Guards Vestige

by Alexander Adams

  But Griffon refused to lose. She was determined to win this battle on her own strength. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out a way to gain the upper hand. Nothing came to her. Then Clara, with a backhanded swing of her sword, struck Jane square in the face. It had clearly been much harder than Clara had intended, judging by her concerned reaction. Jane’s head lurched back and she slumped to the ground beside Griffon. The moment Jane’s weight was off, Griffon jumped to her feet and stood ready in case she rose again.

  “Are you okay?” Clara said.

  “I’m fine.” Griffon shoved her aside and headed for the ladder back down.

  “What’s wrong? We got her, didn’t we?”

  Griffon shouted without turning to face Clara: “I didn’t need you help!”

  “What are you talking about?” Clara sounded hurt.

  “I don’t need saving,” Griffon said. “I could have handled her on my own. Just stay up here and out of the way.” Without another word or a look back, she headed down the ladder.

  When Griffon reached the bottom, she saw that the fight had mostly ended. The other attackers had chosen to retreat. Now that they had managed to take Jane out of the game, they had the advantage. With a sigh, Griffon leaned against the wall and mentally scolded herself as she watched the rest of her team gather themselves after the chaos.

  She had lost. Again. She had sworn to herself she wouldn’t ever need to be saved again, that she would learn to protect herself from anyone. It hadn’t been a true fight, but it infuriated her all the same. To try to take her mind off it, she went about helping the rest of her team double check the surrounding area and regroup inside. It took them an hour until they were comfortable enough to relax. During the perimeter check, Griffon talked with Zachery and learned he had taken out the boy Griffon had knocked down after she went up the stairs. Now they had a two-person advantage, what she guessed was the primary reason the other team backed out of the conflict.

  It had been an eventful morning in a rather short amount of time. The sun hadn’t even reached its peak. When it finally did, Daniel and Lace came bursting through the trees at a sprint, skidding to a stop in front of the fort and doubling over for breath. Zachery ran over and helped Daniel stand up straight, while Lace sat on the ground and tried to catch her breath. Griffon offered a hand to Lace, who after a moment of hesitation reached up and let Griffon help her to her feet.

  Daniel spoke through heavy breaths: “Robin and Robert got captured.”

  Several voices spoke at once, the loudest asking, “How?”

  “We were getting ready to head back,” Daniel said, “when we heard shouting on the other side of the pond. We looped around to see what was going on and before we knew it, we were right on top of them. They grabbed Robin and Robert before we could react. We had to run before they got us too.”

  Zachery sighed. “Well, there goes the advantage.”

  Daniel and Lace spent the next several minutes recounting the experience in detail. When they were done, they all decided it was too risky for the time being to go back and watch the other team’s activity. They would stay on the defensive until they decided exactly how to proceed. For the rest of the day, no one felt safe venturing outside the clearing. They all stayed within the fort or just outside of it. They placed Jane on one of their cots. When she finally woke a few hours later, she wasn’t at all pleased.

  Griffon and Clara stood on one side of the fort by a pillar while Jane was on the other side, with Daniel between them.

  Jane glared daggers at Clara as she held a hand to her nose. “You’re lucky you had a bodyguard, princess!”

  Clara took a step forward. “I didn’t need one,” she said. “You’re crooked nose says that much.”

  Griffon knew that she had a hot temper. She also knew how to spot someone else that had one. From the moment she’d met Jane, she known they were very similar. Jane had a vindictive side, however, and held grudges. Griffon enjoyed taking advantage of that and egging Jane on.

  “It could be me with just one hand,” Griffon said to Jane, “and you’d still lose.”

  Jane tried to get up, but Daniel placed both hands on her shoulders. “Jane . . . that’s enough. Go back to Vigil.”

  She glared at him for a moment before shoving him away, standing up, and storming out the door.

  After several long moments, Zachery spoke up from the doorway. “So, how should we go about this?”

