Red was not pleased but she nodded, turning to look at the three figures behind Dranac. None of them moved to put their weapons away, their dark cloaks ever present as Red circled them.
“What’s wrong with this bunch?” Red asked, jabbing her thumb toward the three. “It’s like they’re statues. Don’t they ever move?”
The mocking tone in her voice was not enough to hide her shock. But without any other visible signs of distress from Red, Dranac gave a gruff laugh. “It’s been hard trying to break them in. They aren't comfortable with scouting yet, but they need to learn.”
At the mention of their lack of skill, the three figures slowly resheathed their weapons. They threw back their hoods, the two taller figures sending death messages to Dranac through their glares. The third just stood there, shifting from foot to foot as if he were in the most uncomfortable situation he had ever encountered.
Red immediately focused on that boy, taking in his cropped blond hair, pale Craelonian skin, and the twitch in his left cheek that brought even more attention to his huge, bronze eyes.
When Red started to scrutinize his thin frame, he began to fidget with the many knives strapped to his side before awkwardly stating, “I’m Bryce Clayden. I’ve, uhh, heard a lot about you.”
“I bet you have,” Red smirked, moving onto the next boy in their company who stood straighter when her eyes landed on him.
The boy had dark brown hair tied in braids that were pulled back from his face with a strap of leather. His rich brown skin told that he was from one of Seadell’s sunnier islands. His broad shoulders and the heavy axe strapped to his back suggested that he was used to manual labor, not scouting.
The boy was brave, though, because he had the audacity to glare down at Red whose head barely made it to his chest. His voice was surprisingly calm and quiet though as he grunted, “Hansel Norton.”
The girl had to be Hansel’s sister, with her rich brown skin and similar braids holding her hair back from her face. But her eyes were gray, closer to a storm at sea rather than the calm ocean blue of her brother’s eyes.
Her face was relatively pretty, her lengthy body slim but muscled under her fine fighting leathers. But anything soft was stripped away by the scowl on her face that confirmed the fact that she wanted to be feared, not liked. Her cold stare bore into Red, her hands gripped threateningly around the handle of her twin hatchets as she grumbled, “Gretel.”
Red knew that she would need no introduction, but she thought it polite to add to the conversation. “Well, since we are introducing ourselves—”
“We know who you are,” Gretel Norton snapped, eyeing Red’s tattered black tunic that hung off her shoulders. “If we’re done here, I’d like to start the journey back to the Rogue Manor.”
“Testy, testy,” Red teased, wagging her finger toward the girl who growled like a lion in return. “I’m not done here, though. I lost all my supplies back at Estra Ayrith’s shop, and I would be very disappointed if the vagrants had the chance to steal them while I was wasting time with the four of you.”
Intent on having the last word, Red tossed her grime-encrusted hair over her shoulder and strode into the closest alleyway. Not caring whether the scouts followed her, Red expertly moved through every side street and alley toward Estra’s store, her thoughts once again whirling around her head.
~~~
Estra Ayrith’s body had thankfully been removed by the guards who had searched the boutique. Red still held her breath, though, as she slowly stepped into Estra’s abandoned shop.
Papers and loose potion supplies were strewn across the ground, the tables practically overturned. All of the candles had been blown out in the rush. And the storage room door had stupidly been left unguarded.
Red slid in through the cracked door. She crouched low to the ground on the balls of her feet, ready to spring into action if there were any guards left. Red watched for any sign of life inside the storage space or the main shop. But she was the only being left to disturb what had not already been picked over or thrown about.
Red halted in her pursuit when she spotted the bloody ‘R’ still painted on the storage room’s floor. She created a wide berth around that mark. Red had no intentions of disturbing the spot where Estra Ayrith had taken her last breath. It was the only thing she could do to honor the old witch.
Dranac Gnorw and his scouts were stationed throughout the marketplace. Their watchful stares would not stray from the potions boutique until Red rejoined them.
Despite the threat of Dranac impinging on her request for privacy, Red’s search grew more sluggish the farther she stepped into the ransacked shop.
Anything of remote value was already gone. Everything Estra Ayrith was once worth was on its way to the nearest open market.
Peragon’s street rats had already taken anything that they could barter off or eat. Everything else would be left to the guards to ransack and throw out. The building would be sold to the highest bidder within the week. Estra Ayrith’s legacy would be wiped away in less than a fortnight.
Red resumed in her search for the box that Estra had packed up before she died. She had no clue as to where the older woman had stowed it away, but she suspected that there was some kind of magic guard that had warded away the busybodies when they went through her things.
She crept around the storage space in circles, growing more and more desperate with each turn as she tried to remember why she had even bothered stopping by the shop. Her annoyance grew with each pass around the room, and she was ready to give up and claim that her items had been stolen when she toppled over a new block in her path.
“What the…?” Red exclaimed as she clambered to her feet, brushing dirt from her pants. She eyed the new object with disdain before taking a closer look at it.
The trunk that Estra had been throwing supplies into had finally reappeared. Red stooped down to take a closer look, her hands roving across the wood with child-like curiosity.
