by S L Matthews
“That was the plan.”
He quickly scaled the ladder, planting his feet against the blackened hull. Cooper climbed over the rail, then spun around and tugged on Taryn’s rope. In time, Taryn reached the deck. With a thud, he fell over the rail and landed on the solid surface. A large burst of water shot from his mouth and he started coughing, desperate for air.
Taryn strained his eyes, but only saw faint shapes moving about. As his sight improved, he focused on the sound of combat…the lack of combat. The deck of the pirate ship had grown eerily quiet.
“You alright, Tar?” a sincere voice called out in the haze. Taryn’s eyes moved toward the voice and saw the silhouette of Cooper, kneeling over him. As his eyes came back into focus, he looked back toward the deck.
The battle was over. Several pirates were on their knees, their weapons tossed aside, all looking at Cooper and Taryn. He turned his head again to see a host of crimson-cloaked soldiers, weapons drawn, pointing at him.
A dark man with an iron jaw and crisp uniform stepped forward. His medals glistened in the morning sun, polished to perfection. He stood before the brothers, his long, crimson cape flapping behind him. He cleared his throat and the remaining Cyrean soldiers snapped to attention.
“Good to see you again, Quinn,” he said in a deep, articulate voice.
Taryn looked to his brother. Cooper’s head was held low. He offered an apologetic shrug and said, in a sullen voice, “You too, Rowan.”
| Chapter XIII
Whispers of Darkness
Amoran swatted at the opaque water, his eyes darting to all sides. “Camille!” he shouted, but the response was nothing more than waves crashing against the rocky shore. Pale, lifeless forms drifted to the surface, victims of a cold, merciless sea. Amoran let go of the rocks and stepped into the cool water, feeling with his arms and legs as he waded across the underwater bed of debris.
“Camille!” he yelled again, surveying the shore and the endless perimeter of rocks and boulders. He scanned the debris, hoping to find a hint of Camille’s blue dress. “No, no…no,” he mumbled as he turned back toward the blackened abyss.
With a mighty breath, he dove.
The sea greeted Amoran with a stinging cloud of onyx ash. His eyes burned while he strained to make out the silhouette of the carriage strewn across the sea floor. Limbs of drowned creatures hung from the surface like willow branches while their shadowed corpses dampened the surrounding light. Amoran weaved through the maze as he swam closer to the hollowed outline.
He arrived at the scene short on air, but high on adrenaline. Amoran quickly scanned the wooden fragments and made out a wall, a seat cushion, and a broken axle, but no sign of Camille. A subtle twinkle of light caught his eye, piercing the murky haze. He exhaled the last of his air and settled to the bottom, balancing on precarious rocks slick with blackened algae.
Nestled among the boulders was a small, jeweled lockbox. The familiar ruby stones brought warmth to the cold man as he reached to return his possession from the sea. He cupped the small box in one hand while bracing against the rocks, the eerie shadows resuming their dance of death high above.
As he dislodged the box, a pale white hand shot from under the collapsed wagon and locked onto his wrist. Amoran kicked and screamed, sending his last precious bubbles of air to the surface. The grip grew tighter. He kicked at the rocks, at the arm, even at his lockbox, a panicked frenzy that weakened the grasp and sent the unnerved man hurdling toward the surface.
Amoran’s head crested the waves as he choked and gasped for air. He wildly spun to see if anything, or anyone, had surfaced with him. Several alabaster corpses floated nearby, but none were moving, and there was no blue dress in sight. He cursed his cowardice, drew a breath, and dove again.
Straight to the wreckage he swam, through the swirling cloud of ash. He braced his feet and cast the wreckage aside, only to witness another pale creature float harmlessly to the surface. Amoran pushed the wreckage farther, hoping for a miracle.
But none came.
An intense blend of relief and frustration swept over his face, for all that remained on the sea floor was debris, rock, and the discarded waste of a fallen city.
Amoran’s heart sank after several agonizing moments of searching, then he grabbed his lockbox and kicked back to the shoreline.
