Chapter Five

The Wraith


AN:/ I wanted to say thank-you to those of you who have been reading and those who have visited. I greatly appreciate you reading my work and I hope you enjoy it. Thanks to those of you who've submitted reviews, as well. They are highly valued.

Warning: Herein lies a somewhat graphic (not pornographic) scene between Keturah and Reaver. Dark themes and forced sexual intercourse are present.


Dara absolutely despised ships.

The rocking, churning motion of the boat was something that he would never become accustomed to. He never understood the stories of men who spent life at sea, voyaging for adventure and becoming completely lost in the essence of the ocean and the simplicity at life on the water. The time was slow for him, the scenery beautiful, but boring. There was only so long he could stare out at vast expanses of waves and water. The churning surface nauseated more than it calmed him. Most of the men on the voyage had overcome the bouts of illness that were associated with a journey across the sea to Aurora, but Dara remained despicably miserable the entire length of the crossing. He never went below deck, as the stench of unwashed bodies, latrines, salt water, fish, sulfur from cannons, and whatever cargo was being carried across was suffocating.

This all occurred after he had been in Albion, with its choking forests and snowy mountains. He thankfully hadn't ventured too close to any of the truly industrialized towns, though it had been a small mercy. Technically Aurora was a satellite of Albion. But the land held no voice in the court and received none of the benefits other cities in the empire did: no guards, no amenities, and no interventions. At the very least there were no taxes. After all, how could King Logan tax the people which he had long forgotten in the shadowy wastes of the desert? It was his preference to leave Aurora be and forget the terrible curse which resided deep beneath the sands.

It was an indescribably immense relief when he saw the shifting dunes and bright sun of Aurora. He was very much a creature of the desert, preferring the warm, solid grit to the choking, suffocating, nauseating cold roll of the ocean.

The boat approached the harbor at a crawl and Dara's stomach churned uncomfortably with impatience…or sickness, he was not sure which. He longed for the sand, the heat, the bright sunlight. The wet and the cold of Albion and the ocean had plagued him for too long. But the ship's captain was cautious and calm, steering the boat with great trepidation toward the harbor, clipping Dara's temper short. He did not wait for the boat to become securely moored in the harbor. His belly was sour and he hadn't eaten well for the better part of four days; precious little of what he consumed extended the kindness of nourishing him for long.

The moment the shore was within jumping distance, he deftly leapt from the wall of the ship's deck and landed neatly, the warm sands welcoming their child back home. On his knees, he gathered handfuls of the coarse soil and let it trickle through his fingers, relishing in the feel of it. The warmth felt delicious on the bare skin of his hands and feet and the fine hair on his arms and the back of his neck rose as chills of pleasure coursed through his limbs.

"You truly are a strange one, brother," Kalin stated, approaching him from where she had been lingering on the dock, patiently awaiting the return of her kin.

"The ocean doesn't agree with me," Dara offered, his voice slightly muffled by the cowl covering the bridge of his nose. He rose to his full height, half again as tall as Kalin. "The sand is a welcome ally."

Kalin chuckled and turned back toward the city of Aurora. "You speak as though you were at war with the ocean, Dara."

"It certainly felt that way. The writhing demon kept stealing the lunch from my very bowels," he stated, dramatizing the seasickness.

The long day was not yet to a close and the presence of darkness did not need to cloud their consciousness at the moment. Like any Auroran, they reveled in the sunlight. Dara followed behind her, foot steps silent as ever.

"I assume everything is taken care of?"

He scoffed. "Hardly. Saker has been disposed of, that much I can say for certain. Reaver is still a problem."

She looked up at him, her painted face squinting as she had to endure the bright sun to glimpse his expression. "Saker is slain? Your Hero did it?" She hadn't the vaguest idea of who Reaver was.

He shook his head heavily. "No. I did. How he met his end is inconsequential."

Kalin sighed in irritation, turning her gaze away and rubbing her eyes. He knew she was upset that she was unable to read his expression with the cowl and the hood. It was where her gift came from to be a leader – even those who could school their expressions were not impervious to her intuition.

