Wrath of the Forgotten

by Aaron Hodges

  Reassured that at least his friends had not been butchered, Lukys nodded. Sophia might have been lying, but somehow he didn’t think so. Speaking mind to mind, he sensed it must be difficult to tell a falsehood.

  “Thank you,” he murmured.

  Sophia only turned away, preparing to leave, and Lukys’s stomach twisted again with fear.

  Wait! He hesitated. Can…you leave the light?

  Looking over her shoulder, Sophia regarded him for a moment. Then in silence she set the lantern on the bench beside the door and slipped out. The door clanged shut. And he was alone in the silence.

  13

  The Fugitive

  Panic ate at Erika as she lay awake in her bed, staring up at the hidden ceiling. Darkness clung to the room and the only sound to break the silence was her own breathing. Maisie was gone again, off completing some task or another for the king, no doubt. But despite the tranquillity of the night, Erika found sleep would not come.

  She could not stop picturing the queen, could not stop seeing the hatred in her eyes, the promise for vengeance. Princess of Calafe or not, the woman wanted her dead. And what Amina wanted had a habit of coming true. Would she send Romaine to take his revenge?

  No, it would be a true killer, someone well prepared to strike another down in cold blood. Immediately the face of the other man who had ridden alongside the queen leapt to Erika’s mind. There had been a darkness in that man’s eyes, and something else…a familiarity, as though Erika knew him from somewhere. But Erika could not quite put her finger on it.

  Grinding her teeth, she sat up suddenly and threw off her covers. Rising, she crossed to the window and looked out at the silent vista. Stars shone in a cloudless sky, but the moon was hidden behind the mountains that bounded the fortress. Somewhere in the distance, though, between the stark cliffs of the canyon, she glimpsed the faintest of glows.

  Dawn was already approaching. She shook her head, returning to her bed, though she did not bother to close her eyes. Instead, Erika turned her mind to the king and his actions. Why had he given up the gauntlet to his enemy? Had he truly thought to buy peace with the queen—or was there something more nefarious in his actions?

  Erika’s eyes were drawn to her own gauntlet. In the darkness, the faintest shimmer of light could be seen amongst the metallic fibres, though she had not unleashed its power in days. Was there some danger to that glow, some effect of the magic she did not understand? Regardless, she needed it now. It was her only protection should the queen’s killers come for her.

  Her heart twisted as she turned her thoughts to Cara. How badly she had repaid her friend’s kindness, to allow her to be imprisoned, locked away like a common criminal. Teeth clenched, she lurched from the bed and threw on a tunic and coat, then boots. It was time she began making up for her mistakes.

  Erika was just starting for the door when it swung open. A lantern carved the darkness and she raised a hand and squinted against its brilliance.

  “Oh good, you’re up,” came Maisie’s voice from the doorway. “Grab your things, the king wants us away before dawn.”

  “What are you talking about?” Erika gasped.

  “We’re leaving,” Maisie replied, as though it made perfect sense. She turned away as Erika’s vision began to adjust to the light.

  “What?” Erika repeated. Her heart hammered in her chest as she looked around the room, but her only possession was a small day pack. Scooping it up, she followed the spy out into the corridor. There, though, she hesitated. “What about Cara?” she said softly. “I’m not going anywhere until I know the Goddess is no longer locked in that cell.”

  Maisie paused at that, one eyebrow arcing towards her fringe. “Oh, so now you’ve developed a conscience, have you?” She chuckled and swung away. “Don’t worry about it, Cara is coming with us.”

  Erika opened her mouth, then closed it. She’d already made herself look ignorant enough. Recovering her composure, she strode after the Gemaho woman. A cocoon of light spread out from the lantern Maisie held, shielding them from the night’s darkness, though Erika caught glimpses of the approaching dawn through the windows they passed.

  “So where are we going?” she asked finally.

  “Here,” Maisie replied, pressing a steel tube into her hands without breaking stride. “We’re going to the home of your Gods.”

  Distracted by the object she’d been handed, Erika didn’t immediately understand the significance of the spy’s words. Removing the top of the tube, she drew out an aged piece of paper, before quickly replacing it in the protective cylinder. She didn’t need to unfurl it to know what it was—the map she had recovered, the one she’d given to the king…

  “Wait, what did you say—”

  Erika’s words were cut off as her foot caught on a wrinkle in the carpet. Crying out, she lurched forward, arms windmilling, until a hand from Maisie settled her upright once more. Cursing, she looked at the woman.

  “You can’t be serious?” she gasped, abandoning all attempts at keeping her cool.

  The spy laughed and continued down the corridor. Erika hurried to catch up. It wasn’t like she hadn’t considered the idea. Ever since she’d seen that distant star marked in the Mountains of the Gods, she had wondered. But it was forbidden to enter those mountains. Now that they knew the Gods truly dwelled there, what they were capable of, surely such an expedition was suicide.

