Enakhra meditated.
Meditation was a habit she'd picked up during her time in the temple. She never used to do anything like it before - she'd always found prolonged periods of inaction to be boring - but when you were locked in a temple with no one to interact with other than an Akthanakos rendered even duller than usual, sometimes your only option was to close your eyes and shut off the outside world entirely.
She did it now, the irritants of the outside world fading away, including, at least for the time being, Palkeera.
The camp she'd seen had proven farther than she'd originally thought; she'd forgotten just how open the desert was while she'd spent so much time in the temple. Now that she'd thought on it, doubts plagued her mind like mosquitos around an open wound.
What would the world be like, after so much time had passed? Would she be seen as an ally when she arrived at the Zamorakian camp, or would they brand her a traitor for abandoning them? If she was to encounter Zamorak again (and at this thought her stomach turned anxiously) what would he think of her, pining for him for centuries like a lover left at the altar?
Mentally, she slapped herself and told this hypothetical Enakhra roughly to pull herself together. Whatever had happened to the world, she thought ironically, it couldn't be more bizarre than Enakhra willingly associating herself with Palkeera out of the goodness of her heart.
"Enakhra!"
Speak of the devil.
She let go of the world of darkness and silence reluctantly and rose to her feet. Palkeera stood on a sand dune and seemed to be waving frantically for Enakhra's attention.
"What is it?" she asked sharply as she approached the other Mahjarrat.
"That's definitely a Zamorakian camp," Palkeera said quickly, as though Enakhra might lose focus if she didn't make her report as interesting as possible. "And judging by the charms and tele-blocks around it, it's a very important one."
Enakhra regarded it. What Palkeera said was true. She could feel the power from here.
"Since when does a camp in the middle of the desert need so much protection?" she mused aloud.
"Something important must be there," Palkeera said.
"I can make that particular intellectual leap on my own, thanks very much," Enakhra said as nastily as she could. "Why would something that important be stored in the middle of…" she trailed off and surveyed the surrounding desert. "Here?"
Palkeera stared at the camp. "A great many Zamorakian camps are stored in remote places," she mused, "but those are still places of tactical purpose. I can't imagine why this part of the desert would be among them."
"Well," Enakhra said, "I suppose we'll find out."
…
They were met about a quarter of a mile from the edge of the camp by a pair of demons. Avernics, they were taller even than her and Palkeera, and looked more like they wanted to rip the two Mahjarrat apart than escort them into the camp.
"State your names," one said roughly, glaring at the two of them.
"I am Enakhra, the Mahjarrat," she said, adding the last part because she had never been burned underestimating the intelligence of a demon. "And this is Palkeera. She is with me."
The demon snorted. Its yellow eyes darted from one of the Mahjarrat to the other. "We do not recognize you," it said finally.
Enakhra scowled. "Go into the camp and tell them my name," she said. "If you are still alive when they realize that you have kept me waiting, come back and give us our proper treatment."
It was something of a bluff. Too long had passed for Enakhra to be sure of her standing amongst the Zamorakians, but she doubted that it had been long enough for them to forget her name entirely.
The demon snorted again, a decidedly ungraceful movement, and locked eyes with its silent companion. The other demon seemed to nod imperceptibly towards the camp.
"Good," Enakhra said. "It looks like your friend has some brains in his head. I suggest you listen to him."
Instead of turning as Enakhra expected them to, the two stepped forward. The loquacious demon seized Enakhra's wrist, the other demon doing the same to Palkeera.
Immediately Enakhra began to struggle. "Unhand me," she snarled. She felt power rising up inside of her, ready to strike at the two demons. From beside her, she heard Palkeera utter a similar oath, and Enakhra would have been impressed had every emotion not been occupied by fury.
"I don't think that will be necessary," a horribly familiar voice from behind them said, interrupting what was soon to be the quick deaths of both of the demons. Enakhra's heart sank into her bowels at the sound of it, the buildup of power going with it.
She had wondered if he were still alive, but if there was one thing Zemouregal was good at, it was looking after his own stinking hide.
