“Nigel, sir…” The wiry man sneers at Leonard. “Nigel ran the numbers. The amount of labor we required to perform the tests and keep the project on schedule was going to cripple the treasury. It couldn’t handle it, sir, so we—”
“Leonard…” Ugh…these men constantly cause me to stray from what I value most. “…suspend the project immediately until you find the proper crew to fill your positions. I don’t care what compensation they get, but they will not be forced to do your bidding while under my rule.”
I doubt he realizes it, but Leonard sends me a glance of absolute disgust and disapproval. However, he acknowledges my demand and accepts it. I look to Nigel with the same disgust and disapproval. Nigel knew of this and he did not share the information with me. I no longer have his full trust, and he no longer has mine. Then, I look to Chancellor Cromarte with the same silent lecture. His taciturnity through all of this is his confession.
It’s happening again. I’ve fended it off for too long. I’ve lost the trust. I’ve lost the obedience. And war is at our gates. I don’t wish it to be so, but I will not ignore or avoid the signs. The destruction is inevitable if we continue down this path, and I’m not sure if I can stomach it again in my lifetime. Life… Time… the words are hollow compared to how I perceived them in the distant past. I am the queen ant.
“Shambrock,” I continue and notice I’m pacing at the head of the table. “The additional guard you dispatch to the Broken Forest…” I send a sharp glance at him. “Their first directive is to escort Architect Lumen and Magistrate Whitewater to the first station where they will personally dissolve the use of the slaves and ensure each one of them is housed, fed, and obtains a proper place in society.”
“But, sir, there are hundreds of them!” he admits.
I halt and lean over the table, my fingers planted wide. “And you knew each one of those hundreds of offenses was forbidden.”
“Excuse me, sir?” Nigel squabbles. “I didn’t partake in the procurement—”
I stop his excuses with a raised hand. “Don’t bother. I know whatever escapes your tongue will be manipulative and deceitful. Yes, Nigel, the punishment is just as much yours as it is Leonard’s. If you do not understand the malice in these acts, you will be punished for ignorance. Knowing is your responsibility, and you have failed me either way.” The disappointment. How I wish I could have The First Four sitting around this table with me. They were a blessing despite their eccentricities.
“Shambrock, once your guard is done enforcing the punishment of these two, they are to flush out the slavers who felt it within their power to sell these men. They are to flush them out and execute each one of them. Is that clear, Shogun? Noose and flame.”
“Yes, sir, Taoiseach,” he replies dutifully.
I believe the guard remains mine, but only time will tell. I start pacing again.
“Next topic,” I command without allowing any more word on the previous discussion. “We have appointed a new general to rally the troops. I chose not to promote from within, but rather reinstate a former member of the Crimson Guard. He is a man capable, determined, and respected amongst all the guard, including the Nox Elite. I have persuaded the Master of Combat to join our cause against the increasing threats down south. Mycal Stormwood will be formally reinstated in the coming days.”
“Master Stormwood?” grumbles Chancellor Cromarte. He looks around the room for others to join him in questioning my decision.
“Aye, Master Stormwood is an honorable man, but can he lead the entire guard?” Shambrock agrees.
“Do you not trust in our ability to promote our own general, sir? It is uncharacteristic for you to step into our roles and perform our duties,” the Chancellor adds, a bit more respectfully this time.
I raise a pointed hand at the two imbeciles at the table who have plainly abused that trust. The Chancellor looks away from me and glares at Leonard and Nigel.
“Trust is certainly lacking in this chamber,” I admit. “But trust has nothing to do with it, Chancellor.” I halt my pacing and give him an incisive glare. “The four of you have been so fixed on who was responsible for the disappearance of the last general you forgot to appoint a new one. I took the liberty of finding a suitable candidate. Next time, focus on what is important, and you’ll have the opportunity to do so yourself.” As if there will be a next time. “To put it plainly, we have run out of time to allow his rank to go absent, and that brings me to the next topic of discussion.”
