by N M Zoltack
The moment Vivian entered the room below, she knew it was unlike any of the others in the monastery. There was something ancient about it, something primeval. This place was sacred.
She almost turned back, but she had come to learn all she could, and a place like this might well have the answers she sought. Her fear for Garsea and what had happened to the monk caused her to descend the last few stairs. Only that she did not smell death made her have hope that the monk still lived. Perhaps he had gone off, left this place, abandoned the city.
But he had been one of the Keepers of the Flames. He should have remained here, and he should be with the dragons, serving them!
Which led her to believe that he had fallen.
And she was right.
There on the floor was Garsea, a bloodied dragon claw near his body. His face was one of peace despite the mortal wound to his chest.
In addition to the instrument of his death was a scroll, but Vivian ignored that, kneeling beside the dead man. Oddly enough, his body was not cold, but she had a feeling he had been dead for quite some time. In fact, she was fairly certain she could guess when he had died—just before the dragons had made their triumphant return.
He had given his life so that the dragons might breathe fire and wreak destruction and devastation across the land. No, of course that had not been his wish, although that had been what had transpired.
Tears prickled her eyes, and Vivian squeezed the man's hand before placing that hand and then his other to cover his wound. A tear fell onto his cheek as she leaned over and kissed his forehead.
“Know peace, my friend,” she murmured. The old man deserved far more than what the dragons had given him. If the dragons had any heart at all, they would have returned his loyalty and his sacrifice and granted him a second life.
Shifting back, she sat on her legs and gazed about the room. It was massive, and from the dust on the floor, she could just make out the impressions of bones. Had there been the bones of the dragons here? All three of them?
She glanced back at Garsea. He had served the dragons his entire life, had given up his life for them. They returned because of him and him alone. The dragons should have done something in return for him. To just leave his body here like this was wrong. It was terribly tragic.
But then again, the dragons had destroyed the rest of the city, all except for the monastery. In a way, they had preserved his body, not just the building it was in but his body itself. He had not decomposed at all.
“Oh, Garsea, I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You brought back the dragons, and I know you meant to help us, that you thought we needed them, but… They aren’t the dragons of old. At least, that’s my fear…”
After a moment, she patted his shoulder and then retrieved the scroll, reading the words out loud.
“Before all life, there was nothing at all, only darkness, a vast void until a sudden glimmer of hope sparked the first being—a dragon. That hope shattered into faith and love to become the other two dragons.
“Their might, their passion, and their fire burned the world into existence. Their tears formed the seas and rivers. They shaped the mountains with their claws, breaking off bits of land to form the islands.
“Animals or humans first? No one knew for certain, but all belonged to the dragons. So long as the dragons maintained their hope, faith, and love, there was peace.
“But humans were creatures of many emotions, several foreign to the dragons, including greed, lust, envy, and pride. The humans were violent and destructive, cruel and self-serving.
“The dragon of faith was the first to fall, but love was strong enough to bring him back.
“Still, the humans did not change their wicked ways. No matter. So long as one dragon lived, the others were reborn.
“Until one day, one hateful, disloyal, hopeless day when the dragon three fell at once. Then, all the dragons were dead and remained dead.
“Faith was so destroyed that humans no longer believed in the previous existence of dragons.
“With no love, the world had more devastation and cruelty than ever.
“And no hope led to desperation, desperation to fear, fear to anger, and anger to hatred.
“Without hope, faith, and love, the dragons cannot return for if one were to revive them without those three, the dragons might not be the ones from old.”
Vivian reread that last line again. “Without hope, faith, and love, the dragons cannot return for if one were to revive them without those three, the dragons might not be the ones from old.”
She turned to Garsea. “You had hope, faith, and love, didn’t you? But not enough. The dragons… they really aren’t the ones from old. They aren’t our guardians. They don’t want… They don’t want…”
Vivian closed her eyes. There would be no way to stop the dragons, to reach them, to get them to turn aside from this madness.
The dragons sought revenge, and they would have it because these dragons, she suspected, would not fall as easily as they had previously. These dragons were more powerful.
And these dragons hated humans.
63
Rase Ainsley
The crawl back toward his house was taking too much of a toll on Rase, and he hadn't made it far from the hotel at all yet. If those backstabbers came back, Rase would be done for.
He tried to lift his head to get a better sense of his bearings, but he couldn’t. His stomach almost had him vomiting, but on the fifth try, he lifted his head.
If he went down this street and made a right and then a left, he would make it to that alchemist’s shop. It might not be open, but it would be for him even if no other customers.
Rase crawled and crawled inch by inch. Turning almost killed him, but he kept on going. Fear that someone would come for Leanne drove him.
Mermaid’s Tears was shut, but Rase grabbed a rock and beat it against the window until it shattered. Climbing through just about did him in, and he tumbled to the floor atop the broken glass with a whimper.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. With the moonlight, he could just read the labels on the vials, and he located one for healing. A sip did nothing, so he drank more and more until he drained the large vial that contained a lot of liquid, and once he swallowed the last of it, he belched.
