Enakhra didn't remember, after the fact, when she had first attacked the camp.
She did remember when it appeared on the horizon after almost ten hours of hiking through the vast desert. The trip was mostly silent; Zemouregal didn't bother to speak to either of them, and Palkeera and she had only exchanged a few short words when necessary. Mostly, she thought.
The desert was flat enough that for hours after they'd left the Zamorakian camp, its silhouette could still be faintly seen. Zemouregal had grumbled darkly to himself about tactical disadvantages and visibility in a hostile environment, but when he realized neither of the other Mahjarrat were listening, he quieted down.
When their target finally did appear, they halted as one to stare at it. Zemouregal's face, which had borne an expression of mild disappointment the whole way over, transformed into a grin that reminded Enakhra of why she hated him. Palkeera's face was neutral, but, Enakhra noted with approval, she unconsciously shifted into a fighting stance.
"How many soldiers do you think are here?" Enakhra asked.
Palkeera remained silent. "There must be thousands," Zemouregal whispered with a kind of awe. "Maybe tens of thousands."
Enakhra frowned. Mahjarrat were powerful, but to take on thousands of enemies at once was foolish even for one of them. What concerned her more was that Zemouregal didn't seem to be concerned about it at all.
Confidence or suicidal foolishness? She thought. The two tended to merge when dealing with Zemouregal.
"How many civilians, then?" she asked.
The other two looked at her as if she were insane. "Civilians?" Zemouregal asked. He laughed, loud and long and didn't seem to want to dignify her with a response.
Palkeera looked at her and shrugged. "He's right," she admitted. "In the desert especially. Times have changed, Enakhra. Everyone here will likely be armed."
Palkeera was looking at her with sympathy, as if she imagined Enakhra particularly cared if non-combatants were harmed. This just meant that there were more people in the camp who could defend themselves.
The bone guard arrived behind them as quiet as the grave. Zemouregal gave it a dark look, and turned away and began to mutter under his breath. Enakhra tried to listen, but the words slid away from her mind and defied definition. An incantation, she thought.
Sure enough, she thought she could feel movement beneath her feet as ancient warriors answered Zemouregal's call. Palkeera could feel it too, if the nauseous look on her face was any indication. The other Mahjarrat had never liked Zemouregal's necromancy, but Enakhra was somewhat amused to find that even the God Wars hadn't dulled that distaste.
Despite that, she couldn't help but feel nervous. A fight like this would push her to the limit of what she could do even in the old days, and her time in the temple could not have done her any good. For the first time, she found herself wishing that Abbagoth had-
In an instant she quashed those thoughts. Weakness. She couldn't afford any of that in the coming fight.
Around her, the long-rotted bodies of Zemouregal's new host began to claw its way out of the sand. Most of them bore Menaphite colors, but she spotted some Zarosians, which pleased her. And appealed to her sense of justice.
Then they attacked, and her memory blurred.
She remembered feelings; anger, bloodlust, satisfaction as the uncountable bodies of her enemies were destroyed before their screams and alarms rang out overhead. Flashes of red and the occasional visage of human suffering were present as well, which she appreciated.
In the moment, it was clear, she knew. It was glorious.
Her memory began again in a mountain of corpses sprawled in the unsettled sand, blood soaking into the gleaming white. She took a look around. Zemouregal was nowhere to be found, although she thought if she traced the screams she might get a good idea. She had the sense some time had passed, and the sun was lower in the sky than it had been.
She was alone. Palkeera had parted with her somewhere along the way; she didn't remember how, but she knew in that moment that there was nothing to worry about.
She surveyed the wreckage around her. Ten thousand may have been a large number for a Mahjarrat, but evidently to Zemouregal's hordes it was nothing. Tents lay on the ground in tatters, covering the bodies that they once sheltered. In the distance, she heard the screams of humans as they attempted to flee their gruesome fates. The air had cooled as the sun set, which Enakhra appreciated.
Before she could set off across the battlefield, though, a trio of Menaphite soldiers presented themselves to her.
"Halt!" the leader yelled, his uniform in tatters and leaning surreptitiously on his spear. "Stern Judge of Icthlarin! We will not allow you to go any further!"
"Oh," Enakhra said. "That's terrible. Are you sure you wouldn't reconsider?"
The soldiers looked at one another, before the other two turned to their leader. "No!" he said. "You have slaughtered our people for too long!"
Enakhra looked closely at the man. His eyes were terrified, but his posture was set. There was anger, and helplessness. She couldn't remember the last time she felt helpless, but she could recognize it in humans.