  Clara was the first to answer. “Well, we can’t win by elimination anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “Math. I used my elimination on Jane and you on Corey, and with two of us captured they can’t use theirs.”

  “So we have to go for the flag?”

  Griffon tapped her foot. “To do that we have to get inside,” she said, “and we saw how well that worked with Jane. One person on the second floor can hold anyone off long enough until help arrives.”

  Daniel rubbed his temples. “Even if we had our whole team,” he said, “it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Since they’re now at risk of losing by elimination, they’ll probably stay on the defensive, which means they’ll most likely post more guards.”

  “So what do we do?” Lace asked. “Their team has the better fighters.”

  Clara shook her head. “Whatever we come up with,” she said, “let’s just stay in pairs and close to the fort for the time being. We’ll come up with something.”

  Chapter Twenty

  8th of Landring, 27th year of the Fourth Age.

  Snow layered the freezing tundra in a thick blanket that prevented any green from peeking through the pristine, white landscape. In the center of it all was the towering fortress of Drachron, a citadel of ice, iron, and stone. With jagged and barbaric-looking towers rising at uneven intervals along its roof and walls, it was an intimidating sight even to the most seasoned soldier. It was here that Marceline found herself, trudging through the ankle-high snow that covered the courtyard. All around her were the men and women of Krida, dressed in thick furs and leather to ward off the biting cold.

  Savages. The single word filled her mind as she watched them go about their business.

  The Kridens were tall and hulking people, their bodies thick with muscle and hair. This was her fourth visit to Krida over the last several months. During her trips between the frozen nation and the city of Dalisia in Edaren, she’d actually grown quite fond of the cold. It had become a familiar and welcome aspect of her life.

  “Matriarch.”

  Marceline turned toward the deep and gruff voice behind her. Gotef, a man considered tall even by Kriden standards, strode up and stopped a few steps away. His hair was woven into dozens upon dozens of braids, with countless colors intermixed with his own dark-brown locks. All of it hung over his shoulders and down to his lower back.

  He quickly dropped to both knees in the snow and placed his left hand over his heart in a fist. “Matriarch Marceline, Patriarch Liater requests you in Dragon Walk.”

  She was actually quite surprised. Gotef had improved at speaking Edaren since she last saw him.

  “Very well. Come,” she said as she strode by. He fell into step behind her without a word.

  Every Kriden she passed stepped aside, allowing her passage while simultaneously raising a fist to his or her heart. Each one annoyed her. As useful as they were, she couldn’t stand them or their traditions. Constant war and infighting made them physically strong but mentally weak. It had lasted hundreds of years before the intervention of Liater, Marceline, and the other Fingers. Now they were of a single purpose, given to them by the Disciples. Her thoughts drifted to Liater. The man was far too clever for Marceline. He was a threat to her position, though she was also, admittedly, a threat to his.

  At the main entrance to Drachron, the two men who stood watch quickly moved to the oversized door and pushed it open with h
eavy grunts. After Marceline and Gotef stepped through, the watchmen repeated the feat of moving the massive gate and pulled it closed.

  The first level of Drachron was empty. Its ceiling towered nearly fifty feet above the floor, which was nearly double that distance from wall to wall. Marceline’s heavy boots echoed across the hollow room as Gotef’s quieter cloth and leather footwear kept rhythm with hers. At the far end of the room was the Goddess Gate. It was a floor-to-ceiling barrier of solid stone and steel nearly fifty feet wide. It was built into an ancient cavern that led deep into the ground, where the Kridens believed their goddess, Mutderach, slept until her foretold awakening.

  The name Mutderach translated roughly to “mother of life.” She was one of the four great deities that the culture of Krida revolved around. They believed she was the creator of everything in the world and that she had fought a terrible war with her mate, Gesmerad. The battle was believed to be a draw. As punishment to the Kriden people for following her and not him, Gesmerad cursed the world of her followers to eternal winter. Marceline briefly grinned to herself as she recalled the stories she’d been told during their initial encounters. It was amazing to her how their cultural beliefs were so close to reality, yet skewed just enough so that Marceline and the others were able to easily twist them and convince the Kridens to follow them without question.

