You will pay for that, Kashada fumed. She watched as her companions departed, then she turned to her hosts. They had gathered together, cooking supplies in hand, and awaited her with eager, expectant expressions. She resisted rolling her eyes and motioned for them to begin.
The dryads swarmed around, chattering and laughing incessantly. Kashada pretended to watch. She began a spell, keeping her movements subtle and whispering the arcane words. The shadows draped across her body darkened and spread out. They grew thicker, more rigid, more substantial. They cocooned her body, but unlike before, when she had manipulated them merely to aid in her rest, the new ones hardened and formed a shell of darkness. She breathed another phrase, and the gloom deepened. It began to glow very faintly in the silvery light of the plane, a purple hue that was nearly black.
One of the dryads stopped her work and stared at Kashada, mouth agape. When she noticed the mystic returning her gaze, her eyes grew wide and she cowered, shouting something in a shrill voice. The other fey creatures halted their tasks. Some watched their guest, dumbfounded, while others began to scramble to escape her presence.
Kashada smiled, then she laughed. "It's much too late for that," she said. Then she uttered the final phrase of her spell.
The purple-black shadows expanded from her body in a great sphere. The dryads shrieked and tried to flee. One attempted to meld into the great branch upon which the tree-house had been constructed. Another dived toward an open window to escape. Most of the rest flailed and clamored to slip through the doorways.
None were fast enough.
The blackness engulfed all of the dryads. Its boundary soared outward, catching each and every one of the elflike women in its embrace. They wailed and babbled in their odd, woodland language and staggered around, blind. Kashada laughed, for she could still see. The world had turned a beautiful, shadowy plum to her eyes.
One dryad shuffled toward Kashada, a small dagger in her hand. The dryad felt for the woman, and Kashada did nothing to evade her. When her hand brushed against Kashada's arm, the dryad stabbed at her, trying to ram the dagger deep into the mystic's flesh.
The blade struck shadowstuff and snapped.
The dryad wailed in dismay and fell away again.
The dryads thrashed and flailed as the arcane gloom did its work. Tendrils of the stuff wrapped around limbs, encircled waists, coiled around necks. It grappled with those trapped inside it, enveloping them with darker, firmer umbra.
Kashada laughed as the fey fought against the snaking tendrils. She smiled as the one who had tried to stab her clutched at her own throat, gasping for breath. Kashada walked among them, watching in delight as one by one the dryads' struggles grew weaker, then stopped altogether. The shadowstuff continued to wind itself around them like black, gauzy funeral wrappings. Tighter and tighter it wove, until each dryad was nothing more than an oblong lump of black within the purple nightworld Kashada had created with her magic.
Finally, the spell finished its work and vanished, returning the surroundings to their original silvery hue and brightness. Kashada sighed. She had so enjoyed watching the transformation. It had been particularly satisfying to see the wretched fey succumb to her magic. She was only sorry there hadn't been more of them to ensnare. All in all, though, she was content.
She spoke, then, in a language few would understand in the normal world. Her voice carried, ringing loudly and clearly to pierce the veils of shimmering shadow that still surrounded the dryads. "My pets," she said, "I have a task for you. Others come along the path that I followed to arrive here. You will wait and watch for them, and when they appear, you will destroy them."
Before she left, Kashada took up flint and steel and ignited a bit of tinder. She then lit an oil-soaked rag wrapped around one of her long-bladed daggers and walked among the tree houses, setting them ablaze. She fired the strange, silky ropes that made up the bridges and ladders. She looked back once and watched as the little dryad community became charred ruins.
Kaanyr sat cross-legged and stared at the ground. The sullen glare he had leveled at his two guards had done nothing to make him feel any better, so he gave it up. That and the fact that holding his head up while it was encased in so much iron exhausted him. The strange harness held a thick metal brank in place in his mouth, keeping his tongue flattened so that he had no way of speaking. Kaanyr's jailors had locked the thing behind his head, where he could not see.
Even if he could study the security, it wouldn't make a difference. Thick leather bags wrapped tightly around his hands kept them secure, as well. He sensed that he was clenching some sort of round object, like a ball, in each hand, which forced them into fists. He could barely move his fingers within the confines of the bags. To further restrain him, they had fastened metal manacles to his wrists, and those were locked to a metal belt that encircled his waist.
There was no way he was going to work the brank harness free, even if he could see the fastener.
Nor could he unlock the thick chain that held him fast, one end around his neck, the other around a large tree. His jailors were taking no chances.
The hound archons who had captured Kaanyr had said nothing to him. He came to from his blackout feeling woozy and disoriented. It took a few moments for him to remember where he was. By that time, the warriors had subdued him with rope and threats of worse if he even tried to resist them. Other than that, they simply escorted him back to the clearing where the ambush had begun.
No one's even asked me any questions, Vhok thought. Wasn't that why they wanted to capture us so badly? To see what we know about Zasian?
Recalling the traitorous priest made Kaanyr scowl. The cambion still couldn't decide at whom he was angrier. Though most of his woes could be traced back to Zasian's underhanded manipulation, Kaanyr knew he was still responsible for setting the events in motion in the first place.
Aliisza was right, he thought glumly. I became so caught up in seizing Sundabar from Helm Dwarf-friend that I grew careless. But they're still bastards. All of them. Zasian and Helm can rot in the Abyss. And Tauran and Kael. And Micus and Tyr. All of them! And you can toss that no-good alu in with them, too.
Kaanyr had spent the first part of his captivity anticipating a rescue from Aliisza, but as the time dragged by and it grew dark, he began to doubt that she would return for him. The logical part of him realized there was no way his lover could overwhelm an entire camp of astral devas and their hound archon minions. That would just get them both caught.
But damn it, I want her to try! I'm still supposed to matter to her, despite what happened here. It's still her, isn't it?
Kaanyr snorted then, an expression of resignation. Of course it's still her. And she's long gone by now. She and her two holier-than-thou fops have left me here to rot. Hells, I would have done the same thing to her.
"Good evening, Vhok," an angel said as he approached the cambion. "I imagine you are hungry." He was one of the two who had captured him earlier.
An archon stood behind the deva holding a tray of something that smelled delicious. He set it on the ground near Kaanyr as the angel squatted down next to the cambion.
"I want to take this brank harness off you, Vhok, but if I do, I have to have your vow that you will not speak, only eat. We can't have you attempting to cast any spells. Do you understand?"
Kaanyr eyed the food, which consisted of a thick slice of roasted meat, a slab of cheese, a hunk of bread, and some berries still on a snip of vine. The aroma of the meat and bread made his mouth water, but he hated giving in so easily to the wretched celestials. He looked away from the tray and back at the angel and made no gesture at all.