by S L Matthews
Dragons?
A brittle, frail voice answered her inner question. “You have the voice, young one,” Lazarus said. “Your words, they do not belong to us.” He extended a wrinkled, shaky finger toward the bay. “They belong to them.”
Fear shot through Ava. Her gaze darted to the enormous statue, then to the amulet, before landing on the feeble old man, rocking gently upon his bench.
“Vesera.”
Thibold’s cryptic words once again haunted her thoughts.
“I’m putting everyone in danger,” Ava whispered. She grabbed Dari’s hand and came to her feet. Horror gripped her heart as the stranger’s prophecy took hold. “I have to get out of here. Now!”
| Chapter X
Haunted Memory
The wave of alabaster creatures broke against the portcullis with ferocious intent. Dust fell from the city gate and cracks formed along the stone. Murderous talons clawed at Anduin, who limped further from their reach. As a sea of red eyes watched his every move, Anduin stood in silence.
He turned to Amoran while gnarled claws and teeth desperately tugged against an old portcullis, scraping and clawing against the rusted metal bars. Before them, light flickered through the inner city of Wyvern’s Rest. Shadows danced through the morning haze, accompanied by panicked shouts of men and women.
“Well,” Amoran began, twisting his beard to a point. He bent his head toward the inner city and asked, with a hint of sarcasm, “shall we go that way?”
Anduin pushed farther from the iron gate, angling his head into the light. He glanced over his shoulder, peering back into the outer quarter, hoping against hope he would catch a glimpse of a little blue dress among the shadows.
Anduin grimaced, shifting his weight from the wall to the frail merchant. His gaze fell to his hands, his knuckles cracked and broken. Resting in one hand, the symbol of his house, and all that remained of his father: the jeweled pommel of a fractured sword. Any other moment, the sight would have devastated Anduin. It was his most prized possession, yet it was rusted copper compared to what rested in his the other hand: a battered, golden amulet, wrapped through his fingers, and around his wrist.
The men shared a glance, filled with solace and understanding. Amoran offered a sincere smile, stating simply, “we’ll find her, my friend. One way or another.”
In his heart, Anduin knew Camille’s fate. He had seen them tear through an ox’s hide. He watched as they rended flesh from bone. Yet as certain as he was in Camille’s fate, Anduin knew another certainty—he would never stop looking until he found her.
His arm rose as Amoran ducked under his shoulder, supporting the bulk of his weight. The pair worked slowly along the old highway, between collapsed buildings and towering grass. The horde’s ravenous cries slowly faded into the haze of a broken city, replaced by a frenzy of civilians, each more confused than the next, all of them terrified.
Through the dust and debris, the pair hobbled, one cruel step at a time. The pain in Anduin’s leg had become excruciating, but paled to the pain born deep inside. Together, they limped into the inner quarter of Wyvern’s Rest. Dust-covered, broken citizens scurried in all directions. None of them appeared to know which way they were going, and even fewer seemed to know why. They scrambled among crumbled ruins and the discarded remnants of an old square, blending into the blackened sand of the beach. Piles of stone and splintered wood marked the old merchant stands while jagged spears marked the raised highway. Or, what was left.
Anduin hobbled as fast as his leg could carry him, leaning heavily against his old, bearded friend. They had crossed some of the oldest streets in the city, and urban wilderness had slowly given way to civilization. Many houses had survived the tremor, a gentle billow of smoke lifting from their rooftops. Brilliant red cobblestones lined the street, replacing acres of bush and highland grass. Panicked families filled the square, yet most merely stood, mesmerized by the destruction.
“You must seek cover,” Anduin shouted. “Please.” He beckoned to a mother and her three sons. “You cannot stay here.” They waved crowds from the alleys and directed them toward the city core. “This way. All of you!”
Dozens of civilians funneled through the streets, leaving their homes and traveling inward, beyond another set of city walls. A giant shadow loomed overhead as the pair hobbled into another of the famed squares of Wyvern’s Rest. An incredible bronze statue towered over the city, the wings of a great dragon serving as an umbrella to most of the houses in this region.