And could roll his neck.
And could stand.
He wasn’t nearly back to rights entirely, but he also wasn’t about to take any more vials. As it was, he couldn’t pay to replace the one he’d drunk, and he couldn’t afford the glass replacement cost either. Rase had taken a gamble with Dudley, and maybe he had lost after all.
Somehow, he would find a way to repay Tatum. Oh, and he would apologize to her as well because she was not a scam. That potion truly had saved him.
Swiftly, he left through the window. Maybe he would return before dawn to clean up some, but for now, he must go and check on Leanne. Until he knew that she was all right, he would be far too nervous and worried.
His emotions ate away at him with every step he took, and when he finally saw his house in the distance, he hoped to feel elation.
Instead, he felt only misery because a form shifted near the door.
A man stood there.
Having left from killing Leanne? Or had he been waiting for Rase?
Rase gripped his blade. He was not about to be jumped this time, and he scanned the area to see if any others were in hiding. Maybe the trio had come here, but he had not told them where he lived. Ah, but as big as Atlan was, most people knew details about their neighbors, and a coin would be enough to get any lips to start wagging.
The man stepped forward. He was tall and burly, with some weight to him that wasn’t just muscle. His brown hair was like a mop upon his head, and the moonlight glistened against his right eye. Not his left eye, no. That had a scar over it, and the eye never opened a bit.
“Rase Ainsley,” the man said, his words slow and crawling.
“Don’t you know your
name,” Rase said. “Don’t care to.”
“My name’s not that important, but if you ask, I’ll tell you. I don’t mind sharing with those who’ll be dead in a minute anyhow. Less than a minute. You won’t last ten seconds against me.”
Rase faked a yawn. “Sounds good, bud. If you don’t mind—”
“I don’t. Got a message for ya.”
“Not interested.”
“Should’ve not been interested in my baron’s business, but it’s much too late for that now, ain’t it?” The man’s arms seemed to grow by two feet, and he somehow yanked on Rase’s shirt, dragging him to be right up against him, their faces far too close. “You see my eye? The baron did that to me after you came by and blackmailed him. He doesn’t take too kindly to threats, and now… Now let’s say I don’t mind that he doesn’t because I don’t either.”
Rase went to stab the man in the throat, but he punched Rase right in the throat. The street rat couldn’t breathe at all, and his vision immediately darkened. He gasped, trying to get some air into his lungs as the man threw him down, retrieved Rase’s knife, and stabbed him repeatedly. Rase didn’t even try to hold back this time. He wailed even as he strove to fight back, trying to knock the man off his feet.
And then, somehow, he managed to knock the man down after all. Rase climbed on top of him and punched and bit and tried to fight back, but he had no energy, no might, no effort behind his blows. Even when he bit, he could hardly bite down hard. He was pretty sure he’d lost a tooth or two. Now, with this goon? Earlier with the others? Rase had no idea.
The goon just laughed and rolled over. He stood and slashed Rase one last time. "My name's Kazimir Furlan. If you survive, I'll be back. You can be sure about that. The baron won't even have ta pay me. You'll be dead. Never should've tried to prove nothing to the nobles. They won the world. We’re just their pets. And what do you do to a pet that’s wounded? You put it out of its misery.”
Kazimir spat at Rase and stalked off, disappearing into the shadows.
Rase coughed and realized he was down on his knees. He was bleeding, in pain, crying. As he stared into the inky black sky, he wondered if he would see the dawn, but oddly enough, he felt no fear. All he felt was numb.
64
Ulric Cooper
The fall down the cliff into the cold water had hurt Ulric’s pride far more than it had his body.
“That man,” he grumbled as he waded out of the river to where the others were on the far shore.
“The prince,” Edmund spat out. “He’s a terrible fight.”
“A terribly good one, you mean,” Ulric pointed out.
The knight scowled. “I lost my helm up there.”
“You can get yourself another one,” Ulric said.
“Yes, but…” Edmund shook his head. “You aren’t a knight. You wouldn’t understand.”
“A knight being partial to his mount, that I understand. To his sword? Again, understandable. To his helm? Not nearly.”
“It isn’t for you to understand,” Edmund grumbled, a grimace turning down the corners of his lips.
Ulric ignored the knight and surveyed his militia. Three lost, and two injured. Not terrible, considering they fought against the Vincanans without the aid of potions. Ulric hadn't even thought about the potions until now, and he was grateful he hadn't recalled their not having any until after the battle rather than before or during.
“We need to go back around,” Ulric said.
Edmund stared at him as if he had two heads. “Are you daft? We need more men!”
“I will not return to the castle to tell the queen the village is still occupied!”
"Next, you'll be telling me that we should just leave the village in the hands of those brutes!"
Ulric rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Did you even hear what I said? We have not completed the quest. We must do so. Now. Without waiting.”
"We tried. We failed. Our current strategy is not working. We need more men."
Ulric exhaled a breath. “What did you say about leaving the village in their hands?”