She was his last bet to redeem himself, to expend the collective anger of a people who had been metaphorically spat upon by the entire world and had just gotten a huge one right in the eye. She could respect that.
"Listen, little man," she said. "You should run before I decide to kill you. I've had a good day, and normally I wouldn't do this, but sometimes exceptions can be made."
She called fire into her hands. "Or, I can burn your skin off and grind your bones into spears and keep your heads mounted upon them, which would make my day even better. Eh?"
The soldiers looked at one another again, fear in their eyes. Their leader ignored them at stared at her. His eyes hadn't changed, but she was sure he didn't mean for her to see his spear shaking ever so slightly. She felt the bone guard brush up against her, having come from gods-knew-where, which gave her several fun and creative ideas.
"That was a joke," Enakhra explained. "I would never let you get away."
The soldiers looked at each other again, which cost them precious seconds when the bone guard leapt seemingly entirely of its own accord towards them and commenced, with superhuman speed and strength, to rip the men apart.
Enakhra smiled. It was almost worth keeping Akthanakos about just for that.
When the two soldiers died in front of him, and the bone guard turned to him, the leader set off a long, low, wail. Its human-ness amused Enakhra, and she held up her hand to halt the guard for a moment.
She knelt beside him, where he lay after Akthanakos had tackled him. "You're funny," she said. The man looked up at her with hate in his eyes. "You made my day a whole lot better, and for that I thank you. If it's any consolation, you've proven a point to me. Or rather, reminded me of a lesson I never should have forgotten."
He stared at her again. The hate had vanished, replaced by fear. "So I'll let you in on a secret," she said.
"You died because you were weak," she said. "You were ballast in the grand scheme of the universe. Sorry, I mean that in as kind a way as I can. I like you, really, and I would like to let you go, but we can't always get what we want."
"The world is always working towards perfection. That's the beautiful thing. The trouble is, people like you and Zaros and kings and such get in the way. Eventually, you will all get blown away in the wind, and the strong, like me, will remain." She shrugged. "Perhaps someday a long time from now I will be conquered, like you have been. That's OK, because something better will take my place. Zamorak taught me this a long time ago, and I love him for it."
For a moment, only she and the man existed in the world.
Enakhra smiled. "But shhh," she said. "It's a secret."
The bone guard leapt for the man as soon as she stood up, and his screams cut short most satisfyingly.
They were replaced, however, by slow clapping from behind her. She turned to find Zemouregal, face split in a wide grin. "Bravo," he said. "Wonderful. I'm inspired, personally."
She shot him a dirty look, but it was hard to feel ill will right now, even towards Zemouregal. "Glad to hear it," she said. "You could use some inspiration. Where's Palkeera?"
Zemouregal raised an eyebrow. "You're still into her? Even after that speech?"
Enakhra stared at him stonily.
Zemouregal shrugged. "Don't ask me," he said. "I lost track of her after the battle began. She can't be far, I'm guessing, if you follow the sound of relentless complaining."
"Thanks for the informative report," she said, and turned away from to venture further into the ruined camp.
"Don't thank me," Zemouregal called after her as she lost sight of him behind the massive burning wreck of a tent. "Thank my glorious and total dedication to victory!"
…
She finally found the other Mahjarrat crouched in the ruins of what must have been a medical tent. One hand was pressed firmly against the old wound in her stomach, while the other searched frantically in the sand for something.
Enakhra frowned at this, and the slowly-spreading dark stain that was creeping out from under her hand. "Are you all right?"
Palkeera looked up, startled. "Oh! Enakhra!" She smiled painfully, but with feeling. "I was looking for you."
"Are you all right?" she repeated.
"Oh! Yes!" Palkeera removed her hand from the wound almost sheepishly. "Yes, well, it's nothing serious. Nothing I can't handle." She shrugged. "I know I should be conserving my energy, but really, Enakhra, it's fine. Thank you for your concern."
The battle had died down. What remained of the Menaphite forces had fled into the desert. Whatever trouble they'd make as bandits was beyond their concern by now. All that remained were the Mahjarrat and Zemouregal's zombies, which must have numbered in the thousands. Most had returned to their master, but she could see some milling about in the corner of her eye.
"Where's Zemouregal?" Palkeera asked. She had found a bandage clean enough and was applying it to her wound. Enakhra was impressed. She had not known Palkeera was capable of field medicine, but she supposed that she must be if she had survived for so long.