Stone benches surrounded the magnificent statue, and Anduin was quick to undo the burden to his old friend. “Amoran, I must sit for a moment,” he said, taking a seat under the winged shadow. Families continued to pass by as Anduin took a deep breath and scanned the old square.
His eyes fell to Amoran, pacing within the shadows. The old merchant stared up into the heavens, seemingly lost in his thoughts. A subtle horror crept into his expression. Amoran clutched his robes, feeling along its sides before diving into the inner pockets. Horror turned to panic as he turned out his pockets. A frenzy ensued, then somber realization. Amoran dropped his shoulders, shook his head, and let loose a chuckle of contempt, cursing under his breath.
“Lose something?” Anduin said, but the merchant’s thoughts were lost elsewhere.
“Davilla!” he shouted, snapping Amoran back to the present.
“My apologies, my lord,” Amoran stuttered, glancing around as though he had just returned from a distant trip. “The creatures. The attack. I’m afraid I lost myself in it all for a moment.”
He pointed up to the giant statue. “Saryx. This one’s called Saryx.”
Anduin’s brow curled upright as he studied Amoran’s peculiar movements. He looked around the square, jaw agape, lost in his memories. Tears ran down Amoran’s face and he staggered, seemingly reliving a horrible moment in his life. Anduin followed the merchant’s gaze beyond the walls of the Outer Quarter, along the highway, to the bodies forever perched outside the city gates of Wyvern’s Rest.
“Who were they?” Anduin said, the friendly tone lost from his voice.
Once again, Amoran’s expression snapped back to reality, wiping the tears from his cheeks. Anduin stood, supporting himself against the base of the statue, his gaze set firmly upon Amoran. “I see the face you bear walking these streets. It is the same face we saw entering the city, the same you wore when you lost my daughter, and the same when we approached, and the pair of bodies suspended outside the gates.”
Anduin pushed away from the statue, grimacing while his weight shifted to his sword arm, planted into the cobblestone square.
“I believe we are long past secrets, you and I,” he stated calmly, an air of authority in his words. He waved an open hand across the battered streets. “You’re not alone in having walked these streets in the past,” he began, bouncing closer to Amoran. “But I suspect the past holds a more—significant—meaning to you. Yes?”
Amoran grew unsteady. His lip quivered and his palms sweat. He glanced toward the gates of the Outer Quarter, the creatures still held at bay.
“My lord. A-Anduin. I don’t believe now is the ti…”
“I’ve lost my wife. I’ve lost my daughter. I’ve lost my men. I believe I have time, Davilla.” Anduin stated, squaring his shoulders.
Amoran swallowed, his eyes bouncing between the gate and the lieutenant, unsure which presented the more significant threat.
Anduin lifted his sword and pointed beyond the walls, outside the city. His voice echoed throughout the square, a haunting rendition of his usual military tone.
“You scared my little girl half to death out there. Who were they?!”
Amoran stuttered, a large knot growing in his throat. “Lieutenant, we really must be…”
“Who were they, Davilla?!”
Amoran shrugged and gestured to the inner gates, but Anduin refused to waver.
“I will not ask again, old friend,” he said, clenching his sword.
Amor
an sighed, his gaze returning to the walls, and the silhouettes perched high above.
“She is—was—Lady D’Vayne,” he began, his shoulders slumping and the soul leeching its way from his body. “The Queen of Ventera sits in front and…” His voice trailed while his finger drifted to the smaller form. His lips quivered once more while they fought to form words.
“And?” Anduin asked, growing impatient.
Amoran closed his eyes. “And her daughter…stands next to her. Lord D’Vayne ordered that they both be executed, placed on display for all to see.”
Silence cloaked the pair while frenzied civilians raced past, escaping the threat beyond the gate. Amoran opened his watering eyes, and Anduin’s expression softened. In time, however, Anduin raised a brow in confusion.
“And, why does this affect you so? I’m sure the loss of the queen hit everyone. Who are you to take it so personally?’
Amoran continued to stare beyond the wall, not meeting the questioning gaze of the lieutenant. “I,” he began, his lips trembling, his courage faltering. “I gave the order.”
