use it on my behalf and those who are under my protection will be safe from you. In exchange, I'll have my husband, the god of punishment and pain, allow you a way to speak with the dead mages and learn from them." She took in the avarice and wariness on their faces. "My behalf won't end with this war and it will carry over to your apprentices and their apprentices to the end of time. After the war, I will call on you for one task only, to put your differences aside and bring anyone trying to dry up the magic this way again to a painful end."
"Done." The one who'd spoken first broke into a vicious smile. "Who trained you, Lady Rook?"
"I trained under several mages as a mortal, Ofeus and Zylius among them, and I've learned from more since. Some of the eldest mages have a grasp of magic that rivals the gods'.
"Come take my hand to seal the deal. Go back on a deal with me and you'll have longer than you ever thought possible to regret it."
Syreilla offered her hand and the mages looked at it as if making the decision all over again. One by one they rose and took her hand. As she grasped them, she sent a blossom of dragon's fire up their arm. They looked startled but then amused as they stepped away.
"What was the purpose of that display, Lady Rook?"
"Look at your arm."
All of them pulled back their sleeves and looked at the feather-like burn up the inside of their forearms on the hand she'd clasped.
"You're marked as mine. Wear what you like, and after the war has ended, go where you like and do what you will, that will never fade. You can warn your apprentices or just let it be a surprise to them on the day they clasp your hand and agree to come into your tutelage."
Two of the mages laughed.
"Take me to the False Rook. I'm going to have a chat with her about how rude it is to use someone else's name and try to usurp their place."
They escorted her to a large opulent tent flanked by tawny banners bearing the profiles of black rooks. Syr blew at them and they burst into brilliant flame but there was power preventing them from truly burning. With a grin, she let her hungry flames move to the poles themselves, sustaining them with the banners' power to keep them covered. The poles would turn to ash before the banners burned completely. She stepped into the tent to find a brunette woman menacing a grinning Syvezar with a knife and Cyran standing close by with a grim expression on his face.
"Sorry I'm late. I gathered a few mages to my service on accident." Syreilla walked in deliberately as if she owned the space. "You're the False Rook? Is this the False Rook?" She glanced at Cyran and received a curt nod. "I expected... more."
"How dare you!" The woman advanced on her and Syr began to laugh mirthlessly, meeting her halfway.
There was fear in the other woman's eyes as she looked into Syreilla's.
"How dare I? You take my name and dare to harm children?" She made her voice thunderous, trying to imitate the draconic resonance of Vedhethrah's voice, as she drew power from the blade being held so close to her. "I am Syreilla the Rook. I am the Golden Rook, goddess of righteous vengeance and protector of gentle souls. You have imitated my sigil and harmed those I protect. I bring to you and yours fire and vengeance. On behalf of those who are mine,
BURN
."
Grabbing hold of the knife in the horrified young goddess' hand, Syr turned the blade on her, burying it in her gut and releasing all of the power remaining within it in a flare of dragon's fire from the point of it. The scream that came from the woman was unlike any sound Syreilla had ever heard. It resonated in a way that made it feel as if the sound was heard by her ears and every fiber of her being at the same time.
As she pulled the knife back, the charred woman fell to her knees rasping something in the divine language and a door opened beneath her. The False Rook vanished through it.
Immediately, Syr covered the ground with a net of flame. "Try not to step between them. The fire won't burn you and I don't want to have to fetch you back from wherever she just fled to."
"She was begging for her mother to save her and not let her die." Syvezar smiled smugly. "My treasure, in your glory you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."
"She kept quite a few objects with power close to her... none feel like a stone." Mouthing the siphoning spell for the focus, Syr drew the power out of all of them at once and melted the emptied blade in her hand with her flames. As they stepped out, there was a ring of soldiers around the tent and her mages were facing them nervously.
Spreading her arms, she decided to try giving them some of the power she'd gathered, laying it on their feather marks as she'd done when she gave power to Ahevhethrah.
As one, the mages turned to look at her in awe.
"I won't tell you what to do with it, when or how to spend it, but don't forget that we have a deal."
"You still have a part to make good on, Lady Rook." The one who'd done more of the talking looked at her with a desirous expression that made Syvezar hiss.
"I don't advise upsetting either of my husbands." She grinned and turned her attention to the soldiers. "Bring me all of your captives and disperse. In exchange, I will allow you all to live the day."