I reach for my tumbler, but it’s empty. And there’s mostly water in the ice bucket. The men remain silent and attentive. I raise the bucket, and Sasha comes dutifully pouring into the chamber to retrieve it along with the decanter. I communicate much appreciation to her. She returns a curt nod and smile before disappearing to replenish the scotch.
I turn my attention back to Parliament, elevating my posture. My fingers lightly press into each other and I look to each of them. “War is coming.”
The four men of Parliament remain quiet and calm to the point I almost repeat myself, believing they did not hear me. Then Kell Cromarte speaks up.
“War, sir? What leads you to believe this? There is no other realm to war against. The Blood Plains are desolate. And the raids in the Broken Forest are hardly a formidable army. What intel do you have?”
“This is the same threat I suspected early in the season. It seems as though you’re all so caught up in improving your personal matters you’ve neglected to pay any mind to it.” I eye each of them with discontent. “Nigel?” I give him a nod of approval. I don’t suspect any sedition in this room. Their choice to promote slavery is due only to ignorance and greed. It is safe to reveal what we already know.
The Magistrate looks at me with uncertainty, then to the men of Parliament. “It is true. I have received confirmation there is a group of rebels forming south of the Ceruleans in the Blood Plains. They refer to themselves as the Blood Riders,” Nigel confirms. “A small group now, but—"
“Rebels? What are they rebelling against? A peaceful realm?” Shambrock reacts with an outburst, as he so commonly does. “Then I suppose you’ve already found your culprit for the thieving in the Broken Forest. And the missing Dihkai. Why not mention this earlier?”
“Please, Shambrock, let me finish.” Nigel pauses a moment to ensure Shambrock is done interrupting. “These self-titled Blood Riders are not a large group as of yet.”
“Then, let us send in our Crimson Guard and shear them off before it becomes a real problem,” Shambrock interrupts yet again.
“Shogun! Have some class. Stop acting like a primate and let Nigel give you all the information he has. Then you can decide. Sometimes, I wonder how you were appointed to your position with your hasty and irrational decisions.” I gesture for the Magistrate to continue. “Nigel?”
“As I was saying, the Blood Riders themselves are not a large group. Maybe a few hundred at most. But they are gaining recruits, or rather, capturing them at a rapid pace. It is becoming a commendable army.”
“How many?” Shambrock inquires more respectfully this time.
“Thirty thousand.”
“And where are they getting this army? Who are they capturing? How are they converting them?” Shambrock probes.
“This is where it gets a bit peculiar. They have captured only a small portion of them. The remainder, well, collected is probably the more accurate term. They have been collecting the dead and not just the human dead. The Blood Riders are building an army of drones, beasts of unimaginable sizes, and half-human, half-plant sentinels, none of which have ever been heard of before. It is an Immortal rise.”
“Blaspheme! That sounds absurd. Fairy stories. Do we know who is leading this army and why they’re choosing war?” the Shogun probes further.
“He is a man you are all familiar with,” I explain. All eyes turn to me. “He is a man who each one of you had a part in banishing from our realm. He was only a boy at the time, but he has not let go of what he b
elieves to be an unjust decision we all agreed to. He is—”
The door to the Redwood Chamber bursts open.
“Carib Reign.” A young girl’s voice calls from the doorway. I really ought to have a personal guard. And why don’t any of these other fools of Parliament keep a guard either?
At first glance, it was my Shadow. Anger brewing inside for her rash decision to barge in, knowing she is to be invisible. But it’s not Ellia. Jaymes carries a remarkable semblance to her these days. Why has she returned? She forces a move I don’t want to make. “You’ve made a fatal mistake.”
I have witnessed evolution both in life and culture. Admitting it is difficult, but the cultural evolution has been far more satisfying. Because the outcome cannot be solved in a calculation. Man is a catalyst, altering all predicted courses of action. We are unpredictable.
52 Goose
W ishing I had the reflexes of a tree cat, I run as quickly as I can across the entwined, ankle-breaking catwalks. Without rails, and with my vexing experiences with these bridges already, my pace is even more cautious. The dwindling light doesn’t help either. Where am I running to? Doesn’t matter. I just need to move.