"I don't know," she said, sitting next to the other Mahjarrat. "Do we want to see him?"
"I thought we were supposed to meet up with him," Palkeera said.
"In his mind, maybe," Enakhra scoffed. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather use magic?"
Palkeera frowned, and looked down at the bandage. "No," she said. "Too risky."
They both knew what she was talking about. Presumably, the child Palkeera bore was relying mostly on the energy in its mother's body, as was the case with most Mahjarrat prgenancies, who did not eat or drink but relied on magic.
A loud bellow from across the camp sounded. Startled, Enakhra looked up to see Zemouregal's army crumble.
The zombies stopped as if a cord had been cut. All around them, skeletons disassembled into a pile of bones and more freshly added zombies simply fell. A stench of death rose as if eager to reclaim the gap that it had been so far excluded from.
Enakhra sighed. "We'd better find him," she said.
…
The other Mahjarrat was furious.
Enakhra half-expected him to held captive somehow, because she couldn't imagine Zemouregal willingly giving up control of an undead army. He wasn't, but he stomped around the clearing with all the fury of a thunderstorm.
"How did this happen?!" he demanded. His eyes swiveled to lock on Enakhra and Palkeera. "You did this," he snarled at the pregnant Mahjarrat. "Somehow-"
"Yeah right," Enakhra snorted. "That's exactly what happened. We care so much about seeing you throw a tantrum that we'd hide your toys. Are you going to report us to the teacher?"
For a second, Enakhra thought she'd gone too far, because when Zemouregal looked at her his eyes were filled with fury she hadn't seen for a long time. Then he looked back at Palkeera. "Well?" he asked. "Was it you?"
"No," Palkeera answered calmly. "I had nothing to do with this."
Zemouregal snarled, but took his focus off of her and leveled it to the ground. Or the world in general.
"Something is going on," he said, finally. "I think there may be a traitor in our midst."
Enakhra and Palkeera looked at one another.
"Not our midst," he growled. "The demons. Abbagoth, maybe-"
"Your proof for this being?" Enakhra asked.
"The shield outside of the camp," Zemouregal said. "Someone put it up. To keep me out."
"Get your head examined," Enakhra retorted. "A traitor in the ranks of Abbagoth's host would be after more than just you. And they would have to be more deluded than Saradomin to lock three Mahjarrat out of somewhere they wanted to be… and then try again."
Zemouregal glared at her again. "Fine, whatever," he said. "But you see, don't you? Something is going on. And this time, they targeted me specifically. Don't try to deny it. My zombies are mine alone and they know it."
Enakhra had to admit, he had a point. She wasn't stupid. She'd wondered about the shield outside of the camp, too. She thought it might have been one of the idiotic power plays nobles with too much power and nothing to do (namely Abbagoth) made against one another, but this was something else.
"Then what do you want to do?" She asked.
"We should go back," Palkeera interjected. "We should bring the matter to Abbagoth. He may dislike Zemouregal, but he would put it aside if the safety of his forces was in danger."
"We'll see about that," Zemouregal muttered, but didn't offer any argument.
"In the meantime," Enakhra said, "we should wait for the sun to come up and make sure nobody returns to this place."
"And how to we do that?" Zemouregal said. "I don't feel like standing guard all night."
Enakhra smiled. "We make sure nobody wants to return."
Silence, and then Zemouregal gave his first smile since the zombies collapsed. He summoned flame into one outstretched hand. "I could get behind that."
As they turned to begin to long process of destroying anything viable in the campsite, Enakhra wondered about the future. Palkeera still wouldn't tell her the specifics of what she wanted to do in the North, and Zemouregal's traitor would provide an… interesting challenge in the days to come, but despite that she felt rather good about it. She felt right once again.
It felt good.
Hey everyone! Sorry about the ridiculously long wait. I can't even use college as an excuse because I know I had the time to write. Oh well. I hope this one was worth the wait. I promise I'll try to do better next time, but I've said that like fifty billion times already so if you disregard it, I wouldn't blame you at all.
Secondly, as for Enakhra's philosophical spiel in this chapter, I'd like to disclaim that it's not necessarily what I think of Zamorakianism (Zamorakianology? Zamorakianite?), or what I believe in real life. Enakhra isn't exactly the sole authority on her religion, after all, and a few thousand years of relative isolation can wreak havoc on one's view of the world, to say the least.
And lastly, uh, I don't own RuneScape n stuff
Have a happy New Year!