"I do wish you wouldn't wear that thing." She stated. "It's not as though you need it around these parts." It was a scolding, but a gentle one. Everything she did was gentle. She was kind and strong, just as her father had been.

Dara shrugged in answer. "Matter of preference. I feel naked without it."

His sister did not press the matter further as they climbed the stairs to the temple where prayers were offered to the Light. Dara's gaze swept over the priests and the clerics who were at work in an attempt to impede the Darkness from engulfing too many of Aurora's precious lives. A few who were standing reached out and clasped his forearm, a gesture of greeting and hope for strength. Dara gripped their forearms firmly in return, nodding with assurance. Upon his release, he continued following Kalin, his footsteps silent behind the swishing of her gown and robes and the soft slap of the thongs against her feet. When the door had shut behind them and secured the peaceful, private quiet of the temple, then -and only then- did Dara slip his hands up to remove the large hood and cowl from his face.

Kalin laughed at the sight of him, though she quickly flattened her expression. "Long journey, I see."

"Harrowing," he replied in return with a smile. She was laughing at the thick beard that looked much like a poached animal had been plastered to his face. He'd been almost two months without the means with which to shave. The growth at least did well to hide much of his face. He almost didn't need the cowl.

Kalin and Dara went to the private chambers which housed the leader of the Auroran people, previously Kalin's father before he'd been taken by the Darkness. His sister seated herself neatly on one of the large cushions that populated the area, utilized both for sleeping and sitting for discussions. Dara slipped Tantalize from its sheath at his calf and laid it neatly on the pedestal where he'd retrieved it before his journey. The blade was thin, almost frighteningly so, and the length of his forearm. However, the delicate width belied the strength it possessed. It was forged deep within the mountains that surrounded Aurora with a magic that had been long forgotten by the people of Albion. Thin though the steel was, it was durable and strong. He'd polished and cleaned it many times on the voyage and still marveled at the intricate craftsmanship that went into hammering and folding the steel over and over on itself to create such strength.

With his back to his sister, he removed the leather gauntlets and the tight-fitting leather jerkin and placed them ceremoniously near the sword. Unabashed, he stripped out of the dark, billowing garments of the Wraiths and used a basin of water to clean the journey's filth from his body. Kalin watched silently, assessing him. Without a looking glass, he hadn't any idea what she might find to be questionable about his appearance, save the Balvarine carcass on his face.

"You were wounded," she sated first, having noticed the blemish on the skin where his neck met his shoulder.

He chuckled noncommittally. "I have the Hero to thank for that. Even frightened out of her mind, she managed to aim better than an army of the mercenaries." He continued to scrub, watching the basin slowly change from clear to murky. Even with the filth marring the clarity of the water, he made sure to keep the surface moving, lest the Veil tempt him.

"She shot you?" Kalin demanded, her calm voice belying her concern. "In Avo's name, what did you do to provoke such behavior?" She paused for a moment before murmuring, "And the Hero is a woman?"

"An eye for an eye, I suppose," Darah responded with a grin. A part of him very much liked that the Hero's reflexes were quick enough to take a chip out of him. He was rarely struck by ordinary folk. Then again, he supposed she was far from ordinary.

"Oh, and never try to headbutt a Hero," he said, grimacing at the recalled pain. Even with a skull as thick as his, he'd had an ache for days. "It doesn't turn out well," he continued. "I'm lucky I escaped the camp. I was noisy enough with my stumbling."

"You said 'she'," Kalin pressed. "The Hero is a woman?"

"Yes," he replied finding a pair of loose trousers worn by most men in aurora and securing the tie around his hips. The billowing garment was tight around his ankles, creating a sort of ballooning-effect around his legs. The garment was designed to harness the desert's winds and use them to cool one's body. The heat, however, never perturbed him.

He saw Kalin's dumbstruck expression. "Don't act so surprised, sister." He said, his lips pressing down a grin. "Women are capable of terrific feats as well. You yourself stand as an example."

