by N M Zoltack
Marcellus set his jaw on edge and gritted his teeth so harshly pain radiated to his ear.
“Do not mumble and speak plainly,” his father added. “If you have something of importance to say…”
Marcellus lifted his chin. “The scouts are returning,” he said, gesturing with his chin.
The scouts were a fair distance away yet, and if Marcellus’ eyes were not playing with him, he saw six heads, not five atop the five horses.
The king lifted his arm, and everyone halted. With a shrewd eye, he gazed over everyone and then slid down from his horse. Marcellus did the same.
“I hadn’t realized… Flavius!” the king barked.
The commander dismounted and stepped forward. “My King.”
“Where is Horatia Ramagi? For that matter, I do not see any Valkyries present. Explain this!”
“I will explain,” Marcellus said dryly. There was no need for his father to be furious with both him and Flavius, and as his father was already livid with Marcellus for his failing…
“Go on then.” His father curled back his upper lip in disgust. “When I had sent the two of you, I thought I would be sitting on the throne of a castle with all of Vincana Proper in hand within a fortnight.”
“Yes, well, life can be a bit unexpected, especially when people plot to kill others behind your back,” Marcellus said dryly.
Flavius, wise man that he was, averted his gaze to the grass beneath their feet.
The king looked as if he wished to murder Marcellus.
The prince gazed toward the horizon. The scouts would be here in a few minutes, so this conversation would be blessedly short.
“The Valkyries have always been a community of warriors who serve the dragons,” Marcellus said. “They are not ours, even if they have Vincanan blood coursing through their veins.”
“You mean to tell me they have left your side to be with the dragons.”
“Precisely.”
The king flexed and unflexed his hand before turning his back to Marcellus and Flavius. Clearly, his father wanted nothing to do with either of them, which suited Marcellus just fine. In his opinion, his father had the blood of Rufus on his hands as much as the guard who had committed the horrific act.
“I cannot believe how epically—”
“They were not our warriors,” Marcellus said firmly. “They have their own minds, and their loyalty to—”
His father lifted his hand as if to strike him. “I do not wish to hear you say another word.”
Marcellus nodded.
“Do you understand?”
Doing his best not to smirk, Marcellus nodded again.
His father squinted at him before turning to the scouts. The one that had a prisoner with him slid down from his horse and helped down the prisoner. The man’s clothes were clean, all various shades of brown. His hair was a bit long, his facial hair not too unkempt.
“Tell the king what you told us,” the scout demanded.
The prisoner eyed the scout. “I see no king.”
The scout kicked the prisoner’s knee from behind so the prisoner went down, forced into a kneeling position.
“That’s enough,” the king said, his tone far gentler than it had been to Marcellus since his arrival. “Tell me what you know.”
The prisoner kept his head down but only for a moment. Then, he stared straight up at Antonius, without any sign of fear and likewise without any sign of respect.
“There had been an attack on the castle earlier.”
“Who attacked the castle?” the king demanded.
“The dragons.”
“All of them?” Marcellus asked.
His father glowered at him but conceded, “All of them?”
“Yes.”
“And? Does the castle still stand?”
“It does,” the man confirmed. “We even managed to kill one of them.”
Murmurs echoed among the Vincanans. Those from Tenoch had managed to fell one of the dragons?
“Did it—” Marcellus started.
“Do you know anything else?” the king interrupted.
“I know that if we can handle the likes of a dragon and still survive, that we can handle—”
The blade drawn across his throat belonged to Antonius Gallus. Blood poured out from the line across the man’s throat, and he gurgled and then fell down face first into the grass stained with his blood.
The king removed a handkerchief from his person and wiped his blade clean before sheathing it. “Excellent,” he said. “Atlan Castle was just attacked by the dragons. Even the dragons do not wish for them to be there. They will have to tend to their wounded. Before they can mount any kind of a defensive measure, we should strike.”
Marcellus glared at Flavius.
The commander stepped forward. “We have some other Vincanan groups that have been spread out to maintain scouting posts. If we seek to have an all-out attack or even a siege, we should call them all in. I have already dispatched runners to them as soon as you said we should attack, but it will take a few days, perhaps, for them to be able to join us.”
The king gritted his teeth and nodded. “Very well. One week. We will strike the castle then but no longer. If any of these groups have not arrived by then, we will move forward without them.”
Flavius nodded and stepped back.
“Father,” Marcellus said as evenly as he could, “you should have asked that man if he knew if the Valkyries had been—”
“Did you not listen to his words, boy?” the king said. He burst out laughing as he shook his head. “I asked him who attacked the castle. He said dragons. He did not mention any other fighters. Therefore, the Valkyries had not been with them.”
The way his father smiled at that churned Marcellus’ stomach. The prince glanced at Flavius. The commander’s face was pale. Most likely, he was of a mind as Marcellus—had the dragons not utilized the Valkyries against Atlan castle because the dragons thought they had no choice for the esteemed warriors any longer? Were the dragons furious that the Valkyries had taken so long to return to them? Had the dragons killed them on sight?