  “Can’t say I’m too thrilled with the plan,” Maisie said matter-of-factly as they turned down a set of stairs that led towards the river, “but Nguyen is serious, and therefore, so am I.”

  The stairwell opened out onto a series of berths nestled in the space behind the bridge wall. Several ships of varying sizes were currently docked, though at this hour the only movement came from a large galley further down the jetty. Beyond, Erika glimpsed an arcing dike of boulders that stretched out into the river, sheltering the port from the currents.

  “Maisie, Erika, I’m glad you made it,” Nguyen greeted as they approached the vessel.

  Erika came to a stop alongside the king. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she glanced at the ship the man had prepared for them. It looked much the same as the galley that had once taken her across the Illmoor to Calafe, though the mast currently bore no sail. With the wind blowing down the canyon from Gemaho, the sailors would have to use the oars until they passed beyond the sheer cliffs.

  From there she could imagine the path they would take from the map she held in her hand—sail south through the plateaus until they reached the valley that would lead them up into the icy peaks, up to the ancient site marked by a scarlet star. It was madness, though…Erika couldn’t help but feel a thrill of exhilaration. What fresh wonders must await in the home of the Gods themselves?

  “Excited, Princess?” the king asked, though his eyes were on the preparations.

  Erika swallowed. “I’m…not sure we’ll be greeted warmly,” she replied.

  “No, I imagine not. These Anahera have distanced themselves from human civilisation for centuries. They are unlikely to welcome uninvited guests.”

  “Then why…” Erika trailed off as she glimpsed a new figure approaching along the jetty.

  Cara still wore iron manacles on her wrists and ankles, but it looked like she’d at least been allowed to bathe and change her clothes. A heavy cloak of wolf fur hung around her shoulders, concealing her wings, and her copper hair had been tied back in a ponytail. She also still wore her familiar scowl, and a troop of some twenty soldiers followed behind, swords and spears held at the ready. Apparently they had been told to treat this prisoner with extreme caution.

  “Welcome, Your Divinity,” the king said, adopting a cheerful smile. “I trust the facilities were to your liking?”

  Cara’s scowl deepened as she stopped before them. “Where were all the ‘Your Divinities’ when you had me thrown in your dungeon?”

  “Ancient history,” the king replied, dismissing the complaint.

  “It was h
appening up until an hour ago.”

  “Yes, well,” the king continued, apparently unperturbed. “I do hope that we might put the past behind us.”

  The Goddess folded her arms—or as best as she could with the heavy manacles. “How about I knock you out first and stuff you into a cargo hold for a week. Then maybe we can talk.”

  “A rather unproductive proposal, I would say.” Nguyen smiled. “I would much rather learn more about the Anahera.”

  Cara narrowed her eyes. “I will talk no more of my people.”

  “Yes, yes, you’ve made that quite clear,” Nguyen replied. “Only, if you must know, I am growing quite desperate. The threat of the Tangata grows ever closer, and now the Flumeeren queen brings an army against me. I have a need for allies.”

  “The Flumeer are here?” Cara’s head perked up. “Is Romaine with them? Is he okay?”

  Erika snorted. “Seemed fine to me when he was threatening my life.”

  Cara flashed her a glare but the king interrupted before the Goddess could say anything else.

  “Yes, yes, the Calafe is quite fine, though I fear that Amina has her claws in him now. We were discussing how you might aid me, Your Divinity.”

  Cara snorted again and lifted her hands, giving the chains a rattle. “Why don’t you take these off, and I’ll think about smiting these enemies of yours.”

  The king sighed. “It is not your powers I require,” he replied. “Though your cooperation would no doubt be of great aid. I seek to contact your people, the Anahera, to ask for their aid.”

  The Goddess stilled at his words, her eyes taking on a look of surprise. “You can’t.”

  “I must,” Nguyen said, then gestured to the ship. “The sailors will take you as far as the river allows, the soldiers the rest of the way into the mountains.”

  “You can’t,” Cara repeated, taking a step towards the king.

  Swords rattled against shields as the soldiers behind her advanced, but Nguyen raised a hand to stop them. The Goddess’s amber eyes never left him.

  “They’ll…stop you,” she croaked.

  “Ahh, but my dear Cara, we have you,” the king replied, eyes shining. “I am sure the Anahera will welcome the return of one of their own.”

  Cara’s shoulders slumped at that and she looked away. “You don’t understand,” the Goddess grated between clenched teeth.

