The horde King of shadow

Chapter 9KLARA

I hadn’t quite known what to expect when I’d heard Sarkin mention “the citadel.” But we’d been up before dawn, the storm breaking in the night. And just as the sunrise peeked out over the horizon, we flew over a deep mountain valley, a twinkling river winding its way at the very base.

At the very end of the valley was a tall, jagged mountain though I could see decorative markings etched into its face even from a great distance. Reliefs carved into the rock of Elthika, their tails curving around the mountain like an embrace.

Below that mountain, spread out among rolling hills that rippled out toward flat land was a city. A towering stronghold made of gray stone overlooked it all.

That was the citadel, I figured, my eyes widening at the sight. Momentarily, I forgot my fear, riding on Zaridan’s back when I could feel every muscle of my own body ache in protest. Momentarily, I forgot my pain and the fact that my legs felt like needles were pricking into my flesh over and over again.

I was awestruck. In the rising sun, it was beautiful, the land lush and vibrant, so unlike the wildlands of my own homeland. The river of the valley—which cleaved the city into two—led to a wide lake in the distance, and even there, I saw structures dotting close to the shore. It was a sprawling, expansive city…and Sarkin was its king?

“You call this a horde?” I asked. “It’s larger than Dothik.”

I didn’t think Sarkin would be able to hear me over the rush of wind.

But he responded, “Sarroth. The stronghold of the South Lands.”

“A stronghold against what?” I couldn’t help but question.

He didn’t answer me.

Instead, I heard a dragon’s roar. No, not quite a roar. A call. The gust of wings fu

This was power, I realized. Not to control a creature that could decimate an entire civilization. But to ride with one. To bond with one. To feel that power and trust they wouldn’t use it against you.

Was that how the Karag felt? Da

Beyond the mountain, I could see Elthika flying. I watched as one latched into the side of the rock face, disappearing into a hidden entrance. My lips parted. Their home?

As we neared Sarroth and began to fly lower, heading straight for the citadel, I heard horns sound from below. Perhaps to herald Sarkin’s return? Squinting over Zaridan’s side, I ignored the great distance to the ground, ignored the way it made me feel dizzy, because I wanted to see it all. I needed to.

Karag milled around throughout the city, even this early. The horns were placed at regular intervals along what I assumed was the main road, set up on small platforms, and I wondered if this was their only purpose.

The city likely held a smaller population than Dothik, but it was certainly larger in size. It was widespread to accommodate the Elthika, I realized, eyeing a dragon casually perched on a wide ledge that overlooked crop land on the outskirts.

The structures and homes were grouped together, like they made up smaller villages within the larger city, all co

I’ve seen this before, I realized, jolting.

The citadel itself was separated from the main city by a steep, winding incline. It was nearest the mountain, the back section abutted against it. It was smaller than the Dothikkar’s palace in Dothik and much less opulent, but I had the sense the citadel had been standing for much, much longer. There was longevity in the lines of its structure, made up of solid columns and gray stone. There was a timelessness to it.

As we got closer, I saw the stone of the citadel’s facade also had etchings of Elthika, like the mountain above it. A history, perhaps, one I was itching to inspect and study.

What surprised me the most were the sprawling gardens at the back of the citadel, however. Zaridan flew over the stone keep and circled around, begi

But beyond the stone slab was a large plot of land, filled with overgrown shrubs, trees, vines. At the very back of the garden was a smaller structure, similar in architecture to the citadel but kept apart.

Zaridan landed on the stone slab, surprisingly graceful for one so large. Just then, one of the three Elthika that had accompanied us to the citadel landed—an Elthika and rider I recognized.

The other two continued on, circling back toward the main city.

Behind me, I felt Sarkin dismount. I would never admit it to him, but I’d felt safer flying with him at my back. I’d felt more protected, and I was silently grateful that he’d changed our positions for the rest of the journey.

“Get down,” he grated from below. I bit my tongue, my lips pressing together. Even being the outcast of the royal line in Dothik, I hadn’t been ordered around this much in years.

I huffed, but instead of sliding off Zaridan—I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching me struggle to dismount—I reached over and tapped at the joint of her wing, just as I’d seen him do the night before.

Triumph and relief went through me when she extended it in response. I hid my wince when I swung my leg over, my limbs feeling like boulders, and then carefully navigated down the flattest part of Zaridan’s wing, taking my time though I felt the burn of Sarkin’s eyes.

