Page 85 of Black Salt Queen

She had never known battle before. The war songs and sweeping epics could not have prepared her for the chaos of clashing metal, the sickening squelch as blades penetrated flesh. No training could have steeled her soul to withstand the shrieks of men struck down in a flash of silver. Bodies darted past her, bolts of green and scarlet and flailing limbs. The sea wind stung the corners of her eyes. Her nostrils filled with the smell of rust as blood soaked the grass atop the cliffs.

In the tumult, she struggled to orient herself. She skirted past slashing swords and walls of breastplates until she arrived at the center of the fray, where the fighting was fiercest. A flash of gold drew Laya’s focus to the front line.

Imeria Kulaw stood shielded by a ring of Kulaw warriors, their swords raised as they deflected the Gatdula offense. Their assailants came at Imeria from all sides, and they did not relent. As the Kulaw warriors closed in to protect Imeria, Laya glimpsed the older woman’s face. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. Both her hands were directed at the lines of Gatdula guards advancing toward them. With a pang, Laya realized what she was doing. Instinctively, she raised her palm. The threads of power braided themselves through her fingertips. If she calculated the angle just right, she could send a blast straight down the front line without taking down too many of her mother’s men.

The second before Laya launched her attack, Imeria swore at the top of her lungs. For once, she sounded panicked. “It’s not enough. I cannot get a hold of them,” she barked to the group of warriors shielding her. “I need more cover. Get me to the rear.”

Laya refused to let her slip away. She sucked in a breath, ready to strike her down, when a metallic gleam caught her eye. Three Kulaw warriors were charging toward her. Reflexively, she flung out her arms. She sent them hurtling across the grass with a violent blast.

“Laya!”

She ducked as a rock hurtled from behind her, narrowly missing her brow. A Kulaw warrior had his sword posed above his head, ready to strike her down, before the rock crashed against his chest. With a nauseating crunch, he fell back, crumpling beneath its weight.

Hara Duja ran over and grabbed her face in her hands. She gave her a harsh shake, a savage spark in her eyes. “You have to be more careful.”

More and more Kulaw guards advanced toward them. The queen grabbed Laya’s arm with one hand and with the other, raised the earth beneath their feet. They shot up to the sky on a limestone pedestal. On the flat face of the cliffs, there was no higher ground from which to fight, so Hara Duja made her own. When she raised her palms, four gigantic chunks of earth broke off from the cliff face. They rose to orbit the pedestal, ready to crash down on any who dared attack her.

Laya could not help but gape at her mother. Had the queen wielded such power all this time? Her thoughts flitted to the substance Imeria had boasted about back at the palace. The secret Hara Duja had been keeping from her.Precioso.

“They’re too strong. We must act fast,” a voice bellowed from the ground?—Vikal, who’d trained Luntok in the art of war. Imeria had managed to join him behind the Kulaws’ defenses. He stood, pleading, at her side. Luntok and Datu Gulod were with them. They stared up at Hara Duja, frozen in anticipation.

Imeria held herself still as the battle raged around them, but Laya could see the color drain from her cheeks. She was shaken. From high up on the pedestal, Laya watched as the woman groped for something around her neck.

“Mother,” Luntok pleaded, his cry carrying over the sounds of battle. “You need to hurry.”

Laya frowned, trying to decipher Imeria’s next move. Behind her, a familiar voice boomed.

“Duja!”

She turned around and spied her father, a borrowed sword at his side, shouting to them from the base of the pedestal.

Hara Duja’s eyes bulged in their sockets. “What are you doing?” she snapped. “Get back to the rear.”

The king ignored her command. “I tried to warn you from back there. You must stop Imeria as soon as you can. I couldn’t get a good look, but I fear she has her hands on precioso.”

To Laya’s shock, her mother let out an ungainly curse. Then her gaze locked on the Kulaws. With a grunt, she hurled a chunk of earth in their direction. It missed them by mere inches, smashing into the dirt at their feet. Imeria stumbled back to avoid it. Vikal dragged her and Luntok bodily from the fighting, barking out orders to retreat. Their surviving soldiers and loyal attendants raced for the carriages.

“Don’t let them escape!” Duja yelled, her voice echoing across the cliffs. She knelt low, the ground rumbling as she erected a great wall to block Imeria from the carriage path. Ojas and his men rushed forward to detain them.

With a frustrated growl, Vikal plunged back into the fray. He headed straight for Ojas, who was limping, a blood-soaked bandage hanging from his side. Ruthlessly, Vikal dug his knee straight into his injury. Ojas yelled and toppled to the ground. Vikal raised his sword, ready to plunge it into his gut.

“No!”

Bulan threw herself in between them. Vikal was twice her size. It took all of her force to deflect his blade. She lunged, but Vikal blocked her easily. He flicked her onto the grass as if she were nothing but a fly. She yelped in pain, her weapon tumbling from her grip. He took a step toward her, his body dwarfing hers, and raised his sword once more.

“Bulan!” Hara Duja gasped. The earth cracked open as she flattened the pedestal back into the dirt. She sprinted toward her, dodging the Kulaw warriors in her path, but her husband got there first.

“Don’t you dare,” the king gritted out, swinging his sword over his head.

Hari Aki was a man of wit, not a fighter. He was no match for Vikal and his warrior’s instinct. In one sweeping motion, Vikal disarmed the king and plunged his blade into his gut.

“Father!” Laya screamed.

Time slowed down. In the moment before she blinked, her father floated, suspended in midair. His head tilted skyward, his back curved in a graceful crescent. The king was no god, but rimmed in the dying sunlight, he became a creature that did not belong to this earth. He was not falling, no, but rising to meet Mulayri in his mountain kingdom. As though the gods had called him by name. As though they had already claimed him.

When she opened her eyes, her father had crumpled onto his back. A bolt of scarlet seeped through his rumpled court silks and dripped onto the dirt. Hara Duja and Bulan huddled around him. One of Ojas’s guards fell to his knees at their side, offering his sash. They pressed it into the wound. The dirt beneath his body turned to mud where the blood continued to pool.

Weakly, he looked up. “Duja,” he said. When he opened his mouth, rivers of blood rippled down his sharp, clever chin.

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