Kalin flushed a bit at that–silly woman, never one to accept or acknowledge compliments. Still, he knew it tickled her pride and felt no shame in it.

"Where does she come from?" Kalin inquired.

Dara scratched at his beard lightly. "That is information I cannot tell you with any certainty. She does bear remarkable likeness to Logan."

His sister flinched visibly. "Logan? Then can we trust her?"

He could only offer a mischievous grin in return. Nothing he knew was certain, but he knew how Kalin balked at the mention of Albion's king. She certainly had a surprise in store for her when these events came to a close, of that he had no doubt. He was not quite sure what it entailed, precisely, but it was to be a fantastic display.

"Your horns are becoming apparent, again," Kalin commented as Dara retrieved the shaving kit and seated himself beside her. "I'm surprised nobody noted them."

He chuckled. "One of the reasons I keep the hood," he answered.

"Dara, I'm serious," she hissed, large dark eyes shifting to the window. "Negyne was looking for you again this afternoon. The people are becoming frightened. I need to do what I can to make their lives bearable as we contend with the Darkness. I cannot have them lost charging off into the desert to fight a harmless shadow."

"Yes," he sighed as the beard on his face slowly migrated to the basin of filthy water. "Imagine the terrible inbreeding that would occur should the population dwindle any more."

Kalin thumped him on the back of the head, causing the blade to slip in his hand and make a small, inconsequential nick at his throat.

His voice took on a melodramatic tone. "A hair more to the left and you'd have killed me, woman!" He thumbed off the droplet of blood and continuing his shave.

Kalin grunted, her gaze uncomfortable. He knew the sight of blood unnerved her. The fact was particularly true of the sight if his blood. The dark blue color was unnatural and, though she'd known him his entire life, she never quite managed to swallow her disgust at the sight.

"I thought you said the Hero would kill Saker," Kalin prompted. "You said he'd -...she'd come here."

"I said she might," he stated tersely, finishing with the razor and standing to snatch a handful of water from his skin and splash it on his face. Ahh…it felt so much better to be rid of the mangy beast that had lived on his face the past few months.

Kalin pressed, "You're supposed to be a Seer, Dara." Anger always looked strange on her face. She was normally so calm, collected, and serene. A part of him almost took pride in the fact that he was able to coax emotion out of her past calm, diplomatic responses.

"I am a Seer, Kalin," he answered tiredly. "But I do not have all the answers."

She let out a slow breath to calm herself before inquiring smoothly. "Then what do you see, if not answers."

"Possibilities," he answered with a grimace. "Nothing is clear. What I did know is that Saker had to be killed. It did not matter whose hand dealt the finishing blow."

Kalin's eyes spoke of years of pent up curiosity. He could almost hear the questions: why did Saker have to die? For what purpose? How was a mercenary of any consequence to the events of now? But she knew better than to voice some of the inquiriess, however. The few times she had, she'd been rebuffed with a harsh chill that was unequivocally strange out in the heated wastes of the desert. S

he stood and stepped away from Dara. "What is needed now?"

"Half the Wraiths remain in Albion for the Hero to contend with," he stated with a smirk. But it faded with the somber topic that followed. "The others remain here as protection from the Crawler and the Darkness."

His sister's eyes softened as he stood and fetched the file they kept hidden behind a chest of drawers at the far end of the room. "Thank you, Dara."

"I do nothing," he stated simply, beginning to rake the harsh metal across the jutting growths near his temple. "I am simply a mediator where there wasn't one before."

He peered up at Kalin through the dark fringe of hair that fell into his eyes as he was bent over. She stood in the doorway of the chamber, watching him with pity in her large eyes. He balked at the sight of it. He did not want her pity or her sorrow. She had enough to trouble her with the onset of the Darkness and the Crawler. She needn't concern herself with his aesthetic obligations.

"I'll fetch you some food. You look like a Hollowman," Katlin said, her calm demeanor unable to mask the regret in her voice.

