As always, the Red Lady’s horse could sense her annoyance. The great beast skittered sideways breaking the woman’s fierce concentration. Instinctively, her hand clenched into a fist, but as she was brought back to her current surroundings, her ire diminished.
She opened her hand and patted the horse’s mane.
“Easy,” she whispered. “The end is near.”
The horse’s ears twitched and the Red Lady glanced past them to the gates of Ebulon.
The Red Lady glanced behind her to the host of warriors at her command. With the passage of time, most men who had come into her service no longer exhibited obvious signs of human frailty. They were more bestial now, like feral shards of shadow. The glimmer at the center of their eyes indicated obedience to her, and ruthlessness to all else.
She tilted her head and was inclined to send her consciousness away to the rest of her troops. She felt the pain of separation as a full two thirds of her host had been distributed to Oos.
Two thirds!
She had submitted to the indignity for a number of reasons, but the sheer temerity of the situation still enraged her.
How dare they delude themselves into believing they could lead her forces into battle! How little they knew of her connection to her charges to even suggest such a scenario could even be possible.
Again she was tempted to close her eyes and send her mind away.
Her warriors would hear her, and they would come to her if she beckoned them.
The mere suggestion of her power almost sent her consciousness away. She had to struggle for a moment to stay in her body.
Not now.
Not yet.
The battle must be here. First here!
There was a reason she had submitted to be defiled by this foul strategy.
The Shadow Stone!
As with all magical objects it was impossible to know what the mythical object was truly capable of. Could it augment the strength of a man? Could it restore a warrior or mage that had been critically wounded?
Those were the obvious questions, but she cultivated further musings which were more a matter of personal ambition.
As always, in the back of her mind, the Red Lady heard the rhythmical breathing of her daughters. They buzzed like a pestilent host, but to all appearances they were hidden as her male troops took position before the gates.
But her daughters were there.
At the darkest moment, her daughters always rose up with strength and loyalty that made her absorbed male warriors seem almost feeble by comparison.
Emotion surged through the Red Lady as she considered her daughters’ love.
It supported her with a strength beyond life and death.
But though their loyalty was unquestioned, she was troubled by the fact that she had failed them.
Her daughters were but wraiths, in a state of constant deterioration that was a result of their unnatural creation.
In time, they would wither and die, like petals of a flower cast into a fire.
It was their destiny.
Unless the Shadow Stone could make tangible some less distasteful dream.
For that promise, she would endure the stripping of her army.
For that she would lead her male warriors to carnage.
The end game would be hers, and she still had several tricks left to play.