He raised his hands, shaking, their soft wrinkles defined by the afternoon sunlight. “Their blood—is on these hands.” Amoran paused, attempting to collect himself. A half-hearted chuckle escaped his lips, one filled with remorse—and regret. “Fitting. Of all places, I would meet my end here.”
Anduin staggered, lost in a moment in comprehension. “You were…For Lord D’Vayne. You were his council?”
Anduin’s face grew stern, his teeth clenched and his brow tightened. He took a step forward, brandishing his broken weapon once more. A sharp breath withdrew from Anduin’s chest, and his gaze dropped to meet Amoran’s.
“You’re not a merchant?” He said, venom dripping from his clenched jaw.
Amoran took a step back, startled by the accusation. He lifted his palms, offering no defense. “I’ve lived many lives, Lieutenant, not all of which I’m proud of.” Amoran’s words continued, but Anduin had stopped listening. He lifted Camille’s amulet to catch the light, an irrepressible heat welling from within.
“Davilla,” Anduin said, stepping forward, his face inches from Amoran’s. “I was there when you petitioned the King of Cambria for an expedition to Wyvern’s Rest.” Anduin’s back straightened as his shadow grew. “You pleaded with Lord Heartshorne, requesting a caravan, provisions, and an armed escort.”
Amoran recoiled, his voice trembling, its pitch rising. “Well, yes, Lieutenant. I—I wanted to…”
Anduin took a final step closer, pressing against Amoran’s chest. “Twenty-one of my men, representatives from six merchant guilds, and my daughter agreed to escort you to this forsaken city.” The soldier’s gaze angled down the abandoned streets, tracing the broken skyline. “So you could get what? Redemption? Closure?”
Anduin grimaced, twisting his gauntlet, tightening Amoran’s robe to his chest. The merchant’s body lifted onto his toes as Anduin pressed further, prying for any reasonable explanation.
“Answer me!” Anduin bellowed, though his resolve faltered, visions of Camille’s joyous smile and contagious laugh echoing through his thoughts. The scorn in his eyes slowly faded. Anduin’s gaze turned back to the gates and the ravenous creatures clawing at its rusted bars.
“It was Camille!” Amoran shouted, ripping away from Anduin’s grasp. “It was all her idea.”
Anduin staggered at the words. His knee buckled and Amoran was quick to keep him from toppling to the street. “I had abandoned my old life—locked it away. But one day, this little girl came to me.” Amoran motioned to a stone bench, a reserved chuckle escaping his breath.
“Just came right up and sat next to me, like I was her best friend.” Tears escaped down his cheeks while the old merchant shook his head. “The things she said reminded me—of who I was, of what I left behind.” He knelt before Anduin, pleading forgiveness. “You must understand, I never meant for this to happen. There was something I needed to fix, and…”
“I said no,” Anduin interrupted. His voice was cold, lost in the haze of Wyvern’s Rest.
He lifted his gaze as Amoran’s eyes twisted in confusion. Anduin reluctantly continued. “When the king granted you an audience and commissioned this excursion. I received a summons, a special request from King Edrig Heartshorne himself.”
Anduin held his old friend’s gaze. “And I said no.”
Anduin hopped, leaning against his sword as he peered through the gates of the Outer Quarter. “Camille begged to go, pleading day and night. My wife said no. She knew what was out here, Davilla. It was no place for a family, but it was all my daughter wanted.”
Anduin’s gaze faltered, falling to the broken cobblestone square. Amoran’s hand fell upon his shoulder.
“She’s alive. I know she’s out there,” Anduin whispered. His grip released, and he shuffled toward an old gate. He studied the ancient rock, the oldest remnants of Wyvern’s Rest, for what seemed like an eternity. “She has to be.”
Anduin struggled for answers, desperate for a flicker of hope, yet haunted memories conspired against him. Amoran’s soft words broke the silence, but did little to block the dark thoughts surging to the surface.
“She’s strong, my lord.”
Anduin turned, his eyes wet with tears.