I soon find myself at Graytu’s hollow. The Chief ought to be the best person to alert, outside of the fallen Fairview. Or will he treat this as a learning exercise like every other moment in his life?
I snap my neck over my shoulder. The assassin hasn’t followed me. Not that I can see. I hurry inside. Graytu is nowhere to be seen. Somehow, I already knew before I stepped into the hollow.
A distant cry bellows through the forest. A woman in distress. Then, the sound of more commotion stirs up. The peaceful sounds of birds chirping and insects buzzing can no longer be heard. Instead, the forest churns with horrific screams and chaos. The village is under attack.
I hear the chaos but have yet to see anyone in danger, aside from the murder I just witnessed.
Not knowing where to run to next, I follow the commotion. Then, a rhythmic thumping resonates from the west. My head breaks in that direction. The Redcliffe Crossing. Coloss must be opening the gate. Maybe the villagers have fled there to escape the attack.
But I can’t join the fight just yet. I remember a prior obligation to a regal beast. I promised Stone I would keep Helios safe. The stable is not too far from Graytu’s hollow.
In a full sprint, I leap into the air as I approach the nearest zip-line and grab onto the charlie. It jerks a little but holds as I traverse through the open air above the forest floor.
As the landing comes into view, an ominous figure stands there, waiting for me. Not the cold-blooded killer that murdered Fairview, but someone else. He’s dressed in pale-grey assassin’s garb—a hooded cross-sash and fitted greaves. The man stands in an attack stance with a pair of blades in hand. His hood conceals his eyes and, in turn, withholds any indication as to what talents I am about to face. Maybe I ought to be concerned about the blades first. I lift my legs higher and tense my muscles, bracing for impact.
I come at him at a deadly pace, lacking any flexibility. I have only one route, one direction to go, directly at my foe while he anticipates my arrival. My chances of surviving this are slim. He’ll slice me down as soon as I get to the deck. Unless… I slide my fingers around the leather grip of my arachniwhip, gripping the charlie firmly with my other hand. The landing advances, and the man adjusts his stance, eager to kill.
At ten paces out and coming in with incredible speed, I let go of the charlie and snap my whip. Not at the man, but into the canopy. My whip pulls taught and swings me to the right, looping around his back side. He adjusts quicker than anticipated, pivoting and following the curve of my swing. His blade slashes at me.
Before contact, I retract my whip and drop to the bridge with a near miss of his sword. I tuck and roll upon impact then spring to my feet and continue running. I’m no match for this man. He’s a trained assassin. A warrior sent here to slaughter the people of this village. So, I decide to take Fairview’s advice and run. The assailant stays on my tail, following me through the treetops. The stables are within view, three bridges between me and the stable door. If I can make it there before being cut down, Helios will give me a fighting chance. A tiger in the treetops ought to stun him long enough to attack.
I sprint down the first bridge, the man only ten paces off. He’s fast, and his footwork on the organic bridgeway is flawless. He’s too fast.
“Helios!” I shout. “Helios!” He doesn’t respond. Again, I call via my instinctual conduit, but no response from the cat. Not that I can see.
The man is closing the distance, only five paces out. I make an unconscious decision and leap off the third bridge. I snap my whip upward, intending to wrap the bridge itself, but instead snag the man’s ankle. With my stomach already tied in knots, the sudden jerk and release doesn’t affect me. I’m already terrified out of my wits. But he manages to hold his ground, even with the downward force of my body. And with the secure anchor he’s given me, I whip underneath the bridge and make a full circumference. My momentum peaks at shoulder height of my attacker on the opposite side I leaped from. His leg anchored, he pivots at the hips and swings with a miss. I fall back toward the forest floor, pendulating underneath the assailant.
What now? I can’t climb the vine because of the paralyzing toxins it secretes. And even if I did, I would be climbing to my demise. If I retract the vine or let go, I’d surely injure myself. The fall is too great. The only alternative is a gradual drop to the forest floor. I focus my energy on the arachniwhip, manipulating its length. The energy escapes me and pumps into the accreting vine, but I don’t drop any lower. The assassin grips the whip with his bare hands and pulls me upward. I don’t know how without losing the function of his hands, but that’s not important. He’s pulling me up faster than I’m capable of growing the dense whip.