She turned to face him. He stood just as arrogantly as he had in the Second Age, if not more so now that he'd fought and won a thousand battles, and now his face was twisted in a sick gleefulness as his gaze washed over Enakhra.
"It's very good to see you again, Enakhra," he said softly. Enakhra spat at his feet. Zemouregal pretended not to notice, but the demon that had hold of her wrist tightened his grip.
"And Palkeera," he said, turning to the other Mahjarrat. Palkeera gazed blankly at him as he looked her up and down quickly. "Swallowed a stone, did we? I wouldn't be surprised."
Palkeera didn't say anything, and Enakhra had the rare pleasure of seeing Zemouregal look disgruntled. "Well," he said, turning back to her. "We'll figure out that mystery soon enough."
Despite herself, Enakhra felt a twinge of interest. So it wasn't him.
"Tell me," Zemouregal said, steeping forward to meet her gaze. "Why have you crawled from your hole, Enakhra? Do you perhaps entertain the idea that Zamorak has changed his mind in all the eons you haven't spent helping him, as I have?"
Enakhra wasn't prepared for the swell of emotion that came at Zemouregal's words. He smirked, and Enakhra longed to burn it off of his face.
"That's none of your concern," Enakhra said.
"And why," Zemouregal continued, ignoring her, "do you travel with her?" At this he jerked his head towards Palkeera.
"See the above," Enakhra said.
Zemouregal straightened, and the demons behind Enakhra did the same. "Well," he said again. "You'll have to tell me all about it later. Your presence is requested."
"By whom?" Enakhra asked.
"Abbagoth Tsutsaroth, warlord of the camp Fury-of-War," Zemouregal said. "And me. Mostly me, really, but don't tell him that."
He turned to the two demons and gave what seemed to Enakhra to be an unintelligible gesture. The two demons let Enakhra go. She glared at them both.
"What makes you think we'll go with you?" Palkeera asked, breaking her long silence.
Zemouregal turned his burning eyes on her. He flicked his wrist, and a jet of white flame erupted from his hand, scorching the sand beneath it until it turned almost molten. Enakhra fought to keep her expression neutral, but she knew that that was far more power than she possessed. What have you been up to? She asked him mentally.
"Is that reason enough?" Zemouregal asked Palkeera conversationally. He didn't wait for her to answer, and instead turned to the two demons once again. "Come," he threw behind him, "Abbagon is an impatient soul, and I am even more so."
With that, he set off for the camp, the two demons marching at either shoulder. Reluctantly, Enakhra followed them as Palkeera fell in line next to her as though magnetized.
"Do you know him?" she asked her.
"Don't you?" Enakhra asked.
Palkeera shrugged. "I know his name, but I've never talked to him."
Enakhra found the idea of Zemouregal ignoring Palkeera even in his long-standing search for a suitable child-bearer darkly hilarious, and would have laughed aloud in any other circumstance.
"He's bad news, if you haven't figured that out," Enakhra told her. "I'd hoped to get where we're going without encountering him, but I suppose that's impossible anyway."
"You don't think he'll keep us here?" Palkeera whispered as they drew closer to the camp. She glanced anxiously down at her stomach.
Enakhra frowned. That would be rich; a few thousand years inside the temple, only to be taken prisoner upon emerging, by those supposed to be on her side.
She looked around. The demons she could overpower easily enough, but Zemouregal was another matter. She was not at all sure that she would be much more than an amusing diversion for him, much as it pained her to admit.
Fury-of-War drew closer. What Enakhra had expected to be a looming fortress from a distance was not, upon closer inspection, that large at all. It had no walls, and did not loom as much as glare evenly from a similar height. She wondered if there was some illusory magic put over it.
Zemouregal stopped just outside of the camp. The pair of demons followed suit clumsily.
"Hmm," he grunted.
"Got a problem?" Enakhra asked. "If we're stopped here, can we go home for the day?" In truth, she could feel the same thing Zemouregal felt. There was a strong magical presence around the camp.
"Shut up," Zemouregal snapped. Enakhra raised an eyebrow. Zemouregal was usually more creative with his insults.