Dara stopped filing and looked up to his sister. "I'll scry tonight," he told her. "I'll search for an end."

His sister nodded and stepped out. The slightly quickened pace of her breathing, inaudible to anyone else, told him she was on the verge of sobbing.

It did not take long before she returned with their meal. The food was bland and plain, but healthy, filling, and enough. The leaders got no better than the ordinary folk in Aurora, a tradition Kalin maintained after her father had passed. Two bowls of boiled oats with nuts and honey, a smaller one for Kalin and a larger one for Dara, and two rations of bread made of flour imported from Albion.

"Eat," she commanded when he simply stared at the food.

"I will," he assured her with an easy grin. "Sit down. I'm not the only one that needs rest."

Kalin obeyed wearily, eyeing him with an experienced gaze. He'd replaced the file and turned his head a bit so she could inspect his skull from various points of view and ensure that he'd pruned the horns enough that the length of his hair was sufficient to cover them.

"Meet your expectations?" He teased her. "Do I look human?"

She frowned and the increased breathing came. "You are human, Dara."

He stifled the cringe at hearing her close to sobs again. "Kalin, you needn't concern yourself over me."

"My concern extends to you as it does to all my people," she retorted, her voice still calm. He saw the subtle twitches in the corners of her eyes and watched her swallow the lump in her throat.

"You know full well I'm not one of your people," he answered calmly. "You needn't bear my weight on those frail shoulders of yours. Eat, Kalin."

She opened her mouth to form a rebuttal, but closed it and looked listlessly down at the food. She lifted her bread and her small hands began picking it apart and delicately putting small morsels into her mouth. He watched her for a while before finally reaching for his own ration, devouring it much more ravenously than his sister. Though his portion was larger and her bites smaller, they finished at similar times.

"It's alright to cry," he stated, handing her the bowl of boiled oats. "I won't tell the priests," he added with a wink and a cheeky grin.

She scoffed. "What makes you think I'm crying?"

"You're restraining yourself. It's not healthy." He stated plainly, forcing himself to slow down in the eating of his meal. Gulping it down too hastily could turn on him. His stomach was unaccustomed to food being inside of it.

The two ate in silence for a while, Dara finishing his bowl and Kalin offering him what was left of hers. With the meal completed, Dara set the bowls aside and gathered his sister into his arms. He never realized how truly enormous he was until he saw with her like this. She laid her head against his shoulder, sniffling a bit, but not crying.

"How long? How long until the Darkness comes?"

Dara grimaced. "Fourteen cycles of the moon." The Children's presence was growing stronger. He could feel it every time he stepped toward the mountains outside of Aurora.

"Will the Hero come by then?"

Dara nodded. "I will make is so."

Night came and the people of the city of Aurora barricaded themselves in their homes, as had become tradition. A murky darkness overtook the streets that not even the light of the moon or stars could pervade. As Dara stood, clad once more in the regalia (simple though it was) of the Wraiths, he observed as, one by one, the lights in the houses disappeared, the residents turning in for a fitful sleep with their prayers offered to the Light to protect them for one more night.

His eyes were quite well adjusted to the blackness that came with nightfall. Shapes moved in the space between the houses and represented what was left of the city's guard. The rest were in Albion securing a Hero. Dara stood as the night sentinel, the Seer of Aurora and the leader of the Wraiths. His duties were great, but not so great as the weight Kalin was forced to bear. She was not his sister by birth, but he felt a kinship and a closeness with her that he had experienced with no one else. Perhaps it was because she knew what sort of being he truly was; perhaps he felt a sort of duty to her after her father had saved his life. Whatever the case, however much he hated the Veil that separated his gaze from events of the future and the past, he would need to enshroud himself in its embrace in order glean a clear understanding of what was to occur.

