Uriel: The Inheritance (Airel Saga Book Five)

Chapter XIV

Arabia—926 B.C.

"WHERE IS THE BLOODSTONE, Daughter of Death?"

Uriel appeared before Anael draped in a dark gray cloak that reached her toes. "Lost, destroyed, no longer in these realms—who can say? I hunt it day and night, but I have yet to locate its possessor."

Anael cursed her in the forbidden tongue. She could feel both his anger and his fear. He was right to fear her—she had grown much more powerful now. Surely he had heard rumors—if he hadn't, he was not a worthy adversary.

"You have failed me. Our pact is now at an end." His voice was tense and he clenched his fists.

"Why so rash, old man? I have only failed if I find the stone and then fail to hand it over to you. What, is your trust so short-lived? And do you think it an easy thing that I should go and steal this trinket for you? Without me, you have no hope of finding it, and even if by dumb luck you do, who will go in and wrench it away from its host? Not you. You could not surprise a deaf man from behind."

Anael snarled and made a grab for the hilt of his sword, but Uriel moved like lightning, taking it from him before his fingers touched it. She stood back, holding it out before him as if she had never moved.

The change was immediate. "Please," Anael said, falling to his knees.

Uriel crinkled her nose in disgust. "Do I need to rid the world of yet another coward?" She stuck the tip of the sword into the ground and approached him, crouching down just out of his reach. "What do they say of me?"

Anael shifted his weight and avoided her eyes.

She grasped his cloak and forced him to meet her eyes. "What do they say?"

"They call you the Derakhshan, meaning the bright, the light before death."

She stood, crossing her arms and nodding. "And?"

"They say you live in the wind, that you appear to heat-crazed, exhausted travelers in the deserts in the hot brilliance of the day, shimmering over superheated sands. They hear your voice in their heads; they say you drive men mad. You strike terror into men's hearts, melting their courage like wax."

Uriel sighed in confirmation. This was even better news than that which she had heard among the Scythians to the north. "And what of you, Anael? What do you believe?"

He hesitated, but she could see a smirk brewing at the corners of his mouth. "I believe you are not one to go back on your word ... that you honor your father with all you do." He spit it out like an accusation.

Uriel flared in anger, and black mist boiled from her robes. Before Anael could react, she brandished the edge of his sword at his throat. "You dare mock me, impotent old man? Throwing my father into my face? Once, I let it go unpunished. Shall I suffer further insult from you now?" She threw him to the ground.

An instant later, she was gone, having moved to the top of one of the high towers in the City of Refuge. She would not hear of her father, would not, because deep within her heart she harbored regret for the way things ended. But he killed the man I loved. Pathways to revenge remained open and inviting. In fact, they were irresistible, and every time she thought of Kreios, she tasted blood.

Uriel scanned the city from her perch, trying to calm herself. The pact. Stealing the Bloodstone would not be easy; the task had proven itself to be so. It seemed nothing in her life would be easy—nothing would bring her the peace she craved. She remembered her friends, her young adventures, and wondered if life would ever be like that again.

Doubtful.

She was one of the Brotherhood now. She was not a slave like most; they gave her a long leash. The Infernals know that one such as I will not be controlled. The acting Seer might have made her an Infernal, given her skill. But she had no desire to command a regular unit of troops. Uriel's heart was made of and for things other than intoxication with mere power. Those things could never satisfy her.

Part of her—a part she could resist less and less as the days dragged on—longed for understanding, for companionship. She began to fantasize about walking into a marketplace like a normal human being might do, seeing those sights, letting those sounds and smells bounce off her fully manifest form. On occasion, she had. She told herself she was working, that she was in disguise and gathering information that could be used elsewhere. But the truth was, she wasn't working. She wasn't gathering information, wasn't acting in a tactical sense at all. She was feeding her needs.

Below in the city, she could hear Yamanu, and Veridon's booming voice, her uncle Zedkiel. She listened to the angelic peoples of the city indulging in dead memories. But the longer she listened, the more pain she could feel—El. And the men who had taught her to worship Him. Who was El to her? To the Derakhshan? El was a light trick, a rumor. El was nothing but the god of her father, the god of her people—and these had betrayed her.

Enraged, she stood and took to the air. Tonight she would fly. It would feel like the old days for a few dark hours.

She could not fly away, however, from the one thing that caused her heart to beat now. And Anael had stirred it to action. She wanted only one thing. Only this could bring her peace and fulfillment—causing this city to fall.