The Dragon's Mistress

“Commander!”

Kael turned, body tensing, shifting, and aiming, before launching her spear across the field. The creature shrieked as she turned back and drew her sword to slash at the ambling shadows swarming towards her. The telltale, sharp, shattering sound, like glass smashed on stone, echoed across the field from behind her.

“Back!”

She ripped through the shadows in front of her, cutting them from the young man, cowering, shaking, and frozen pale beneath. She grabbed him, dragging him up and away, his armor in tatters, black veins creeping through him, and cursed, hauling up and turning her sword into a shield when the air turned sharp, screaming, and a malicious blast of power came rushing from within the trees.

The core of her shield heated. She poured magic into it, causing it to expand high and wide. The force slammed into the broadside, pushing her back. She dug her feet into the earth, bracing and holding as the power continued to pour forth. Her shield trembled, burning her hand. Her shoulder ached, but she had to hold the line.

Hold.

Her shield hummed in warning. It couldn’t take much more.

Hold.

“Left flank back! Behind the barrier line, now!”

Hold.

The flow of power ended. She retracted the shield and recalled her spear. Loosening her grip on the injured recruit, bouncing on her toes as the shadows within the trees started to shift. Slither—a hissing shriek cut through the air. A mawless had noticed her intention, her hostility. Probably felt the abyss reaching out to drag it back to where it belonged. The foul abomination was going to move, to flee.

Not on her watch.

She reared back, extended a thumb, and curled her fingers to judge speed, distance, and aim. Magic rippled through her muscles, drawing the tension tight, augmenting her strength as she exhaled and threw. The sound of shattering glass cut through the air, and the darkness over the area lifted. She recalled the spear and scanned the area: fifteen barely moving bodies, silence, and still darkness.

The battle was over.

She turned her head to look at the hole in her armor where she'd taken a blast earlier. A weak trickle of blood and black sludge slid down her chest plate. She prodded the area around it, but felt no pain.

Careless. Stupid. Reckless.

“Commander—”

“Collect the wounded and bring them back to camp,” she said. “I will expand the barrier. Have a head count ready, and if there are Vuldran among the injured, they are not to be harmed. Bandage them and have them ready to transport before we head to Thornspire.”

She turned back to look down at the shivering young man beside her through the slats of her helmet before kneeling and pulling out a vial.

“Are you really going to waste supplies on a Vuldran whelp?”

“They are my supplies to use as I please.”

She tipped the vial into the young man’s mouth. He couldn’t have been any older than seventeen. His eyes were wide with fear as he looked up at her.

“Drink,” she said, coaxing him to it. “This will purify you. You’ll be back with your comrades soon.”

He drank hesitantly, lips trembling, tears sliding down his face before his eyes fluttered closed and his body relaxed into a deep sleep.

“Minor bruises, probably,” she said, leaving him there. “Follow protocol. I will be back.”

“But—”

She turned and jogged down the slope toward the forest. The scent of the forest had changed, and the rank darkness of dormant malice was gone. Still, the shadows were unnatural.

The ground would still need to be purified before she could, in good conscience, advance toward the forest. She kneeled, setting the barrier stone at the edge of the forest, just before the tree line. Once the new barrier line had been established, she headed back to camp. Support staff darted through the tents, carrying heaps of medical supplies and broken armor.

“Welcome back, Commander.”

She nodded as she passed, heading to the medical tent. The healers were moving quickly, administering vials and wrapping wounds. Then, an old, disgruntled man in a messenger’s garb stormed towards her.

“Where is—”

“If you have an issue with my leadership, tell the alpha to appoint a formal commander.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do not lay your irritation at my feet for being found unworthy of battle. What is your message?”

He sneered. “A message from the alpha.”

She held out her hand.

“It’s not for you.” He lifted his head. “I am looking for the wench named Kaelra.”

“My camp has no wenches, and unless you would like to return from whence you came without delivering your message, you will give it to me. Now.”

He hesitated, glaring at her, but he was a short, waif of a man who had been delegated to the position of messenger because he had neither talent nor heart for battle. She towered over him in height, her build broader and heavier with muscle than his. She could fold him like paper with barely a thought.

He reached into his bag, threw the letter at her feet, and stomped off. She summoned it from the floor and turned as Healer Ashmane came to her side.

“He’s always been an asshole.”

“Yes. Issues?”

He grimaced, and the wrinkles across his forehead, around his eyes, and around his mouth deepened. “We’re out of purification vials. If you could call your witch friend up for more, that would be helpful, but no one’s dead. I wouldn’t suggest another campaign until the restock.”

She nodded. “It will be so. Thank you.”

“Are you going to allow us to take care of your shoulder?”

She shook her head.  “I will handle it.”

“But—”

“There are more dire cases, and I can take care of myself.” She turned toward the door. “As soon as they are stable, start meal and rest rotations.”

He chuckled. “Telling me I look old?”

“Telling you to rest. You are no good to anyone exhausted.”

“The same is true of you.”

“I am fine. Thank you.”

She walked out of the tent, catching the scent of ash in the air coming from the west, where the Vuldran camp was. It had been a long time since they had met a Vuldran unit on a campaign. The last time they had done more fighting each other than fighting the creatures of the Wretched Choir that had swarmed the canyon.  Both sides had lost more than a few warriors that day, setting back all reclamation and expansion efforts for nearly half a year.

Alpha Malrik Hollowfang had more or less given up on the western frontier then. Soon after, Kael had taken over, Kaelra had brewed purification potions, and pulled the remains of the camp together.

Aside from Eryx, everyone had been grateful for the death of the last appointed commander. He had been an asshole and an absolute idiot. She remembered how he’d died pissing his pants and crying for his mother as the mawless ate him alive.

“Commander?” She turned to face the woman in messenger garb. She offered Kael a scroll. “A message from Thornspire.”