But Marcellus voiced none of this, and he patted Flavius on the back. The commander nodded in reply but stared straight ahead, stiff and immobile as a tree on a windless day.
Another scout slid down from his horse. “Did any of you see the specks of light?”
“The specks of light?” The king, for once, glanced at Marcellus.
The prince shook his head. “Where were they?”
“All over,” the scout said. “It looked as is the sky had been shooting stars everywhere.”
“The villagers saw it too,” a third scout said. “One of the specks touched a young girl.”
“Is she dead?” the king asked.
“No. Unconscious from what we heard.”
“Well, then, I suppose we might as well let us go and see her,” the king said, “seeing as we will not be fighting as we should.”
Marcellus did not concern himself overly with his father’s disgust. One moment, his father had been pleased—about the attack on the castle—but now, he had resorted to his sullen self. Mayhap he felt a small measure of guilt over his actions, but Marcellus found that hard to believe.
He also found it hard to believe that Paulus Falto, his spy, ever reached the castle, not if it had been attacked by dragons. Perhaps Paulus had even died in his attempt to bring the verbal message to the Rivera princess. Now, Marcellus saw no feasible way for him to seek out Vivian, especially since his father might well notice if Marcellus attempted to send another runner. What did that matter, though, seeing as he was no longer sure if he could do anything to assure her peace can be had now that his father was here. Marcellus grimaced as he climbed back onto his horse. He had been foolish to think he had any power, but then in that instance, he and his father were very much alike because the only ones with the true power were the dragons, even if they numbered only two.
19
Princess Vivian Rivera
Despite asking Ulric to look for her sister, Vivian continued to do the same. One place she had not checked yet was the chapel, and even if her sister was not there either, the princess sought to speak with the vicar. They had spoken previously about the dragons, and one part echoed in her mind as she opened the door.
“Are they the same dragons as of old?” the vicar had asked, holding out his hands. “Who can say?”
“If they aren’t, then who are they? What are they?” she had returned.
Who were they indeed.
Her boots echoed against the stone floor, and she headed for the altar. The vicar stood behind it, his gaze shifting from side to side as if he were reading something, but there was no text or other item on the altar.
“Vicar,” she said, stopping across from him.
He straightened as much as his stooped back would allow and rubbed his bumpy nose. “Princess Vivian, how—”
“The dragons are not the same dragons of old,” she said urgently. They cannot be.”
“Because they have turned to vengeance, you mean? How can we blame them for that, when they have been dead for a millennium and a half?”
“No,” she said impatiently. “The dragons were… The Fates. They are Life, Death, Peace, and Chaos, yes?”
“But of course.”
“The dragons are—were,” she corrected herself sternly, “Love, Hope, and Faith.”
“And if one has love, they can’t possibly be angry as well?” the vicar asked dryly.
Was he being purposely obtuse?
“The dragons of old,” Vivian said, “they would speak of a lady who would one day change the realm.”
“How do we know this lady has not come already?” the vicar asked with a groan. “I must sit. If you’ll allow me a moment…”
Vivian patiently waited for the Vicar to walk around to the side of the altar. Then, she offered him her arm and guided him to the first pew.
“Ah, thank you. These old bones thank you too.” He smiled. “I’m sorry. I do not mean to constantly interrupt you.”
“There had previously been a lord,” Vivian said. “The Lord of Light and Darkness.”
“That sounds like a fearsome lord indeed,” the vicar said.
“He proved to be the one to orchestrate the killing of the first dragons, the time when they had been killed for good without resurrecting again.”
“Ah. And the lady, she is to be his counterpart?”
“The Lady of Light and Darkness,” Vivian said, “but changing the realm… Yes, that is surely what the Lord of Light and Darkness accomplished through death and destruction. He caused so much devastation and terror with his actions. It stands to reason that the Lady might change the realm as well, yes, but not for the better.”
“Ah, I see your concern. And you truly believe—”
“The dragons have returned,” Vivian said. “Er, rather, dragons live and breathe and fly once more.”
“Two, now, no longer three.”
“Yes,” Vivian murmured. “I almost wondered if the Fates had turned into the dragons, but then there would have been four.”
“You are convinced then that these are different dragons?”
“Either different dragons or dragons with radically different mindsets. They’re twisted by—”
“Hatred,” the old man offered.
“Hatred and despair and doubt,” Vivian said, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest. “Yes.”
“If that is the case,” Albert Leeson said as he stroked his chin. He had been growing some whiskers of late, and he ran his hand from his chin down the long stands of facial hair. “I must say I wonder which one died.”
“I suppose time will tell.”
“And I wonder what might have been all of that nonsense with the light,” he mused.
“What light?” she asked warily.