Slowly, the Mahjarrat raised his hands up. All of a sudden, they met an invisible resistance. Waves briefly rose and spread outward from his palms, but soon subsided.
He lowered his hands. "Arrogant bastard," he said lightly. He snapped his fingers. For a few seconds, nothing seemed to happen. Then, the air around the camp turned a bright blue. Runes, mixed with ancient symbols from the Infernal tongue, appeared briefly in the dome, before the whole thing dissipated into mist.
Zemouregal seemed extremely pleased with himself. "Did you two know anything about this?" he asked the demons. There was no anger in his voice; indeed, he sounded almost amused, as though he had just won a friendly game and wanted to assure his opponent there was no ill will.
The silent demon shook his head, while the other one exclaimed, "What, and lock ourselves out?" If Enakhra was any judge of character, however (and she prided herself on being a very good one), both demons looked as though they had something to hide.
"No matter," Zemouregal said. "I'll have a bit of a talk with our dear leader after I present our guests."
He started off again, into the camp. Palkeera cast a hopeless glance at Enakhra, and Enkahra looked away.
"We should do as he says," Enakhra said mutedly, feeling the words like poison on her tongue. "At least, for now."
She didn't look to see Palkeera's reaction, and instead started to follow the two demons. After a few moments, she heard footsteps behind her as Palkeera followed.
…
Abbagoth Tsutsaroth was having a bad day, and Zemouregal's return did not make it any better.
"My lord," the insufferable Mahjarrat said, dipping into an exaggerated bow. They were alone in the tent once again.
"I thought you weren't coming," Abbagoth said. The headache from before remained, unsurprisingly. "Does Enakhra's feminine mystique charm you that much?"
"I'm afraid you can't bring me down today, Abbagoth," Zemouregal said cheerfully. He dropped into an impromptu dance routine, shuffling up and down the tent in what Abbagoth faintly recalled to be an approximation of a human cultural dance.
Idly, Abbagoth wondered just how robust a Mahjarrat's neck bone was.
These pleasant and productive thoughts were interrupted when Zemouregal stopped his dance and stared Abbagoth right in the face, grinning as though he had a great secret that he couldn't wait to tell Abbagoth.
"Are you surprised that I evaded your trap?" he asked.
"Trap?" Abbagoth asked irritably.
"The barrier of magic around the camp you made to lock me out," Zemouregal said smugly.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Abbagoth said truthfully, although he filed away the thought of a Zemouregal-proof barrier as an idea to explore later.
Zemouregal's gaze wavered for a moment, but solidified soon enough. "It matters not," he said carelessly.
"Get to your point, if you have no more conspiracy theories to delight me with," Abbagoth said.
"I have brought her to the camp," Zemouregal said. "Her and her friend."
"Her friend?" Abbagoth asked, shuffling papers on his desk but listening closely.
"Palkeera," Zemouregal said with a hint of distaste in his voice.
Abbagoth cocked his head. "I haven't heard of her."
"I'm not surprised," the Mahjarrat said. He grinned again. "She's kind of a loser."
"I'll take your word for it," Abbagoth said, glancing down at his desk again. It was a fine desk, imported from the vast oak woods of Forinthry. The papers he'd been shuffling were nonsense, of course; forms for permission for this or that or legal or less-than-legal disputes. He felt obscene, like a damned Cthonian, swimming in paperwork and doing his best to deny his true nature.
"Bring her here," he said finally.
Zemouregal's mouth quirked. "My lord?" he asked.
"What were you planning on doing, sitting on her?" Abbagoth asked. "If she is as loyal as you maintain-"
"I said no such thing," Zemouregal said.
"Fine. If she is as loyal as she once was – and I have no reason to doubt that – then we have nothing to fear from her. Indeed, we can always use more Mahjarrat on our side." He smirked at Zemouregal.
The Mahjarrat frowned and seemed to let this reasoning wash over him. "Then let me be present," he said. "To ensure your safety."
Abbagoth waved his hand. "Do as you like."
Zemouregal's earlier good mood seemed to have vanished without a trace. His frown deepened, and he bowed to Abbagoth, beginning to withdraw from the tent.