The fight along the abandoned streets raged as ravenous creatures swarmed the remaining carriages. Anduin sliced through them as they encircled the caravan, clawing their way through to the decorative wagons. With every swing of his mighty sword, one more creature fell; but for each creature that fell, two more took its place. Screams of oxen and their handlers rang out as the creatures piled on, their jagged teeth sinking into the nearest flesh they could find.
The Cambrian Lieutenant spun through the alabaster horde, willing his men to stand their ground. “Protect the wagons! Don’t let them throu—“ But his command fell short at the sight of the missing wagon. Camille’s wagon. His concentration dispersed in an instant. “No,” he whispered as blue cloaks rushed to protect his flank.
Pale arms and legs clawed over one another, desperate to satiate their primal urge, but Anduin’s attentions were now far from the field of battle. “No, no, no!” His cries grew steadily louder as his mind wrestled with the unthinkable. Finally, his fears reached a crescendo, exploding from the strict, military man, “CAMILLE!”
Anduin stared into the emptiness that was now the first wagon, eyes wide, lips quivering. Swords and claws clashed all around, screams of fear and terror ignited on all sides, yet his mind was fixed. The stalwart soldier inhaled, harnessing his anger, and let loose a bellowing roar.
The chains of his deep blue armor rattled while the ground shook beneath him; his ears rang in agony. Anduin stood near the highway, mouth open, with a questioning look across his face; for the sound had not originated from him. He felt the emotion, his mind heaved with anger, but he could not lay claim to the guttural scream.
Shrill cries rang out as several pale creatures tumbled over Anduin’s head, falling limply upon the onyx boulders below. A deafening, metallic crunch erupted behind him, followed by two blue-cloaked soldiers, thrown through the air, destined for the far side of the caravan.
Anduin clenched his teeth and focused as dull thumps reverberated off the city walls. He slowly turned while packs of primal hunters cowered in fear. The source of their horror presented itself before him. A towering, armored creature lumbered through Tindera Square, the trunk of a fallen tree firmly in its grasp and a large metal plate bolted to its chest. It walked on two stout legs, using its free arm to support its massive body. Its skin was the color of the dust beneath its feet and its eyes were deep, red, and fixed on the young soldier from Cambria.
With a mighty swing of the trunk, the path before them was cleared of all soldiers, creatures and Cambrian alike. Screams erupted as they sailed through the air in a tangled web of alabaster and blue, slamming into the inner city walls.
The giant pounded its chest with its massive fist while a bead of sweat rolled down Anduin’s forehead. The creature smashed the tree into the ground, sending a cloud of dust and rock high into the sky. Broken pieces of cobblestone rained from above as the beast let loose a thunderous roar—and charged.
The giant leapt, swinging the tree trunk high over its head. Anduin braced his weight against his shield, then dove as the massive club smashed into the broken square. Faded red brick fragments littered the streets while a huge hole ripped through the highway. Anduin rolled to his feet as the trunk flew through the air once more. A torrent of wind sucked the bricks out of their sockets, sailing over the kneeling Cambrian soldier.
Anduin jammed his shield into the broken cobblestones and planted his foot, vaulting onto the hulking beast’s arm. Lieutenant Celaera lunged forward, driving his greatsword into the giant’s chest. With his other hand, he reached into his boot and withdrew a dagger, slicing across the massive, hideous face.
The giant bea
st staggered back, letting loose a mighty groan while the crowd of ravenous creatures gasped in unison. Anduin stumbled away from the giant and fell to the broken street, staggering to a knee while he watched his quarry reel in pain. The beast steadied himself and dabbed at his eye, pulling away a wet, sickly green paw. He stepped toward the Lieutenant, defiantly grabbing the greatsword’s blade and twisting. A searing ring echoed across the street as the blade snapped in two, the tip wedged deep into the creature’s chest. A malicious curl stretched across its face. The creature unfurled its mighty paw and tossed the broken blade at its combatant's feet.
Anduin looked on in horror as the giant continued forward. Thick green goo poured from its eye and chest, but its path was unhindered. The Cambrian Lieutenant grabbed the remains of his sword and yanked his shield free from the old highway.