He set the bowl of clear, still water on the ground and seated himself as was proper for meditation and scrying. Peering over the rim, he saw his own reflection staring back at him, the moonlight glowing in his eyes, his features cloaked in the shadow of the cowl and the hood. There was the Veil, thin and delicate as a thread, holding visions of events which may occur in the future, or stories that might have been. Seeing was a cruel gift and one he abhorred. But duty demanded it. He wanted nothing more than the Darkness banished and the Crawler gone.

The barrier was lifted aside and an image flowed before Dara, seizing his form of reality and thrusting him into the strange, dream world of the Veil.

The Hero stood alone, unclothed and shivering, in a large bedroom. The walls were draped in red velvet, the lights casting a dim glow onto a bed of burgundy. The claws of some strange creature had gashed her thigh and a small trickle of red made its way down her leg and to the plush carpet below her feet. The woman's lips were blue with cold, her eyes half-hooded and glazed. The light in them remained, however, and she stared at her surroundings with keen awareness and naked terror.

Reaver stepped into the room, clad in a pair of fine trousers and a fine blouse. He was bereft of the cane which he normally carried and, instead, held a rather magnificent box.

"Isn't it lovely, Princess?" The man said, holding out an intricate diamond necklace. He approached her smoothly and ever so delicately placed the jewelry around her neck. The stones glimmered in the lamplight, making her breast sparkle with riches. The man's hand passed from the corner of her jaw and tapered down her neck, stroking her clavicle before slipping across one breast and stopping at her navel. She did not move. She did not so much as flinch. She simply stood staring forward, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Come now, love, to the bed," Reaver instructed, his grin wicked and licentious..

The Princess obeyed mechanically, the movements jerky, much like those of the rail car when it started in motion. Languidly, she positioned herself on the bed such that she was flat on her back staring up at the ceiling. The diamonds glittered on her chest.

Reaver began slowly removing his clothing, sliding leisurely out of his trousers and tugging his tunic off over his head. The Hero lay still, unmoving, as a bare-skinned Reaver scaled the large bed and lay beside her, his arousal pressed against her buttocks.

"I'm terribly upset that I won't elicit a reaction from you," Reaver mused, walking two of his fingers up her uninjured thigh to stroke her stomach and cup one of her breasts. "But you see, I need this, and it goes far beyond my own deviant ambitions to one day fornicate with royalty." He grinned and idly stroked the skin of her stomach, watching the gooseflesh rise on her arms The diamonds barely moved as she breathed.. "You see," he continued, "Your father sort of did me in with his little bout of bravery, sacrificing himself for your mother and all that. They may have referred to me as 'The Hero of Skill', but I humbly assure you that it was only for my god-like prowess with firearms. I don't have the great lineage you do, my dear." He carefully brushed his fingers over the diamonds and the anatomy present there. "The essence of a Hero made me strong, but it also made it so I can live off of no one else save a Hero. Your brother did not inherit that essence, sadly. Would have made your revolution a bit easier, no? Regardless, you, my dear, did. Would you like to hear how the ritual works?"

The Hero did not respond.

"Hm. Not much of a talker, are you?" Reaver said in a feigned offended tone. "Well, let's just say that you'll be put in front of this…object. You'll be in a lot of pain and you'll probably wish yourself dead, not that it's of any consequence. I'm sure you'll do fine. Besides, at the end, you'll no longer be cursed with your prowess as a Hero. You'll be a husk of a human, in fact. If you are truly unlucky, you'll end up like your father."

The princess' eyes flashed at that, but it was the only reaction.

"Hmm…struck a nerve, have I? Well, I don't know how your father managed to walk away. I suppose I should be glad. He managed to sire one Hero to continue to satiate me after his death. With any luck, you'll be with child after this and I'll have a pool of little snot-nosed brats to consume in the coming years."

Reaver knelt over the princess and tilted her head to the side, trailing long, sloppy kisses down her neck and down to her breasts, which he fondled with unnecessary roughness. "A shame you're a Hero," he mused, poising himself at her entrance. "Your mother put up one hell of a fight. If it weren't for your brutish strength, I'd offer you the same liberty."

