Chosen: Book 1 in the Ancients of Light series (6 page)

Gaining control over the swirling visions,
the last receded and Kaitriana pushed the tangled curls back from
her face before clutching at her head. Much had changed in the
Realm and in the world during the five centuries she had been away,
though the battle between the Light and Dark had never ceased. The
strength of the Light had suffered greatly when the last of the
Witch Queens had died well before her birth, but since Kaitriana
had exited, much of the world seemed to have fallen under Rhydach’s
control. The Light was failing in its purpose to keep the evil from
infiltrating mankind.

During her earlier life, the Darks had mainly
been contained within the remote countrysides of the area that the
humans called Europe and only occasionally crossed paths with the
mortals. With the assistance of magic from the Realm’s inhabitants,
the unpopulated vast landscapes had allowed the ongoings of the
Realm to remain well-hidden from the occupants of the land they
shared.

Rhydach had apparently capitalized on the
technology boom of the twenty-first century and now his evil
encroached on other areas of the world. He threatened both mankind
and the secrecy of the immortals that comprised the Realm.
Myrrdyn’s memories also had given her the understanding that many
former members of both Light and Dark factions had ceased their
affiliation with the Realm entirely and sought anonymous existence
amongst the human population. The exodus of immortals was much
greater now than in the times prior to her absence. All of it was
troubling.

Gingerly Kaitriana swung her legs over the
bed; she had control of her body once more. Though the dull ache at
the base of her head lingered, she felt stronger. Her gaze captured
the stone walls of her surroundings and the rich décor of the room
that she occupied, though she knew that the richness of her
surroundings ended at the door. She was at Laverock, the childhood
home of the Warrior of Light, the old castle that had once been the
glory of the Warrior Caste.

Even before the last recollection had left
her, the thoughts had begun to form and she already knew the path
she would follow this night. A wicked smile played over her lips as
she idly waved her hand and the garb she chose for the evening
appeared. She would be a vision in the white gown, embellished with
the gold threaded designs that bespoke her identification with the
Warrior Caste of Witch. Her attention was drawn by a piece of paper
under the chalice…cup… on the nightstand. Leaning forward, her
senses could pick up the sweet scent of wine as she recognized the
scrawl of her grandfather’s script…

Kaitriana –

Assume your Rightful Place
this eve.

The Witch and the Vampire,
two of Birth and of Right, joined shall bring the Light to its
Purpose and banish the Dark.

-
Grandpapa, the Sorcerer
of Light

Kaitriana laughed, as if she needed a
reminder of exactly
who
he was. She
brightened immediately with the understanding the despite her mix
of Vampire and Witch traits, Myrrdyn still held that she was the
Chosen. She would unite the two Light factions once more and
finally bring end to Rhydach and his kind.

Shaking off the lingering sadness - there
would be time to mourn after - she pushed free of the bedding and
shuffled in the direction of the door on the south wall of the
room. She knew without doubt that Myrrdyn had installed for her one
of those modern bathing chambers…she grasped for the word…shower.
Her mission could be forestalled long enough for her to make sure
she was splendid for her revenge.

Aye, Kaitriana was aware that together
Rhydach and Cordelia had ravaged the Light with destruction and
death while she slept. Her one-time rival had become a consort to
her enemy and a mate to the Ancient Dark leader. But no more, their
reign would begin to crumble tonight. This eve Kaitriana would
begin the war that would lead to the end of the Darks.

Her mind was set on finding the one that had
yet to be punished for the death of her parents; she would give the
killer his real memories again, right before she crushed every bone
within him. She would destroy all that was Rhydach’s in her path of
vengeance. Lightning danced high in the sky outside the windows of
the chamber as she pushed through the doorway on the far wall. Her
sigh of delight at viewing the plush chamber echoed behind.

CHAPTER 7

Jortha shouldered through the massive oak and
iron laden doors into the private gathering chamber of the Elite,
his face paled in panic and strained with the pain that quick
movement caused his old injury. Lorcan’s head shifted in his
direction and he perused the witch slowly. He could tell that
something had agitated Jortha.