“Back to the caravan!” he yelled to his men—the few that were still standing their ground. The blue cloaks retreated toward the colorful wagons as the hulking creature approached, its eyes venomous with rage.
The massive tree trunk fell again, splitting the Cambrian forces. With a swipe of his bloodied paw, the soldiers flew headlong into the last wagon. Anduin landed on his back as the creature raised its mighty weapon. The Lieutenant lunged under the wagon for his shield and brought it up as the tree trunk crashed through the carriage, splitting the wagon in two. Splintered wooden fragments rained across the street. The merchants inside were crushed and the wounded oxen galloped forward, terrified.
The middle wagon lurched as the explosion startled the oxen, sending what remained of the caravan deeper into the streets of Wyvern’s Rest. Anduin pushed his shield off his body and grimaced. He tried to roll to his feet, but could not. He steadied his hand against the street and lifted, but could not budge. He looked down in horror as he caught sight of his leg, splintered and broken, just like the wagon around him. Pieces of brittle bone protruded from the skin while his knee bent at an awkward angle.
As he studied his mangled leg, Anduin heard the thumps, accompanied by the familiar jingle of his armor. He looked up to see the hulking creature standing over him, reaching down with his bloodied green fist.
Anduin raised his shield in defense, but the huge hand simply swallowed them together, lifting him high into the air. The giant chuckled, studying its broken foe, then threw Anduin toward the Sea. He tumbled end over end before crashing into the rocky slope. His limp body joined the jagged, onyx boulders as they plunged farther down the embankment.
His breath had escaped him and the pain was beyond compare. Anduin and his broken armor were splayed across several boulders—his leg shattered, his command lost. He groaned at the unnatural twist of his knee. Collapsing back to the rocks, he turned back to the highway and the carnage that had befallen them.
The horde assembled at the top of the hill, flanked by taskmasters, chieftains, and the giant, alabaster abomination. One carriage was missing, another broken upon the rugged shore, and the third limping toward the inner gates, piled high with a host of pale, lusting creatures.
“Seems it was not our day, my young friend,” came a gentle, familiar voice. Anduin spun in surprise, reaching for the fragment of his broken sword. Recognition stayed his hand as the bruised body of Amoran Davilla climbed toward the fallen Lieutenant. His robes were torn and soaked to the core, as was the man who wore them. It was not his old friend’s condition that caused Anduin to falter, however, but the grave, solemn expression that accompanied it.
He met the old man's eyes, but not another word was spoken, just an apologetic, helpless shrug of his shoulders. Anduin scanned the rocky shoreline, his rigid character softening. “Camille?” he questioned. But the response was just another heartfelt shrug. “Davilla—where is my daughter?” Amoran failed to respond, yet his sober expression was enough.
“I…I looked, my Lord,” he said after a long pause. “She…fell.” He pointed down toward the rocky ledge and the menagerie of floating pale corpses. His voice quivered and his breath broke as his eyes fell away. “I swear, Anduin. I looked.”
Amoran grimaced as he caught sight of Anduin's leg and the fragmented weapon in his hands, then looked up the slope at the gathering throng of fanged malice. “By the gods. How did this happen?”
“The gods had nothing to do with it.” Anduin scowled, climbing to his feet. “They would not have allowed this. And if they did—they are no gods of mine.” He rested the tip of his broken sword against the rocks, his weapon now more useful as a crutch. “They have taken my wife. They will not take my daughter.” He hopped a few times to steady himself and joined Amoran in staring up the slope.
The pursuit of the broken wagons had ended, the caravan destroyed. The screams heard upon the highway were quickly snuffed out, just another meal for a hungry horde. One by one, the creatures noticed the wounded soldier and his colorfully adorned companion. They shrieked in anticipation, their shrill cries echoing off the nearby rocks and the abandoned city walls. They yearned to race down the rocks, to fulfill their purpose, yet waited for their command.
The giant warrior stepped forward, the tip of Anduin's blade still lodged in its chest. It surveyed the wounded soldier and curled its lips into a sinister grin. Its massive tooth was broken and bloodied; its look was deadly. The beast’s belly rumbled as it pointed down the rocks, followed by a guttural noise, heard only as, “Kill.”