His strength is beyond any normal man’s. He lifts me to eye level. His eyes are as grey as a thunder cloud, with a face that looks as if it’s been scorched by one. Scars line his cheeks, cross the bridge of his nose, and climb his forearms to his shoulders. This man has been through too many battles and obviously survived them all.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because you are weak,” he replies. “And your weakness gives us strength.”
“Then, do it!” I shout at him, angry at myself for giving up. I have no other options. This is it. Anticipating an impale, I inhale, trying to accept my failure. He doesn’t strike.
An orange blur sweeps into my peripheral and pins him to the ground. Without the murderous anchor, I drop. The bridgeway not quite beneath me, I reach for whatever I can. A small sprout growing from the walkway, a nuisance to me until now, becomes my savior. The sprout is strong. It holds my weight.
Helios approaches and bows his head, allowing me to grab the scruff of his neck. He pulls, but my hand slips. I scramble and manage to snag the leg of the assassin. Helios wraps his jaws around the corpse’s arm and tugs. The sound of fabric tearing pierces my ears.
I tumble and twist frantically as I fall. I spin and see the ground coming at me, quick.
“Rise, blood of my blood. If you are to be my guardian, you must rise. You are needed,” a serene wind whispers.
My eyes flutter as I struggle to open them. Something bright hovers above me. I find my focus and see massive, pale antlers towering over me, stacked upon a white stag. A warmth consumes me. The beast’s large, crystalline eyes gaze at me with urgency. I prop myself up, and it bounds off into the forest, out of sight.
The White Hart. Blood of my blood? Guardian? What was that?
Helios rushes toward me from out of the wood. He carries something in his jaws. My arachniwhip. I throw my arms around the big cat and give him a generous scratch behind the ears. A loud purr rumbles from within, and he nuzzles into my chest. “Good to see you made it down to my level.”
A monstrous roar bellows off in the distance in the direction of the crossing. Coloss. “Helios, let�
��s go.”
I halt at the border of the meadow where the great fig tree is planted, which is teeming with upset siamangs. They’re no longer synchronizing to reveal the crossing, but it’s been left open for anyone to pass. I can’t imagine that was intentional. The apes swing wildly from branches, hooting ferociously, and banging fists on anything in front of them. Below the tree, the forest floor is littered with bloodied corpses—men, women, and, worst of all, children. The view is utterly disheartening.
Redcliffe Warriors battle white-cloaked intruders alongside the apes. A select few of the assailants adorn nothing but a loin cloth and shiny iron plates. Some have iron shoulder guards while others have a single plate covering only a thigh. Their appearance is ragtag and shambolic. Worst of all, their flesh doesn’t appear so lively. They’re ashen and scarred.
Blades glimmer in the low light, clashing together with the wincing sound of metal-to-metal contact. Large, body-sized shields of bark are raised in defense and sometimes used to smash against the foe. And figs are tossed from the tree at all who disturb the peace. Zoie is somewhere amidst that chaos.
Upon the cliff, several villagers have crossed the ravine and make the climb to the top. It’s difficult to discern who is who, but I doubt Zoie is one of them. She wouldn’t flee. She’s here somewhere, defending her village. I look to the treetops where I believe she’d find higher ground for sniping.
Where is Coloss? I suddenly realize he’s not defending his tree. Why is he not standing ground? His kin run rampant, tossing fruit and branches down at the assassins, but Coloss isn’t here.
I’m hesitant to draw my bow, for my aim isn’t honed. I would be risking the lives of the villagers. Zoie would give me a gut check for that thought, but it’s the truth. Instead, I rush the crowd with my small kukri blades in hand and Helios by my side. I take jabs where I can, not stopping to fully engage anyone. I slice a limb here and there as I race through the commotion. My primary goal is to find Zoie. Helios’s priority is to kill. He bounds toward the attackers at full speed and attacks with claws fully extracted.
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 65