After a brief and impatient look at the
warriors gathered around, he stood. A sigh accompanied his query
while rubbing his forehead wearily, “What troubles you so this eve
Jortha, that you would eagerly join me in a room filled with your
enemy?” Lorcan glanced back meaningfully at his companions before
settling his gaze on Jortha.

The young witch stopped just short of the
table, no heed given to the foe that lingered close. In Lorcan’s
presence he feared them not. The news he carried required the
interruption, “Sir, there is something seriously amiss this night;
I have felt nothing like this in my existence.”

Alarmed panics were not Jortha’s norm, nor
were exaggerations or ventures into any gathering of the Vampire.
Lorcan had saved Jortha over two centuries past from a pack of
Darks ready to feast on him, after they had wet their appetites
with a bit of sadistic torture. Lorcan had no stomach for the
twisted evil of the Dark and Jortha had benefited from it that
night, though some scars remained all these years later. The witch
had yet to trust any of Vampire descent, Light or Dark, save
Lorcan. Jortha was well within his rights to such feeling given his
past and the ongoing animosity that existed between his own kind
and Lorcan’s breed.

Lorcan’s gaze drifted down to Jortha’s
crippled leg as he shook off the memory, “What exactly are you
speaking of, Witch? There are many things in the Realm you have yet
to experience, your existence encompasses all of two hundred and
sixty-eight years.”

He was not being snide, merely stating the
facts; however, snickers ensued at the table. Lorcan turned a cold
stare. Though he was not overly fond of witches, the boy had grown
on him while in his care. Truthfully, Lorcan had not been able to
rid himself of the witch upon Jortha’s recovery, but witch or not,
he would not tolerate cruelty towards Jortha from his own. The
snickering ceased.

Jortha tilted his head a notch, lifting his
chin just as he regained Lorcan’s attention. “Two hundred and
seventy-two.”

“What?” Lorcan’s confused question was
indicative of his distraction.

Jortha took a slight step back at the
impatience in Lorcan’s tone but his chin remained high. “I said,
two hundred and
seventy-two
years. I have
been in existence
that
long, and in all of
that
time, I have felt nothing of this
sort in the Realm.”

Few in the Coven much less in the Realm had
the audacity to correct Lorcan on his mistakes, especially one so
minor as this. His fierce reputation left none that would
carelessly cross him. He was, however, in good spirits this eve.
Well fed and warm within the confines of his favorite manor, Lorcan
was much looking forward to enjoying the remainder of the night
with all the comforts and pleasures that being lord of the house
afforded him. There were some comely new vampires within the walls
and he had the intention to slake every thirst that the last long
siege at Elkirk’s manse had forced on him. Just as soon as he
finished this debriefing with the Elite and this interruption was
beginning to try his patience.

Lorcan resolved to not let this night be
ruined though and forced himself to shake off the irritation at the
delay. He coupled his grave nod to Jortha’s words with a bemused
smile, “What is happening Jortha that has gone unwitnessed during
the span of your two hundred and
seventy-
two
years, and is causing you such upset?”

Jortha’s expression remained serious despite
his lord’s teasing. He knew the import of his message and that
Lorcan believe him and take precautions immediately. Straightening
to his full height, he earnestly explained in a hushed tone, “There
is great power Sir, great new power moving through the Realm. It
brings tremendous destruction. This magic is stronger than any I
have ever sensed, even in Myrrdyn’s presence.”

Lorcan’s right hand lowered in habit to the
hilt of the sword. His tone was short, “Good or evil?” Jortha
seemed at a loss, the question causing the witch to shuffle his
feet on the stones of the floor. Lorcan lifted his hands to
Jortha’s shoulders, gentled his tone, and peered down into Jortha’s
unseeing eyes, “Son, is it of the Light or of the Dark?” Though
Jortha had suffered the loss of his sight at the hand of those Dark
beings, he had gained uncanny abilities to detect things that
others of the Realm could not. His power, seer-like and nearly so
strong as to rival Myrrdyn’s own, had proven true and of great
asset to Lorcan in his quests.