The horde needed no further invitation. They galloped down the embankment, each more desperate than the other to reach their prey. Anduin grimaced as he raised his splintered sword. He turned toward Amoran and offered a sincere nod. “Thank you, my friend,” he said, then spun back to the oncoming horde. “For Camille.”
Camille opened her eyes to a host of terrifying screams, yet her world remained black. A powerful stench consumed her as the smell of rancid meat and urine filled her senses. She attempted to roll, but could not, coating herself in warm vomit.
Flecks of light peeked through her darkness while the screams intensified. She reached out and felt the slimy, coarse texture of a lifeless creature. She pushed with all her might, and daylight filled her world. She squirmed and wriggled against the rocks, pushing the limp creature against a large oak tree.
Camille emerged back into the light, a fresh cut across her forehead and a steady stream of blood trickling from her scalp. She pulled herself up, but slipped back onto the onyx-stained boulders. Before her, hundreds of pale creatures lined the edge of the highway, their teeth focused on whatever lay near the shoreline.
She turned to look back to the square, now empty and quiet. With a grimace, the raven-haired young girl rose to her knees and crawled. Her dress was ripped and her knees ached, but she made her way up the rocks, back into the old square. She looked up at the ancient dragon statue and back toward the inner gates, filled with ravenous albino creatures.
Camille stood and stumbled along the road, back into the shadow of the old statue. She walked in a broken line, bloody footprints marking her path with each painful step. She stumbled into a small alley, hiding from the eyes of the creatures.
As she emerged back into the light, the old city gates loomed before her. She sighed, dabbed blood away from her forehead, and stepped forward.
“Hello Camille,” came a haunting voice from the alley. Camille spun, collapsed, and gazed upon a sinister form. A sleek, black female figure emerged from the darkness, her skin armored, rigid, and imposing.
“Don’t be afraid, my dear,” she said as her sick, yellow eyes pierced the shadows.
| Chapter XIV
Awakening
Ava lay broken under the windowsill, a merciless blend of blood and panic. Her body had shut down, yet her mind was fully awake, a captive witness to her own murder. She lay motionless in a pool of wine and blood. Broken shards of glass littered the floor, piercing her pale skin. Ava’s labored breath haunted the chamber while her master’s boots echoed in her mind, their sinister purpose not yet fulfilled.
Don’t…scream, sh
e thought.
Her eyes fluttered as Viktor approached, her chamber of death coming into focus. Wine coated her eyelashes, painting her world in a morbid shade of red. Her mind twisted while her broken body refused to act. Though her body reflected a soul lost, it bore no assurance to Viktor, whose fury was born somewhere deeper, an inner rage that consumed a tormented mind.
Don’t let him…see, Ava thought, intent to defy Viktor to the bitter end.
“How were you planning on doing it? Slit my throat while I slept? Poison my favorite meal?” he said.
Ava’s brows curled, fighting for a breath of air.
“Run me through while I take a shit?” he screamed.
Ava fought to shake her head.
Viktor’s gaze drifted to the large heap of white, blood-stained robes. His teeth clenched in a fit of rage.
“I know…everything,” he said, looking back to the weapon in his hand. He brandished the stiletto dagger, holding it up before him. “Do you know what this is?” Viktor cast the heavy table aside, its few remnants destined to join the other rabble in the darkened corner.
“Do you know what it’s for?” he screamed, shaking it in front of her face. “It was forged many years ago, and had but one purpose.”
He held the frosted blade into the morning light, twisting it to cast an eerie blue glow into the darkened corner.
“Murder.”
Viktor knelt before Ava, pressing the dagger’s frozen tip against her cheek. Pain enveloped her face. Her skin sizzled and cracked, but she would not scream.
“Fitting,” Viktor continued. “The weapon forged to murder your mother, would seal your fate instead.”
“Do you have any idea what that necklace was worth?” he asked, anger returning to his voice.
“You showed him where to hide it, didn’t you?”