  They reached the far end of the room, where a circular table was placed before the door. Around it were five chairs. One was occupied by Liater, a short, frail-looking man with not a hair on his head and a pair of eyes that were nearly solid white. He wore a simple black robe adorned with fur around the neck. The collar hung low enough to expose the rune that was carved into his neck, an intimidating scar from many years ago. Marceline took the chair across from him. Gotef took the seat between them, facing the door.

  Marceline smirked before speaking: “Patriarch, here less than a day and already you call for my presence. I’m flattered.”

  He ran a finger over the rune, ignoring her jest. “Another patrol has returned with reports of tracks outside the castle.”

  She frowned. “How close were they?”

  “The base of the wall.”

  “So they are growing bolder . . . this is troublesome. Have they seen you or any other Disciples?”

  Liater shook his head slowly. “No. I’ve ordered them all to remain within the halls of Drachron until we’ve dealt with the problem.”

  “What of the Kinder of Mutderach?” The term was ridiculous, but with Gotef seated with them, she had to be sure to use Kriden terminology lest he grow suspicious of their motivations.

  Liater glanced at the Goddess Gate. “They remain below for now,” he said. “They understand their presence must be kept secret at all costs. Even Geiod will not jeopardize our plan with his insatiable curiosity.”

  Marceline leaned back in the high-backed chair and clicked her long nails on the table. It was nearly a minute before she spoke again. “Do you think they suspect anything?”

  “No. But I have sent out a group of hunters to track them down. I’d like to remove them before they find anything to give them reason to suspect.”

  “How long ago?”

  He considered for a moment. “Nearly an hour.”

  She raised an eyebrow in annoyance. “You waited an hour to inform me of this?”

  “As you said, you’ve been here less than a day, and with all due respect, this is my fortress. I don’t have to inform you of anything.”

  She narrowed her eyes. Her gaze flicked to the rune on his neck. It would be an easy enough feat. A simple knife stroke and his contract would be broken. She would hold both Krida and Edaren, at least temporarily. While the thought was intriguing and she felt her hand twitch in anticipation, she pushed the thoughts aside. For now, she would focus on cooperation rather than rivalry.

  She smiled and said, “True enough.”

  Liater was about to speak again but was cut off by the sound of the entry gate being opened. A single Kriden woman stepped through the entrance and sprinted the length of the Dragon Walk. She wore a plain fur tunic and leggings. The skin on her exposed arms was adorned in ritual brands depicting wildlife such as wolves and bears, marking her role as a hunter.

  She came to a stop just behind Gotef and knelt, placing her left hand over her heart. Without waiting to be addressed, she spoke rapidly in Kridic. Marceline didn’t speak a word of the language, so she simply waited for the woman to finish so Gotef could translate.

  When the woman finished, Gotef nodded and turned to the two of them. “Six zerstoger caught. Taken to courtyard with chains.”

  Liater smiled. “Wonderful,” he said. “Take them to a cell below. I’ll deal with them shortly.”

  Marceline raised a brow. “Would it not be better to deal with them now? What if they escape?”

  “Matriarch,” Liater said with a glare. “Nothing has ever escaped the prisons of Drachron.”

  She smiled. “There was a time when the sun had never risen before, and a time when water never fell from the sky. There is a first for everything, Liater.”

  He was visibly irritated at the use of his name in the presence of the Kridens. “Then if you would like to deal with our guests yourself, you have my full support, Matriarch.”

  She stood and replied with a clear layer of venom in her tone: “Of course, Patriarch.”

