“All paths lead to death. It’s not escape. It’s just delay,” he said.
She looked at him. “Then let us delay it? At least another day, just one more day.”
She’d been saying one more day for more than two weeks now. They had set up a small camp next to the water because it was too hard to leave the ocean. The first time he had tried to return to the city with the Wolvern. Silver and the few of her people that survived. He only got out of sight of the sea before the pulling and the urge to return became too strong to deny. Seraphina must have felt it too as she came back with him, tears in her eyes. She was struggling with her guilt and trying to gather the strength to leave. He knew they weren’t just wanting, but she was mentally convincing herself to do it.
That night they sat by the small fire, alone, looking out at the water and the small boats.
“I think I can leave tomorrow, but I’d rather leave in the sunlight,” she said.
“Are you sure?” Seth replied.
“Like you said, it’s not escape to stay, it’s simply delay. Even if I stayed here for another few days or weeks with you, what would be gained? The people I murdered would still be dead and the only thing I would have had is a few more days of happiness.” she said.
“You’re happy here?” he asked.
“I am Seth. I like you. It’s easy to be with you and not feel judged, but there is something I want before I leave to god knows what hell.” She said the word and leaned into him and started to kiss him. Seth felt her warm lips against his and her soft tongue in his mouth. She kissed him with passion and energy. He assumed he knew what she wanted. It had been around five years, after all, and maybe her last chance of human contact in who knew how long.
He pulled away from her with a smile. “I want it to, but are you sure you want to? I mean, with me?” he asked.
She just laughed and pulled him in to kiss her again. “I’m sure you’re my type, even if we did start off badly, but I’m in charge. You do what I say. I can’t do this if I’m not in control.” Seth just laughed. He was more than happy to let her take control. In a way, he understood her mind well. It had been so long and she wanted to go slowly, not have some slavering man pinning her down. It was for her as much, if not more than him right now.
“Good boy,” she said and pushed him back into the sand.
She kissed him again and he felt the passion rising in her and himself as her light and beautiful body lay against his. She looked gorgeous with her scruffy blonde matted hair, perfect blue eyes, and a slight smile. He hoped she would allow him to see the real her and not her guise of perfection. She reached down as she kissed him and slowly undid the leather ties on the top of his pants. She freed his cock, which was hard in moments and slowly ran her hand along it. Her fine white hand was cool and he almost laughed at the sensation.
She grinned at him looking down at it. “I knew it.” She leaned in to kiss him more. “Now close your eyes and lean back.”
Seth obeyed her and laid back in the sand, closing his eyes. He felt her lean back and slowly pulled aside her thin dress and then her hand on his cock again. She ran the tip back and forth very slowly across the entrance of her pussy and then guided it inside of her. Seth gasped at the incredible feeling of it. She was so wet and ready for him. He opened his eyes for a second, but she just told him to close them again.
Seraphina let out a slow moan herself as she lowered herself fully onto him. She began rocking back and forth. Seth could feel the pleasure building as his cock slowly slid in and out of her. He’d wanted her from the first time he’d seen her. They had been enemies but she was always incredible looking and held herself with such confidence. The more he’d come to know her in the past few days, the more he wanted her. She was funny, kind and smart. He’d do this the way she wanted. The girl had needs. Seth drew on some of his memories and, reaching down with his hand, rested his thumb against the spot. Just at the top of her pussy, calling out to be touched. He flicked his thumb slowly back and forth across it.
He could feel her rocking faster and faster. “That’s good,” she said and ground down on him deeper. She was speeding up and her moans were increasing. He realized she was ready to go. It would be very easy. She was so pent up and just wanted release. “Open your eyes,” she said. He was glad he did. He got to see the beautiful sight of those deep blue eyes locked on his as she came. Her perfectly refined faced flushed red and she actually swore like him more than once.
She collapsed with her head against his bare chest, softly panting; his cock still inside her. She sat up and looked at him. “You didn’t?” she asked.
“You didn’t tell me too,” he said with a smile. Seraphina leaned down and kissed him again. Seth could feel how much more relaxed and happy she was. It wasn’t just the release. He knew this was the moment she’d decided to try to love him. It was both of them getting closer and trying to build something.
She leaned back and looked at him again. “So we can go again?” she asked.
“We can, but this time, I want to see all of you,” he said.
Seraphina stood up from him and reaching down slowly, pulling off her dress and showing him all of her. No tricks. Just her lovely pale body in the moonlight. He looked up at her.
“Maybe we can stay a few more nights?” he said.
She grinned at him. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Chapter Six.
Minsetta’s situation had gone from fantastically lucky to downright troubling in the space of a few hours. First she was killing and laughing, had two allies in Grimm and the girl Josette and now he’d shown up, looking like a miniature version of his father who had made her life a living hell. Made her flee her own city for the goddesses’ sake. King Thellas the younger.
Her father had known of the Dark Guild, her and all in that shadowy world and for the most part, he’d steered cleared, still he let his hatred of women guide him and finally driven her out of her own city. When she saw his bald-headed eunuchs with the new king, she knew that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the stunted tree. She still remembered those ugly features in her dreams. Guided by their king, or rather directing him from the shadows, the Order of the Learned, sexless idiots.
