Wrath of the White Tigress by David Alastair Hayden Read Free Book Online Page A

gleamed only enough to stand out from the black of the sky.  
    "I'm afraid he craves his qavra like an addict craves opiates. And his qavra is laced with binding spells that Salahn used to control him."
    "We should destroy it."
    "A qavra can't be destroyed with any method you and I have access to."
    "Then toss it into the river."
    "No. Its powers are benign as long as he isn't wearing it."
    "But can we keep it from him? Do you trust him that much? Do us all a favor and throw it away."  
      "No, Ohzi. We may need that qavra. He may need it. Jaska's is the most powerful qavra I have ever seen, and it holds a link to Salahn, a link we might be able to exploit. If nothing else, once Jaska is recovered, we may be able to eliminate the bindings in the stone so that he can use it again."
    "We have little time to break him of this addiction, Ella, and we will die if we stay here too long."
    "What else is there for us to do? We can't return to Epros and hide forever. The White Tigress thought Jaska worth our sacrifices, and if anyone could defeat Salahn, it would be a redeemed Jaska Bavadi."
    Ohzikar sat in silence for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was somber, barely audible. "Perhaps you're right, but I cannot forgive him our brothers' deaths or the sins he committed. And, you know, he won't be our hope as a redeemed man. We need a man so scarred by his sins, so determined to cleanse the evil he has committed that he will breathe fire and shake the foundations of the earth if need be. Worst of all, to defeat Salahn, he will need your help."
    "And yours."
    Ohzikar threw his head into his scarred hands. "And mine."
    Zyrella put her arm around him, kissed his ear, and whispered. "You can let go."
    He nearly sobbed but then gathered his composure. "No, I can't."
    "Our brothers would weep for you."
    "But I was their captain. I cannot mourn them."
    Zyrella well knew that templars were supposed to follow the ideals of stoicism. Still, Ohzikar was a sensitive and caring man. He needed to let go. Zyrella would have told him that it didn't matter anymore, that none but her could see his weakness, but Ohzikar needed his self-respect.  
    And what of herself? She was holding in those same emotions that ate away at him. Perhaps she could help them both.  
    "Ohzi, may I weep for our brothers on your behalf?"
    A tender half-smile curled his lips. "Yes, mourn them for the both of us. They were the best and most loyal friends. Servants of the goddess to the last."
    Ohzikar put his arm around her and cradled her head against his chest for several hours, until the cold wind dried her tears.  

    ~~~

    Four days passed. Jaska barely drank the soup poured into his mouth. He raved and thrashed until Ohzikar bound his hands and feet to keep him from hurting himself. Zyrella, despite her exhaustion, scribed runes of silence to dampen the sounds that left the cave.  
    Ohzikar served as their lookout and repaired his armor and shield. Zyrella meditated and danced subtle spirit-katas to restore her internal energies. She slept long hours and ate voraciously. Otherwise, she took care of Jaska and recited to him the Codex of Kashomae the Gentle Savior, who was the spirit-mother of the White Tigress.
    A mournful gust moaned through the canyon. The canvas sheet snapped taut with sharp cracks. Zyrella's sunstone, a simple quartz rock embellished with the rune of Taal Eos the Sun King, burned at quarter-strength, the equivalent of a single candle. Ohzikar slept bundled in a blanket at the entrance. Jaska, for the first midnight yet, slept peacefully. Zyrella rested her head against the lumpy, damp wall. Though she intended only to nap, she drifted into a deep sleep.  
    Zyrella dreamed she flew above the prosperous land that was the only home she knew, a land quite different from arid, violent Hareez in which she hadn't lived since the age of three. Below her, the golden, autumn-harvest fields of Epros' valleys wound around hills topped with