Edmund flared his nostrils.
“You saw what I saw, didn’t you?” Ulric asked evenly.
“What are you suggesting?”
“That the Vincanans are not treating the villagers terribly. Fighting in the village… That was madness. We never should have attempted to pin the Vincanans, and how was it that you ended up having your backs to the cliffs?”
“It… The battle did not go as planned.”
“Clearly!”
“It was just as much my idea as it was yours,” Edmund roared.
“Aye, I know, and we both failed the villagers. We could have hurt them without intending to. The Vincanans could have. No, we have to lure them out of the village.”
“And into the farmlands? We would not be risking harm to the villagers, not from swords or being trampled but their bellies when it’s wintertime.”
Ulric crossed his arms. There had to be another way.
“We will not return to the castle just yet,” Edmund said, “but until we have another plan, we will not move against Rapid Falls.”
Ulric snorted.
“You have a better suggestion?” the knight challenged.
“How much do you want to wager that the Vincanans are jesting right now about how rapidly we fell over the cliff into the river?”
Edmund scowled. "I will not take that wager because they most certainly are." He glanced at his warriors. "Knights! Treat your armor so it does not rust, and sharpen your blades. Prepare yourself. We are not through just yet."
While Edmund tended to his men, Ulric sought out his injured parties and helped them as much as he could. By the time the knights were all ready to possibly march again, stars had started to twinkle above them.
“We could go now,” Ulric whispered to the leader of the knights.
Edmund shook his head. “With the villagers, I fear that is too much of a risk.”
“You wait until dawn?” Ulric asked.
The knight nodded. "We will set up a watch. No fire, of course. We do not have a lot of food, but we can manage. We're knights, after all. Ah, your men…"
“My men and women,” Ulric said evenly enough, “will be just fine. A watch is a good idea. You knights, being knights, can surely handle that?”
Edmund grumbled at that, but Ulric merely smiled. The two sides had kept separate for the most part, and Ulric returned to his militia.
“Aloys, you, me, and…” Ulric eyed the rest of the militia. He hoped he would not regret this as he added, “Armel Foreman and Gidie Leroux. We’ll be going on a scouting mission. Knives and daggers only.”
“I’m the best with my bow and arrow,” Gidie said.
“Fine. You can bring that, but—”
“I’m best with a spear,” Armel said, “or a sickle.”
“Knives and daggers,” Ulric hissed, “or you’ll stay behind and be replaced.”
He removed his sword and its scabbard from his belt and waited for the others to do the same. At first, Ulric grabbed his dagger, but then he tucked it away and motioned for the others to follow him. They slipped around the knights to the riverbank, and Ulric had them all roll around in the mud, including himself.
“Even your faces,” he murmured.
“Can’t risk being seen, huh?” Armel asked.
“Or heard, so you better shut your mouth.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, Gidie.”
“You two better go ahead first,” Aloys said. “You two can serve as Ulric’s and my shield.”
That got the two to stop arguing.
Ulric went on ahead, having the others trail behind him like shadows. The darkness of night helped to conceal them, and they slipped into the village unnoticed. There was no fire burning, but there was a watch set up, some on the ground, the others up on the thatch rooftops. They had to move carefully and slowly to not be observed.
Ulric had a plan, though. Find
the prince and hold a dagger to his throat.
Only the prince was one of the guards on patrol.
Which meant they needed someone else to be their hostage, someone equally important.
Someone like that blond-haired man who had fought near the prince. Ulric did not know his name, but he motioned to the Vincanan. They slept in even lines in the middle of the town square, this one being rather close to them, which made things even easier.
Ulric held his breath and placed the blade of his dagger to his throat.
The man’s eyes opened, and he reached for his weapon, but Aloys leapt forward and snatched it away.
“Wakey, wakey,” Ulric said with a smile. He sure he was a sight to see with his face covered in mud, his teeth white, but that only made him smile even wider.
65
Prince Marcellus Gallus
The prince did not know who he was most furious at—himself for having failed to see the militia, although to be fair, they did appear to be as dark as night; at the militia for having a blade to the throat of his commander; or Flavius for having lied about the extent of his injuries. Marcellus had thought the commander needed to be tended to, but Flavius had been his virile, fearless self and had said that he would not even sleep but watch over their warriors who had been injured. Typically, Flavius could barely sleep, awake at the slightest noise. That the vibrations from their footsteps had not stirred him spoke volumes. Also, they did not wear armor, so they were not even trained knights.
“We claim you as our prisoner,” the one holding his blade to Flavius’ throat said.
"You will want to rethink that," Marcellus said. He slid down the thatched rooftop and jumped, landing in a roll so that he would not twist his ankle. As soon as he was on his feet again, he had out his sword.
“If you wish to leave with your lives, I suggest you leave Rapid Falls now,” the man had the audacity to say.
“You will not make demands of my prince,” Flavius said with a hiss.
“Speak again, prisoner, and I will have no choice but to slice your throat.”