"Zemouregal?" Abbagoth said. The Mahjarrat paused and fixed the demon with his unblinking gaze, for once remaining silent.
"Do master your emotions when she is present," Abbagoth said. "There is a time and place for boyish crushes, and this one is neither."
Zemouregal turned as if on a wire and left the tent.
Abbagoth sighed and put his head in his hands. He wondered if he'd pushed Zemouregal too far with that one. Allies were hard to come by in this part of Gielinor, and annoying as he was, Zemouregal was one of them.
He let his gaze fall on the letter, sitting primly amongst the mess of papers and material, its crimson seal broken just hours before.
Abbagoth picked it up again, stared at the words. They were orders from Zamorak himself. Reading them again made his heart beat faster, even though he'd already done so many times before.
Soon, it would be time to prove himself, and there and then he made an oath with himself that he would not let the opportunity go to waste.
…
The demons were foul creatures, Enakhra reflected darkly. She had never liked demons, of any breed. Of course she worked with them, for her lord's sake, but (and she would never dream of questioning him) she felt sure that Zamorak would have been better served with creatures whose average intelligence was higher than a carrion bird's.
She and Palkeera had been roughly ushered into a small cell in an only slightly larger tent at the edge of the camp. The bars were reinforced with strong magic, and Enakhra could sense two demon guards at the mouth of the tent.
She wondered if she could break through the bars, and then discarded the idea. Whoever had made the enchantment that surrounded them was very powerful, more powerful than anything she could conjure. Enakhra hated to consider the possibility that it might have been Zemouregal.
"Bastard," she said finally. Palkeera looked up from where she sat in the corner of the room. The other Mahjarrat's face was despondent.
"Who?" she asked. Enakhra ignored the momentary break in her voice.
"You know who," Enakhra snarled. "He thinks he's the king of the world just because he spends all his time away from his own kind. Let him return to Freneskae for a while, and we'll see if he thinks so highly of himself."
She whirled on the bone guard, who had been studiously hunted down by another demon and placed in the cell with them. "What are you looking at?" she asked it harshly. "Is this a show for you? Are you well entertained?"
The bone guard stared back, black eyes unblinking.
Enakhra looked at Palkeera. The other Mahjarrat cast her glance down and laid her hands on her stomach.
"How much longer, do you think?" Enakhra asked.
Palkeera shrugged. "It could be at any time." She smiled wearily as she let her fingers play on her stomach, as though even with its high cost she couldn't wait for the day to arrive.
Enakhra stopped her pacing. "Are you afraid?" she asked bluntly.
Palkeera's fingers stilled. "Of what?" she asked.
Enakhra remained silent.
Palkeera sighed. "I would be lying if I said I am not," she said. "I don't want to die."
There was silence in the cell.
Unexpectedly, Palkeera looked up at Enakhra and smiled. This was not the weary smile of before, but a full smile, as though a thousand years of cares and hurts had dropped from her. "And yet I could not imagine dying for a better cause," she said.
Enakhra stared at the other Mahjarrat for a while, before slumping to the ground, leaning against the wall. She stared at Palkeera. "Remind me never to get pregnant," she said.
Palkeera laughed.
The two did not talk again until a loud banging on the cell doors stirred them both from their thoughts. A demon, yellow eyes flashing the darkness, stood at the door, keys in hand.
"Your presence is requested by Lord Tsutsaroth and the Mahjarrat Zemouregal," it said. "Please come with me." Enakhra got to her feet. Palkeera strained pitifully until Enakhra gave in and helped her up.
"We'll make it where we're going," Enakhra told her in a sudden fit of what another person might call kindness.
Palkeera smiled at her, but did not respond as the two were led by the demon into the blistering desert air.
Phew! This one took longer than I thought it would. Not my fault (this time); NaNoWriMo sucked up all my writing last month.
Anyway, I know it seems like Abbagoth's POV is slowly taking over Enakhra's chapters (it's just so much fun to write Zemouregal), but I promise starting next time around that the storylines will merge and it will start being solely from Enakhra's perspective once again. Pinkie swear!
Thanks to everyone for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!