Minsetta watched the king pass by on his fine white horse and look her right in the eye as he passed on his way to the Keep, with his few hundred men marching behind. If Elizebetha thought this was her salvation, then she was sadly mistaken. Minsetta walked back through the camp, smiling at the men of the Red Bastards and eventually found Grimm.
Grimm sat heavily on a small stool, bleary eyed, and drinking what she hoped was water from a small leather skin. His eyes had a far-off cast, he was clearly deep and far away from this camp and the world of now.
“We have a problem,” she said, crouching on the ground before him.
“I have a problem. It feels like a blacksmith cracked open my head and poured some melted iron into it,” he said.
“You shouldn’t take so many memories at once, but still it seems you did what needed to be done and have protected something that will now need,” she said.
Grimm looked at her through watery eyes with surprise.
“Of course, I know,” she said softly.
She was a little jealous of his knowledge and power now but spoke truth. She knew what was next, what had already happened while she searched for the drunken Northman.
“We have to leave. Today,” she said. “You, me and Josette, if she’ll come.”
“And why’s that?” Grimm asked.
“Because the king’s arrived.”
“So what? He looks like a child I’ve never been less impressed by someone.” He spat.
As Grimm spoke, he looked at the keep. A thick, dark snake of smoke started to rise from the courtyard and stain the sky like a dark thought.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“It’s books, Grimm. Lots of books.”
***
Dagosh’s men were busy
piling up the bodies of the dead onto blood-drenched wagons. It was a nasty job, but better he did it than anyone else. At least, they’d do it with some respect. The Red Bastards had the good sense to leave his people the hell alone. Each one had been left, untouched, weapons and armor still in one piece. They clearly didn’t want to piss off their new allies, or at least, wanted a day to rest before getting in another fight.
They had won the battle and he felt nothing but tired. He’d imagined it was some glorious adventure, but realized he just wasn’t angry anymore. He’d been filled for so many years with such a pit of rage. It was like a fire that drove him onwards, but now, looking at the dead faces of the men and women he’d saved from slavery, trained, and become friends with, his rage left him. He felt cold without it.
He thought he was rescuing them, giving them some meaning and pride back in their lives. Now they had no lives at all. When this was over, he was going to hire the Cold Death out as guards only and do easy work. This was just too hard.
He looked up to see smoke rising from the Keep. It was a deep dark color and it looked like trouble. The fire lit inside him again in an instant.
“Cold Death,” he yelled to the hundred or so men and women who were collecting the bodies,
“To arms!”
***
Never trust a king. Never trust people who all look the same, have little uniforms with strange symbols and carry stupid looking weapons. Goldie was a good judge of when people were lying, play acting and when he had seen his new friend Thellas talking with Elizebetha, he saw the truth of it. A man holding himself back from violence. He looked like a drunkard getting ready to hit his wife.
He was quite used to smiling at someone when he really wanted to stick a dagger in them. His father had taught him that skill early on. Now he could smile while the dagger was actually in them, but naive old Elizebetha just followed them into the Keep and probably thought all her troubles were over.
The courtyard fell silent when they disappeared through the huge open doorway. He saw the king’s troops, standing still but silently preparing, tightening straps, straightening armor, testing bowstring and whispering to each other. There was no one to fight. The Reds were in their camp and were clearly part of the king’s plans, but the Blackrock loyalist were here and the Cold Death were only minutes away. The king had brought enough men to deal with them both.
Goldie watched, face unmoving, as soon as the red-clad men came back out of the Keep. They carried armloads of expensive looking books and leather bound volumes, throwing them roughly in a pile on the ground. He’d seen her library and knew where they came from. After two or more trips, they had quite the pile. One man bent down with a flint and spark stone, after a few strikes they were alight. A pillar of smoke started to rise from the pile as they cracked softly.
The captain of the Blackrock Guards, a man called Griffin or something, had been looking on, clearly trying to gather the courage to do something. Now he stepped forward to one of the bald men.
“What is the meaning of this? Surely the lady will not abide this?” he said.
As quick as an assassin, the bald man pulled a small curved dagger from behind his back and thrust it into the man’s belly. Its sharp blade slid easily through his leather armor. He held the soldier close as his body slid to the ground, slumping backwards into a growing pool of blood. Goldie turned and calmly walked away. He knew what was next. The sounds of battle started ringing behind him, but not a hand touched him as he walked towards the gate.
Then he saw just what he’d expected. Brave old Dagosh, running towards the Keep. His hundred and fifty or so fighters that were still left, followed, armed and ready behind him. Blood up and looking for a fight. They’d be killed in a heartbeat. Goldie rushed out the gate and met them on the roadway, out of sight of the king’s men.
“Stop Dagosh!” he yelled.
Dagosh went to run past. Goldie drew his sword with a deep sigh and pointed at him.
“I should have known you’d turn traitor,” he spat, stopping.
“I’m not, you fucking idiot, but if you go in there you’ll all be dead and I’d rather that not happen,” Goldie said.