“The dragon. When it died. Where you not told? Did you not see? There was some column of light that reached up to the sky. It shattered into light… orbs, I guess you could say, and the orbs scattered about all of Tenoch and maybe even reached Vincana and the islands. I dare not say to know.”
“There could be hatred or despair or doubt spread throughout all of Dragoona?” she cried.
“I dare say, princess, there already is a great deal of all three, wouldn’t you agree?”
She dully nodded and sank to sit beside the man.
“You believe the dragons flying in the skies once more means that the time of the lady is at hand, hmm? Do you think who she might be?”
“I need to figure that out and stop her,” Vivian said desperately. “Maybe it could mean Greta. Or Sabine.”
“Not likely Greta, or else you have no reason for alarm,” the vicar said.
“Ah, she is dead then.” Vivian allowed herself the slightest curl to her lips. She did not normally think ill of people, but for her brother’s murderer, she wished an afterlife full of torment.
“Yes.”
“Beheaded?”
The vicar eyed her quietly a long moment. “Burned alive.”
Vivian nodded slowly. “Sabine, then, or maybe…”
Maybe who?”
But Vivian shook her head, keeping the thought of the Li princess to herself.
“What if the queen is the lady?” the vicar asked.
Vivian jerked to her feet. “My sister would never—”
“The weight of the crown can prove a very heavy, taxing burden. Who knows what one is capable of when the lives of so many hang in the balance?” His long sleeves fell from his arms as he spread them out. He appeared thin to the point of being gaunt. Hadn’t he told her once he was dying? But then, they all were. Everyone lived for only a short span, each second, every breath bringing them every closer to their final second, to their final breath.
“My sister… Next you will tell me you think that I…” Vivian trailed off.
The vicar merely stared at the princess.
Without another word, Vivian turned about and stalked out of the chapel.
Was it too much to hope for that the Lady of Light and Darkness truly change the realm for the better?
Without a doubt.
20
Alchemist Tatum Hill
The ache Tatum felt in her chest could not be explained. She had lost others in her life before. Her beloved father had been the death that had affected her the most. He had been her everything, and she had become an alchemist in the first place. She had sought to honor him, and she thought her intentions behind becoming an alchemist—for the sake of another and not for personal gain—would allow the curse to ignore her, to pass her by.
But that had been before.
Tatum had spent many a day hungry, and as much as she wished she could continue to give her potions away to help anyone she came across, she could not. She simply could not. She had to barter her potions away in exchange for bread and meats, and somehow, word had begun to spread, and she eventually opened up her own shop—Mermaid’s Tears.
Not for the first time, she feared that her opening her shop had been the door opening for the curse to come back in, and it had, hadn’t it? Her husband, Dudley was dead.
The man who had made her laugh, the man who treated her as a person, as an equal had laughed. He had even relied on her money so that he could open his tavern, although she did still wonder how he had been able to pay for all of the furnishings inside and the ale, too, and all of the rest.
Had he needed to borrow from others? Had he paid them all back? If not, once those lenders learned about his death, would they go after her to collect what was owed? How would she manage that? Yes, she had been making potions by the basketful for the crown, but the crown had not paid her for much yet, and honestly, Tatum was not certain if she should accept payment.
Her father dying earlier than he should have, had that been because the Fates knew that she would one day become an alchemist? Had the Fates seen fit to doom her life, to
torment and torture her, to curse her before she had even become an alchemist?
And Dudley, her Dudley… Yes, he had his flaws…
So many flaws…
He had jested about her going up with that man, hadn’t he?
No. No? She was not certain. As much as she did not wish to think badly about the deceased, especially her husband, what else could she do? That man, what had he said before he left? That Dudley did not owe him anything.
He had been a lender.
Dudley indeed had used money from others. She hadn’t been able to provide for him all she needed even though she had been happy to give him what she had. After all, they were married. What was hers was his.
And what was his was now hers.
Including any debt.
Tatum sucked in a deep breath. She had locked herself away inside her store, a sign out front declaring it closed, but she feared someone might be coming soon to find her. They would know her name and her place of work and her house.
She had no safe place to go.
Not even the castle was safe. It was under attack by the dragons.
Edmund was fighting the dragons.
In secret, Tatum had been working on a potion like no other. She had not attempted to create a new potion in a long time, since the one and only time she had achieved such a feat. That act alone had granted her the title of alchemist.
But this potion, it was untested. Would it kill Edmund? Would it zap his strength instead of increase his power and might to that of fifty men? And what if it did work but not long enough? What if it robbed him of his strength once the potion wore off? What if it shortened his lifespan?
There was no way for her to know, but she could not allow Edmund to face the dragons without anything at all.
And she could not continue to hide away in this place.
Tatum wiped a hand down her face. So few people came around the shops anymore. As many people as could had left Atlan altogether as it was not safe, but Tatum would not leave. She had a job to do, and she would continue on as she always had.
But she would no longer smile.