Tear streamed from the corners of the Hero's eyes, soaking the crimson sheets as Reaver violated her body from the inside out. Her facial expression did not change, nor did her body behavior. She simply lay there, stiff and unnatural, as Reaver thrust and groaned atop of her. The agony that poured forth from her eyes told the extent of the torture that was inflicted on her soul and her body. Loathing, humiliation, fury, sorrow, hopelessness all burned in her doe-brown eyes. But the light did not die. Whatever she clung to, it kept her strong.

Reaver grunted and stiffened, making a few more harsh thrusts before he half-collapsed onto her, panting in pleasant exhaustion. He stayed as such for a while before removing himself. Angrily, he jerked the princess' arm such that she flopped over onto her belly. He used the pillow, wet with her tears, to prop her hindquarters up a bit more.

"Honestly, my dear, your tears are depressing," Reaver said with a mocking grin and a laugh. He gave a harsh slap to the Hero's rear before roughly gripping her hips and beginning the brutal process anew.

Wetness. Water. Light.

The Hero awoke on the sunny, sandy beach of Aurora's coast, raising to her feet with a groan and bending in half to vomit water. She took the time to unplait her braid and smack the sand from her hair before binding it in a rather unkempt bun at the back of her head. Brown eyes roved along the coast, their light unmated by the sun's rays. "Walter!" she cried out, picking up a quickened pace along the rim of the beach The military uniform she wore sloshed as she loped along. Somewhere along in that time, a dog with chocolate fur the same color as the Hero's hair joined in the hunt. Whoever the search was for, it was a desperate one.

Caves. Darkness. The cackling laugh of the Crawler.

Light burst, suddenly, from a figure being raped by the darkness. The sliming, sticky ooze of the Crawler contorted and danced a grotesque jig around and through the body of the Hero. The light in your eyes offends us, the voice hissed. Put it out, rang the command. Light bled from the Hero's body, torrents rushing out onto the ground and the dark ooze beginning to emerge from her eye sockets. Her flesh writhed where the Darkness had clawed beneath her skin and began wreaking havoc on her very core. She opened her mouth to scream, but only blackness trickled out. The Children danced gaily around her form, happy in satiated at having the Light of a Hero to feed them. The old man that had accompanied her had already been tainted. His corpse lay crumpled to the side, broken, battered, and used. He'd been an appetizer, a tool, nothing more.

Dara yelped and fell back on his haunches, the dark ooze beginning to froth from the scrying dish. He knocked the bowl over and hastily maneuvered and positioned himself to cast a burst of lightning from his fingertip into the writhing pool of inky ooze. The gunk seized and convulsed before dissipating harmlessly. But the Darkness was not dissuaded. Did you like what you saw, Seer? It taunted him, its voice inside his very skull. You were far too interested in Reaver's actions. You are more like him than you know. Dara grunted, clenching his teeth and exhaling slowly. The fit would be over shortly. You cannot stop me. The Light will not defeat me with so pathetic a defense as you. The one called Reaver will taint her, just as the old one is tainted. She will not help you. She will not save you. Your mountains will bow to me, your walls will crumble. We are coming, and you cannot stop us.

Screams echoed in the night. The Children had come to pillage and kill. The Crawler's voice faded from his skull. With a grunt, he rose to his feet.

Dara drew Tantalize from the sheath at his leg and bounded adroitly toward the town, his fellow Wraiths already at work slaying whatever putrid forms of the Darkness' spawn braved their wrath. "Just you wait, Crawler," Dara growled, peering up the hill toward the wilderness cave where the Sand Furies worshiped the Darkness. "You and your spawn will meet your end. I will enjoy every moment of your screams."

All night, they fought. Normally, their numbers were close to twenty men. Now, there were nine, including Dara. The Creeper laughed mockingly in his head as the Children clawed their ways into homes and began dragging people into the night. A horde of them were at his left when he arrived in the fray. Still at a full sprint, Dara leapt into the center of the ring of Children, arching his sword and effectively making each of the little devils disappear with a strangled scream of frustration. He pulled the woman to her feet and helped her limp back into the house. She bolted it behind her and he hastily sprang further into the village. Dara held his sword in his left hand, the pistol in his right, a souvenir from Albion called Desert Fury. He had better vision in the darkness and was a steady shot.