When I stepped off and looked up at him with mild smugness, he was studying me—his expression neutral, his jaw clenched. He wasn’t glaring, at the very least, and I thought I almost caught a hint of approval.

Sarkin broke our gaze to retrieve the satchels, and as he did, I felt Zaridan’s stare. When I moved my head, I bit the edges of my tongue, regarding her carefully. Once, she’d been my nightmare. I’d feared sleep because I’d feared she’d kill me in my dreams. But now I wondered if I’d had it wrong. She hadn’t hurt me. She’d marked me. Why? To lead me to this place?

She’d showed me Sarroth before. I’d caught glimpses of the river, of the city, though they’d been like wisps of memories, uncertain and blurred. She’d showed me…but for what purpose?

And what of the other dragon that haunted my dreams?

Sarkin stepped between us, and I felt like I could breathe again. He placed his hand on her wide snout, inspecting her eyes, turning her this way and that way like he was a concerned parent.

Then he murmured something in the Karag language, which sounded like beautiful, soft whispers, so unlike the harshness of the Dakkari tongue.

I watched the exchange, rapt and intrigued, though it felt oddly like spying. They’re bonded, I thought. What was that like? The Dakkari revered the pyrokis, our great, powerful creatures that rode across the wildlands with our hordes. But this felt different. This felt fated.

Sarkin ran a wide, calloused palm down her snout, raising his chin as he stepped back.

“Thryn’ar esh lyiss,” he said. “Sen endrassa.”

“Thryn’ar,” I whispered under my breath, studying the way Sarkin’s lips formed the words. He’d said that word before, and so I memorized it. “Esh lyiss.”

Zaridan pressed low to the ground, her muscles bunching, power in every small, minuscule movement. Then she launched herself into the sky, the gust in her wake nearly knocking me backward.

A pair of hands righted me, and I looked over my shoulder, startled, only to find Sarkin’s rider there. His dragon followed Zaridan, leaving the three of us standing near the back gate of the citadel.

He released me, then approached Sarkin, leaning forward to murmur something into his ear. I caught the way Sarkin’s mouth tightened briefly before he nodded.

Then the commotion came behind me—footsteps and chattering voices. My movements were limited given the stiffness of my limbs, but I still stepped back, seeing a small group of Karag approach.

They were all of differing ages—some old, some young. Some were dressed in rich purple or dark green robes, others were in more fitted clothing, dragon scales stitched into them like a plating of armor.

I could feel the burn of every one of their eyes, could feel the palpable tension in the clearing when they approached. I could feel them sizing me up, and one older female narrowed her eyes on Sarkin, Karag words tumbling from her lips.

Sarkin replied, his voice cold and unyielding.

Then her eyes snapped to me. In my language, she demanded, “You. Dakkari. What is it that you think you’re doing here?”

I didn’t react. With calm I didn’t feel, I replied simply, “I believe I’ve agreed to marry Sarkin Dirak’zar.”

A sound left Sarkin. All at once, the group erupted into chaos, and I took a step back in retreat, only to meet my future husband’s unyielding hand, pressing into my spine, holding me in place.

“Coward,” he rasped. A gasp left me, my back going ramrod straight as my neck turned sharply to regard him. Those swirling eyes were looking at the group, and I thought I caught a hint of gleeful malice in his gaze. He liked to see them in disorder? Who were they? “Never run.”

“I wasn’t,” I gritted out. “I haven’t, have I?”

His eyes cut to mine. “No. You haven’t, princess.”

“What is the meaning of this?” the older female demanded, stepping toward us. She was dressed in light purple robes that brushed the stone. “Sarkin. This is reckless, even for you.”

Sarkin’s thumb brushed up my spine. Once. Twice. I blinked quickly.

“I’m honored you traveled all the way from Elysom to meet my new bride,” Sarkin replied. “But you came in vain. We leave for the Arsadia at dawn.”

More travel? I thought in dismay, feeling my body painfully throb in response.

“On Muron, you will not,” she snapped. “Elysom has forbid this union until we can make contact with⁠—”

Sarkin stepped forward, blocking my view of her.

“I am a Karath,” he growled. “You do not choose my wife. Or have you forgotten your place, Aunt?”

His…aunt?