“She was there,” he said softly. “I heard the glass shatter. I stormed into the bedroom.” His head shook, fighting the inner torment. “Camille was just standing by the window. My wife was gone, and my daughter saw the whole thing.”
His eyes squinted as if pain had wracked his body. Anduin hopped back, distancing himself from Amoran. “It broke her,” he said, steadying himself on one leg. “Her mother had thrown herself out the window, and Camille was just—smiling.”
A long silence fell over the men, each grappling with their own emotions. Startled residents rushed past them, fleeing into the City Core, yet the pair remained wordless. Anduin’s gaze finally drifted back to Camille’s amulet.
“We both know what I lost,” he said, collecting himself. “What did you lose?”
Amoran instinctively clutched at the sides of his robes, seemingly confused by the question, until a sense of understanding took hold. “Oh,” he chuckled. “That. It’s the reason I came to Wyvern’s Rest, actually. Let’s just call it a birthday present.”
A piercing shrill echoed from the streets, followed by the galloping of creatures. Anduin spun to see sinister shadows sprinting across the cobblestone. Several more dropped into the square as the top of the wall filled with hungry, red eyes.
“They’ve broken through!” Anduin shouted, waving everyone through the old gate. “Get inside, all of you!”
More creatures darted from the shadows, dozens, hundreds. Men and women screamed in panic, ducking through the worn city gate, their cries spilling into the old market. Anduin ordered the last of his men to step through, then lowered the final portcullis.
“They’ll stop at nothing,” Amoran whispered, stepping alongside Anduin. The pair exchanged a solemn glance, then turned their attention back to the oncoming horde.
“It would seem,” Anduin added, testing the strength of the rusted gate. “This won’t hold long. We must hurry.” As he turned, he felt a sharp tug against his arm.
“By the Gods! What is that?”
Anduin turned back to the horde. Among the creatures sprinting through the square, trudged a hulking abomination. A massive scar stretched across its eye while the tip of a blade protruded from its chest. It lumbered forward, its flaming yellow eyes set upon the pair of men behind the city gate.
Rage burned within Anduin as he lifted his shattered blade. He studied the broken tip and the hint of green wedged within the metal, then returned his menacing gaze to the giant in the street.
“An old friend.”
| Chapter XI
Toricien Honey
Ava reached for Elhora’s hand while Dari clung to her waist. “Come with me!”
“My child, I cannot lea
ve.”
Ava looked on in shock, glancing between her old friend and the wooden doors to the market. “Of course you can leave. We walk out that door and never…”
“Ava,” Elhora interjected. “Dijor. I will not leave him.”
Ava fell silent and her knees buckled. Her horrified gaze drifted once again to the balcony. Her lip quivered as tears raced down her cheek. Ava heard a gasp, then felt a warm hand gently pull against her chin. She met Elhora’s eyes, eyes that had lost their previous fire. Tears pooled in their corners. Ava watched wordlessly as Elhora saw her for the first time, and sensed the horror that crept into her heart with each passing second.
Thoughts poured through Ava’s mind, but it was apparent none of them would ever be spoken aloud. It didn’t matter. Ava watched the horror in Elhora’s eyes turn to confusion. Confusion turned to understanding as her dearest friend placed a hand to her mouth and began to shake. The tears flowed, and there was nothing Ava could say to stop them.
“It should have been me,” Ava whispered.
There was no response. Ava knew she was responsible for Dijor’s death and now, more than ever, wished her life had been taken instead of his.
“It’s all my fault, Elhora. I should have never…”
“No,” Elhora said through tears. She loosened her grip and pulled herself upright, her red, swollen face coming into view once more. Her brow narrowed, her gaze stern, yet her warmth permeated through her annoyed expression.
“You listen to me,” Elhora said, her muddied accent cutting through her words. She placed her caramel-colored hand on Ava’s shoulder, adding, “Dijor made his choice. He gave you a gift. Do not dishonor his memory.”
Ava pulled Dari against her chest, running her hand through his hair. She shrugged her shoulders, Elhora’s words weighing on her mind. “I’m sorry. I guess I just don’t understand why he…”