He very rarely used magic. It was different than a Hero's Will and was his essence in its most concentrated form. A Hero's Will was the effect of gauntlets, as he'd seen on the Princes, as Reaver called her. The act of it wearied him and strained his body. But Children were particularly voracious this night and knew him to be the leader. The number of rounds in his pistol became dismally few and he hadn't the time to reload. As quick as he was, he could not dodge and evade very well in enclosed spaces. Seeing the glowing eyes and sharp, impish smiles of the Darkness, he inhaled deeply, clinging to the rage, hurt, and humiliation he'd seen in the Hero's eyes and forced that feeling throughout his body and out further. Earthquakes of lightning ripped from Dara, the epicenter, and efficiently slaughtered the little pests that had begun to claw at his feet.

The effort took its toll. His hands were shaking as he reloaded his pistol and his knees nearly gave out as he bolted to aid one of his men. Five of the Children had over run him and were beginning to claw at his chest and face. Dara shot the ones who held him pinned, picking them off with the pistol before launching himself at the others, Tantalize out before him. The blade met the dark ooze and the scum wailed and disappeared.

"Thanks, Dara," grumbled Pedr, forcing himself to his feet and to battle once more. Dara sprang off in the other direction.

Finally, blessedly, the sun rose above the horizon and the Children dissipated with cackles. But the duties of his men were not yet complete. With their weapons still out, they went and knocked on the doors of each of the houses, giving the all clear and asking for a head count. Dara's station was to catalogue those nearest the hill, farthest from the harbor and at the base of the sandy slope leading toward outside of Aurora. Wmfre's family, Talfryn's family, Alasdair's family, and Comyn's family were all accounted for with casualties save bruises and cuts where Wmfre's wife was dragged from the house.

"May I see?" Dara requested gently.

With great trepidation, the woman pulled up her sleeve to reveal a gash the size of a man's hand and blistering burns all around.

Dara sheathed Tantalize at his calf and delicately supported the woman's arm so that the injured muscles beneath could relax a bit. "Use honey for the burns," he instructed. "Clean the wound with wine. It doesn't seem infected but best not take any chances."

Wmre took his wife by the shoulders and had her step away from Dara. Caution was written over his features as he eyed the Wraith leader up and down. Finally, he gave a curt nod and a muttered "thank you" before stepping inside and locking the door.

They fear you. They hate you. You are tainted and they know it. You will bring their destruction and their demise.

"Pack it in," he grumbled at the voice, striding toward where the other Wraiths were gathering. The city went back to sleep, content that they were safe in the daylight and could ensure a few more hours of rest.

"Dara, we can't keep this up fer much longer," said Donovan. "Our ranks're few enough as it is. We were jus' lucky that those blighters chose to strike the night you returned."

He grimaced at the meaning behind that. "I know. Believe me, I know."

The men started removing their hoods, revealing stern features and hardened souls that had seen and shouldered burdens much harder than most had suffered.

"And since Crevan's across th'sea, we dun' 'ave our 'ealer, save you," said Liam, a stocky youth from the northernmost parts of Aurora, where the nomadic tribes battled with the horrors of the desert to live. "We're jus' lucky none o'us got 'urt."

"What should we do?" Pressed Pedr.

Dara sighed. "I'm recruiting help and, unfortunately, it requires the investment of some resources. For now, see if volunteers will start a militia, at least until we're able to get the other men back over here."

Donovan eyed Dara up and down with his amber eyes. "And by 'resources' you mean yerself. Dara, yer barely standing as it is."

"I'm fine," he stated curtly, with a sharp glance at the older man. "Regardless, I'll be needing to go to Albion shortly. I leave on the next ship." He turned nauseated at the thought. "For now get some rest. We need to stay vigilant. The Darkness is growing restless."