Intricate vines that only a master carver could create were etched into the dark mahogany wood. It smelled of old magic—but it looked as if it had been carved hours before. Dark steel strips held it together and they shined in the light, expertly warping the sun’s rays. There was a gold lock on the front, but when Red reached to examine it, the clasp snapped open. And the lid was light as a feather as Red gently lifted it.
Red looked inside the trunk and found that Estra had been more than modest when she had said that she was only a simple witch.
Red had seen the same illusion inside the chest once before, but it looked even more impressive when it was cast on a much smaller scale. From the outside, it looked like a small child could fit within. The inside, however, looked as though a fully grown man would be comfortable sitting in it.
The tap of footsteps beyond the storage space got Red to tear her amazement from the box itself. The remembered urgency drew Red to search through the goods that Estra Ayrith had left behind.
Three sealed letters rested delicately on top of the pile.
Red scooped up the three letters, her curiosity rising as she saw that two of the letters were addressed to her. The first letter was more of a note. Its statement was simple.
I am leaving these items for you, Red.
Take everything because you will find a need for each item.
-Estra
The second letter was also addressed to Red, but an intricate emerald green seal covered the opening of the envelope. On the top left corner, Estra had quickly added hasty scribbles.
Do not open this until you have left the Kingdom Rogues.
-Estra
Red was annoyed at the demand in the message. She told herself that it would make no difference to the dead when she opened the letter. But after some consideration, she set the note aside, not daring to tempt the deceased into haunting her just yet.
Picking up the third and final letter, she was not surprised to see that it was addressed to Arthur Welin. There was no note on the envel
ope, but Red knew that she was to be the one to deliver it into her mentor’s hands.
Red reached for the note again, looking for any clues as to what Estra would say in her own letter. Unfortunately, there was no sign of invisible ink or hidden message that could help her guess as to what might be written. Before she could change her mind to not tear open both letters, Red pushed them aside.
Instead, she turned her focus toward the rest of the trunk's contents.
Red started with the neatly packed travel bag. A soft, warm blanket was strapped to the outside. And there was a waterproof cover fastened around the bundle. Inside, she found dozens of pouches of potion ingredients which she promptly repacked before she was tempted to use them.
There were also a few small cans of food and a handful of medical supplies that Red would burn through easily. Every item she took out was once again repacked, each object fitting into the bag as if it were made to hold nothing else.
To her delight, the next item she grabbed was a leather belt. A set of simple, yet elegant, daggers was strapped to every open loop. Red slung the belt low on her hips, tightening the straps until it easily fit her narrow frame. Red rearranged the blades, balancing them so that the belt would not slip or twist around her waist when she moved.
Red reached for one of the stiletto blades. Tossed it in the air. Watched it flip and cut through the air, before easily catching it as she threw the next blade.
Soon enough, Red was juggling knives like a court jester. She almost laughed aloud before she remembered the circumstances for which she had come across such elegant blades.
After solemnly replacing the daggers at her hips, Red readied herself to leave. She stopped when she noticed another object resting at the bottom of the trunk.
Red kneeled over the edge of the smooth wood, a glittering object catching her eye. Her arm reached toward the bottom until her entire abdomen was hanging over the side.
She was about to give up on her reach, planning on tipping the chest over when her hand brushed soft fabric and the scabbard of a sword. She lifted the last articles from the bottom, double checking that she had not left anything else behind, before hauling herself back onto solid ground.
The scabbard was made of the finest leather, but Red was more focused on the intricate thorns that were embroidered into the material with the brightest scarlet thread. Two small moons were reflected on either side of the locket, bringing an irresistible beauty to the harshness of the weapon that lay beneath.
The hilt was relatively small for a sword. But it fit perfectly into Red’s equally small hand. The grip was smooth black wood held together by strips of steel. But the pommel held the sword’s real beauty.
Carved into a gold emblem was a full moon that shone brightly, even in the shop’s dim lighting. It was the most beautiful weapon Red had ever seen. She listened with wonder to the musical whine of the blade being freed from its case.
The double-edged blade was a stunning silver, completing the beauty of the brilliant blade. The tip was razor sharp. Like the daggers, Red could not resist testing the beautiful weapon. With swift strokes, she slashed the blade through the air seamlessly. The weight was no more a burden than the daggers attached to her waist.
A single word was etched into the sword in the blessed tongue of the Maker, proclaiming, “Alpha.”
“Alpha… Alpha… Alpha,” Red whispered, almost whimsically, mesmerized by the name that somehow perfectly matched the magnificent sword.
Red started at another shuffle of footsteps outside the storage room. She reluctantly sheathed her new sword, tying it to the one open spot on the far-left side of her belt. She quickly shoved any nomad supplies into her pack, hastily tying it closed and slinging it across her shoulders. She was about to make her way out of the store when her right foot got stuck in a lump of fabric.
Red lifted the soft bundle of bright crimson fabric from the floor, unfurling it until it made the form of a cloak.
Estra Ayrith had provided Red with everything that she could ever need. But she had also left Red with the one thing that she always wanted.