“We have to protect Elizebetha!” Dagosh said with real feeling. This man actually cared about her.
“You can’t. She’s dead. I’m sure of it and now, unless you want all these fine people to join her, you have to run.”
“The Cold Death don’t run!” shouted one of the archers drawing on him. It was Captain Stellos. She fired a well-aimed shot into his shoulder. It sunk fast and deep into his flesh, making him drop his sword with a grunt. Dagosh rushed past him, shoving him roughly to the side, and hitting his head on the roadway. In the midst of them, he saw Josette. She looked back at him for a moment and ran on.
Goldie looked from the roadway as the brave idiots ran through the gate and at a force twice their size. Fucking loyalty, he thought as he passed out.
Chapter Seven
Prince Thellas was awoken by sounds that roused him in a state of fear. He’d been dreaming of dark shapes, of people chasing him that he couldn’t escape and sharp animal teeth. Thellas threw off his plush bed covers and searched his way through the dark, guided by the crack of light under his door. He found the metal handle and turning it, let himself out of his bedroom.
A guard stood on the other side his one hand reaching for the door handle, the other on his sword.
“Young prince, get back in your room. Something is wrong,” the guards said.
The boy knew what was wrong. He ran past the man, down the stone stairs in his fine nightshirt and ran to the door of his father’s study. He saw the guards smashing it down. They heard the sounds too, but louder and terrifyingly real. The sounds of wild animals and human screams.
Two guards rammed the heavy wooden door with a marble bust of the first king of their line, his grandfather. The wood splintered and the door flew open hard. Young Thellas stood and looked into the room.
There, on the floor reaching for the door, with a ruined and bloody hand, was the body of his father. Blood covered his face and part of his lower jaw was gone. His throat was a bloody mess of ribbons, a look of terror frozen in his dead eyes. The boy looked and thought what could possibly do this. What could turn the father he had loved so dearly into this lifeless, horrible thing crumpled on the floor.
The boy turned his back and was snatched up by his tutor, Renfra. The tall bald man held him against his chest, shielding him. The boy cried while the man knelt, stroking his hair.
“Never fear young king, we’ll make the world safe again.”
***
He released Elizebetha’s body to fall ungracefully to the floor, long after she was dead. Thellas realized he had been screaming and screaming. His throat was ripped raw. The red-shirted men had already started taking out the books and within moments, he heard the sound of fighting from outside. The king shook his head in disappointment and drew his sword. Why could they never understand he was protecting them all?
The king ran from the room, his rapier drawn. His red- shirted men flanked him, pulling their own long curved daggers. He’d been taught the sword from a young age and had also been taught that a leader must fight along with his men.
Outside of the doorway, the courtyard was a sea of bodies and drawn weapons. His men had made quick work of the Blackrock Guard and now stood guarding the doorway, from which he exited. Thellas passed through them and pushed to the front. Before him stood the so-called Cold Death, the mercenaries paid by Elizebetha. He’d not expected them to fight. Clearly the Red Bastards felt no such urges.
A man at the front was clearly the leader. He was older and grizzled, looking every inch what he was, a mercenary captain. The man pointed a short, well-used sword at him, as his men drew theirs as well. The king had, at least, three hundred and this was just shy of a third of that. Still, they had about twenty archers.
“Where’s Duchess Elizebetha?” the man shouted at him.
“Show some respect, old man. I’m the king. Or do you forget?” he said.
“I asked where she is, not who you are,” he yelled back.
“I’m so sick of fools like you. What do you think you’re protecting? Do you have any idea of what is in those books? Any idea of who she was? How could she look so young and yet be aged, how could she win a battle against those odds. She has secrets in this Keep that need to be destroyed and her along with them.”
“Thanks,” said Dagosh.
“Why?”
“For telling me why I should kill you,” he shouted and flicking his sword forward.
A barrage of arrows flew and men started to fall around the king.
***
Dagosh knew she was dead. They had pushed passed Goldie and he knew he should turn back, but what was the point? It was all over now. They had fought the Duke and won and now they had a King to deal with. He couldn’t win, but he could make the bastard hurt. He saw his smug young face, heard his words just waiting for him to say it. He’d killed her. That fine, lovely woman, who had been so tormented by all this was finally at rest, but now this little prick would join her.
On his signal, his archers fired. They took down the men closest to the king but avoided him. Dagosh lunged forward and slashed at the king with his short sword. A tall man in red stepped in the way, fighting with a long knife. What a fool. Dagosh stepped back from the short-range weapon as the man slashed and cut his hand to the bone. Bringing the sword back in an upward swing, he sliced the man from navel to throat. It was easy. He remembered, with a smile, that he was always good at this part.
His troops surged around him and fought hard. He saw all the one’s he’d trained and remembered all their faces. They seemed possessed by the same fury as him. Slaves all, forgotten, tormented, shit on by life. They’d all liked the Duchess. She always brought them drinks and a kind word when they were on the latest watches, and now this man had taken her. Maybe some had envisioned a life here.
Take My Heart...: Dark Ages - Fantasy (Dark Gods & Tainted Souls Book 3) Page 3