  The hunter stood and led Marceline and Gotef out the gate and to the far side of the courtyard. Already there was a crowd of Kridens gathered in a wide circle. They were shouting and screaming slurs in Kridic. Zerstoger, the Mate Fallen. It was a name given to everyone that did not follow the teachings of Mutderach or her offspring. As Marceline came closer, several in the crowd saw her and moved aside to allow her a clear path to the center.

  Six Dragon Guard rangers knelt on the hard packed dirt, their hands bound behind their backs with chains. They looked up at her with stern expressions that told her nothing she wanted to know. Good. It was simply no fun if they gave everything to her. She smiled at them, which seemed to unnerve the youngest of them, a girl with ruby red hair on the far left.

  The one at the far right spoke. He sounded calm despite the circumstances: “You’re not a Kriden.”

  She turned to face him. He was the eldest, judging by the prominent wrinkles and worry lines etched across his face.

  She stood directly in front of him. “Very intuitive, ranger,” she said. “I see they chose your sect well.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

  Then she felt something familiar. A second hand rested on hers, mirroring her movements. With it came a sense of cold—not a natural cold, but something that chilled her blood, her soul. The moment she felt it, she took the opportunity before it changed its mind and knelt down, placing a finger against the man’s forehead, letting her nail dig into his skin.

  “You already know.”

  The moment she finished speaking, the cold ran though her hand and down her finger before disappearing. When it was gone, the ranger’s brown eyes rolled into the back of his head. He fell sideways into the snow with a thud, where he lay twitching for a moment before going still.

  All around her ,the Kridens dropped to their knees and placed their hands over their hearts while they bowed their heads and mumbled in Kridic. The rangers looked at her with wild eyes as realization swept over them.

  They knew who she was. Now she swept her gaze over them again, looking for something she could use, something she could manipulate. In two of the five she saw rage—too volatile. In another she saw sadness—too weak. The next was regret, which was fickle. But in the last she saw what she wanted: fear. Fear was easy. Fear was strong. She stepped over to the girl with ruby hair. Her eyes were wide with terror. She was visibly shaking. With a single act, Marceline had broken her.

  “Gotef.” Marceline lifted a hand and gestured
for him to approach. She pointed to the five rangers. “Send them to Schahellen.”

  Gotef drew a thick and heavy bladed knife from his belt and strode up to one of the men that had showed her rage. With one hand, he gripped the man’s hair and lifted his head, exposing his neck. With the other hand, he cut the man’s throat, letting blood flow freely into the white below. Marceline never took her eyes off the ruby-haired girl. She watched the fear grew stronger. The frightened girl began breathing more rapidly as she watched her comrade bleed out into the snow. Gotef stepped up the next in the line, the man who had shown Marceline sadness when his leader had died. Again, he was left to bleed into the snow. Marceline knelt in front of the ruby-haired girl and gripped her chin, forcing her to turn her head and look at her.

  Their eyes locked. Marceline reveled in the unbridled fear she saw within. Not fear of Gotef or of the Kridens, but of Marceline. When another of her comrades was sent to Schahellen, the Kriden afterlife, the girl began to openly cry. Her eyes never left Marceline’s, even as she heard her allies die beside her.

  Gotef let the last of the other rangers fall to the ground. When the sound of the final body hitting the snow made the girl flinch, Marceline spoke: “Who are you?”

  The girl didn’t reply. Instead, she peeled her gaze away and started to sob.

  “Look. At. Me.” Marceline gripped the girl’s face tighter and forced her gaze back. “Who are you?”

  The girl’s voice cracked: “Angela.”

  “Angela, what if I told you–” Marceline was cut off by a scream as a Kriden was thrown from the fortress walls.

  Marceline turned to see another five rangers standing atop the wall, their bows drawn and aimed right for her. Within an instant they released the strings and let the arrows fly. But she felt it again. The unnatural cold radiated from her. The arrows were swatted out of the air without her lifting a finger. They fell into the snow and all around her. The Kridens started praying again, marveling at the feats they thought their goddess did for her, the matriarch of their religion