Red immediately draped the new cloak over her shoulders and was overcome with the feeling that nothing would fit her better than the swirling fabric around her.
The dark scarlet was almost blinding compared to the dirt and grime encrusted cloak that had been ruined years before. The fabric fastened at Red’s right shoulder with a small, silver clip, creating a robe-like illusion. And her thin arms fit perfectly into the hidden sleeves.
The length was perfect for Red’s petite height as it fell to her knees, the draped fabric still showing off her slight figure. The hood was long enough to cover Red’s eyes, giving her a mysterious look while still retaining the ability to see around her. The inner folds of fabric held dozens of pockets, each one opening up a world of possibilities for what could be stored within them.
Red swirled around, admiring the comforting feeling of the cloak around her shoulders before she remembered that four impatient Kingdom Rogues were waiting for her return.
Red reluctantly unclasped the cloak, knowing that the color alone would draw too much attention in Peragon. She neatly tucked it into her pack before slinging it over her shoulders again. Red gently closed the lid to the chest, wishing that she could take it with her.
Before she stepped out into the world again, Red took one last glance at Estra Ayrith’s shop through the tousled jade curtain. At the life she had created inside it. Her heart broke as Red realized that she could never have the life that Estra had made for herself.
She sent up a quiet prayer to the Maker. To Estra Ayrith.
Red squared her shoulders and exited from the storage room. She did not look back as she walked away, into the streets of a kingdom that wanted her dead.
~~~
Queen Snow White looked out at the gallows set just beyond the palace walls. They had always stood as a statue of power. But in the early hours of the morning, they stood as another reminder of Snow White’s numerous failures.
She failed to save King Ashton. Failed to teach her son. Failed to protect her people.
What she had accomplished in her early days as queen were comically outnumbered by what she had failed to do since the beginning of the war.
Second only to King Peter’s people, Airaldan’s citizens were counted to be some of the most loyal to their monarch. But Snow White constantly waited to hear that her people had started to rebel. Many of the other kingdoms had triumphed over such uprisings before, but Airaldan was still unscathed from large scale civil attacks.
Queen Snow White guessed that she had the gallows to thank for that.
But the queen knew that it would not be long before those symbols of power fell. Despite the lack of rebel activity, Snow White knew that her people were unhappy. And they would soon realize her failures as queen.
The release of Red Riding Hood was the last fallen brick that would cause the rest of her failures to come crashing down around her.
“Luckily, only the Destroyer will know that Red Riding Hood will not be hanged today,” Queen Snow White whispered to herself. Her eyes were glued to the gallows, the limp noose waiting to cinch around the neck of their next victim.
“P-pardon me, Your Majesty,” a shivering maid stated, her light footsteps halting just behind the queen. “The guards are starting the progression to the gallows.”
“Thank you. You may attend to your other duties.”
The maid curtsied to Snow White’s back, her gaze reaching past the queen’s back to try to see if she could witness the death of Peragon’s most famous menace. She scurried from the hallway once she stood, rushing to join the other maids and butlers watching the solemn entertainment.
Queen Snow White sucked in a breath when the dungeon guards emerged from the castle. Their matte onyx armor did not shine like the rest of the palace guards. It trapped sunlight, turning the men into deadly shadows.
The faces of those guards were never
seen beyond their skull shaped visors. The edges of those visors were swept back into dagger horns, creating a demonic image that could not only haunt, but also take control of a child’s nightmares. Even in the darkest depths of the palace’s dungeon, the guards never removed their helmets in front of another being.
It was rumored that those men were children of the Destroyer. And even the Maker could no longer save their tarnished souls.
The small figure held between the eight horrifying soldiers looked even more pitiful than Snow White could have imagined. The dingy crimson cape enveloped the young girl’s shoulders, the fabric much too large to fit her underfed body. Her blond hair had been dyed brown, the color smudged around her tear-streaked face. Her mouth was bound in a gag, her voice cut off to keep her from revealing the queen’s worst secret.
The girl was still a killer and a thief—Snow White considered it a mercy that she would not have to spend the rest of her life rotting away in the palace’s dungeon, surrounded by the terrifying guards that walked her to her ultimate demise.
At least that was what she told herself as she watched the wrong menace march toward her death.
Queen Snow White shifted her gaze to look beyond the palace walls. A large crowd had been gathered since before dawn, but the masses of people had tripled since the early rays of sun had reached the horizon.
Snow White watched in horror as her people shoved each other against the palace gates, overwhelming the few guards stationed there. Arms and hands reached behind the wrought iron fence, glass bottles and rotten food thrown into the palace courtyard despite the death parade’s distance.
Groups of palace soldiers rushed past the procession, shields at the ready. When they neared the gate, the people did not budge from their coveted spots. It was going to be a long and hard fight to get to the gallows stationed mere yards away from the palace gate.
The queen could see the prisoner tremble as she neared those dangerous gates. Snow White knew that if the guards could not make it to the gallows, the people would tear that poor girl apart. She prayed that Red Riding Hood’s fake death would not have to end in such a barbaric way.
Cloak of Darkness (The Destroyer-Blessed Saga Book 1) Page 10