Jortha’s head shook in the negative and his
expression grew disconcerted, “Lorcan, I do not know. My sight has
never been this unfocused. I can only tell you that the power rose
nearly two hours past; the destruction and death began shortly
thereafter.”

The witch was never so reckless and anger
surged through Lorcan. Teeth clenched, Lorcan’s voice filled the
cavernous room, “Why did you wait to bring this to me Jortha?” He
stepped away in anger; his hands fisted as his eyes narrowed on the
male. Was his Coven to be betrayed at the hands of a witch yet
again?

The five members of the Elite Guard rose as a
unit and moved in haste to take position at Lorcan’s side just as
the heavy doors of the room were shoved open once more. A few of
the younger members of Lorcan’s army assembled near the entrance.
Their warlord’s voice raised to this level of anger within the
confines of his home did not bode well.

Jortha’s chin trembled a bit at the thought
of the disappointment and anger he had raised in his protector, but
his voice remained strong “I thought it was but a vision of
something to come. The death and destruction, I could not see it
happening, but only the aftermath.”

Tersely, Lorcan questioned, “Why do you find
it to be more than that now?”

Jortha swallowed hard, “I can feel the power
responsible for the destruction drawing close to Breslein.”

Dropping his hand briefly to Jortha’s head,
Lorcan dismissed him without temper. He turned to his gathered
guard with grim resolve, “Prepare the men. It appears we war, as
the Fates of the Realm see fit that we find no reprieve this
night.”

Lorcan muttered a curse as he shadowed to his
own chambers to prepare for battle. He was beyond rage. Just when
Fate or God or whatever divine being oversaw this supernatural
realm on Earth appeared to grant him grace, it was always short
lived and wrested from his grasp before he could find respite. What
evil could be descending on him this time?

His fist found the hard stone wall in his
room before he leaned his forehead against the coolness of the
smooth rock. He was exhausted and massaged the back of his neck
wearily. Lorcan began pulling on his garments of war and allowed
his thoughts to drift through memories that had brought him to this
circumstance.

He could not help but smile as an image of
Kaitriana flitted past; Lorcan had seen her last at the Festival of
the Moon. Prior to that, he had encountered her only one other time
since saving her. She had been the awkward age of twelve. A gangly,
brown-haired girl, she was remarkable only in those eyes that had
remained unchanged. On that particular night at her uncle’s home,
those piercing eyes had fallen on him, no fear lurking in their
depths. That spoke volumes of her, as mighty warriors avoided his
presence when he was irked and he had been livid that night.

She had studied him openly, her eyes warming.
The young witch had offered him a smile, despite that his mission
had been to deliver a stern warning to her uncle to cease his feud
with the nearby Vampire lest he wish to endure Lorcan’s wrath.

Lorcan believed her eyes had sparkled
magically at him from the depths of that dark little cottage and
the little minx had actually made a face at him. He had replayed it
in his mind a thousand times over in the centuries since. When he
had turned to exit, she had smiled once more and given a tiny wave
of her hand, like to an old friend.

Her face had lit with a youthful excitement
that she could not contain, as though she had waited so long for
that very moment. He grinned a bit in response to the memory as he
finished preparing himself. The little witchling had had
freckles…amazingly blue luminous eyes and a cute dusting of
freckles. Eighteen, in fact - he knew precisely because he could
recall every detail about her.

At the Festival of the Moon he had been too
shocked to press Myrrdyn as to whether or not Kaitriana was the
Chosen, though he had wanted the answer. Her sudden appearance had
rocked him. He had assumed he might see her that evening, knowing
Myrrdyn had finally deigned to grace the gathering with his
presence. Lorcan had been curious to see if Kat was still the
rotten little scamp that had the audacity to claim the Warrior of
Light as ‘Mine.’ He had not expected, having seen no sign of beauty
in her either the day of her rescue or the lone night fourteen
years prior at her Uncle’s home, that she would have grown into the
exquisite little creature that had rushed into the manor.