  Erika swallowed. There was no missing the anger in Cara’s voice. How much longer would she endure such treatment? The king wore his riding gloves, no doubt to hide that he had given away his power, and the gauntlet still hung heavy on her own arm, but…it would be a long journey. Erika didn’t savour the thought of being alone with an angry Goddess high in those icy mountains.

  But the king was right: humanity needed allies, and Gods or no, the Gods alone had the power to defeat the Tangata. Their strength and magic would be a substantial advantage to whichever kingdom won them as allies.

  “Well, I suppose it’s time the three of you set off,” the king announced, bringing his hands together in a clap that made them all jump.

  “You’re not coming?” Erika asked, surprised.

  The king chuckled. “Much as I would enjoy the adventure, I have a kingdom to run.” He gestured towards the wall. “Not to mention your old mentor to handle—”

  As though summoned by his words, a horn sounded in the distance. A frown touched the king’s forehead and together all eyes on the dock turned towards the walls. Another blast of the horn sounded, closer this time, followed by a faint roar, as of a thousand voices crying out as one.

  Crack!

  The stone shook beneath Erika’s feet and she swung around, as though expecting some giant to come charging towards them. The king only shook his head.

  “It seems Amina is early,” he said, turning to Erika with a grim smile. “Time for you to get moving then, Princess. Fate of the world and all. Best of luck.”

  With a final wave, he turned and strode away. Erika stood for a moment staring at the towering walls, until Maisie grasped her by the arm and dragged her aboard the ship. Cara followed, trailed by the soldiers, and moments later they were adrift in the currents of the Illmoor, each stroke of the oars sending them ever closer to the legendary home of the Gods.

  And the screams of the dying chased after them.

  14

  The Fallen

  Whooorl.

  Romaine came to a halt as the sound of horns carried up the slope. His gaze was drawn past the plunging drop just a few feet from where he stood, down to where the walls of the fortress stretched across the valley. They looked smaller from his vantage point, the soldiers upon its ramparts like beetles in their shining armour.

  Beyond the walls, a second swarm of beetles raced across the open ground, covering the green grass in black. The horn sounded again and moments later the cry of a thousand voices raised in unison reached them on the mountainside.

  “I take it back,” Lorene murmured, standing just behind him. “Going south might have been safer.”

  Romaine did not reply, as the first screams began from below. He forced himself to look away. It felt wrong, to see humans fighting against humans, while the threat of the Tangata loomed so close, less than an hours boat ride away. From their vantage point he could see the wild lands of Calafe, stretching almost to the walls of the fortress. It might be the last glimpse he ever got of his homeland.

  “Come on, you two,” Yasin’s voice came from ahead. “Amina’s guards can only distract them so much. We’re exposed out here.”

  Below, the clash of weapons began as the first of the Flumeeren soldiers scaled their ladders and reached the ramparts. Shaking himself free of his misgivings, Romaine shared a final glance with Lorene before continuing. Seemingly determined to finally set eyes upon Cara and her wings, the man had volunteered to join them on this mad journey, though neither he nor Romaine knew where it would take them.

  Along with Romaine and Lorene, Yasin had brought another thirty men, though none were of the calibre that Romaine had come to expect of the Queen’s Guard. Rugged and unkempt, if not for their polished weapons and armour, Romaine might have guessed them to be brigands or mercenaries. As it was, from the scars most sported, it was clear they were veterans of some sort.

  Yasin took the lead once more, leading them along a goat track high above the Fortress Illmoor. From below, Romaine would not have thought it possible to traverse these rugged cliffs. Indeed, the trail was not without risk. Not only were they exposed should any of the defenders decide to look up, but a single misstep would see them plummet hundreds of feet to the rocks below.

  No wonder they hadn’t started this section of the trail until the sun had begun to rise. Thankfully the queen had timed her distraction well, and with their weapons and armour covered by cloth to prevent them reflecting the sun, Romaine prayed their passage would go unnoticed. If not…well, then no doubt Nguyen would have a welcoming party waiting for them.

  Romaine tightened his fist at the thought. He was still practising the sword with Lorene and the queen had gifted him a shield which could be strapped to his left arm rather than held. But the chest injury still hindered him and his progress had been slow. He needed more time to regain his former skill—time he did not have.

  At least he was healed enough not to slow their progress. Yasin did not seem overly happy to have them along, but Amina had insisted. They needed someone Cara knew if they were to rescue her out from under the Archivist’s nose, though Romaine still hadn’t been filled in on the details of that plan.

  Their journey continued, winding along the tops of cliffs and across treacherous slopes. All the while, the battle raged on. When the queen had first mentioned this trail, Romaine had wondered why she didn’t send a larger force to attack the fortress from behind. Afterall, the Illmoor Fortress had only been designed to defend against a foreign aggressor. Now he understood. It would be a miracle if they passed unnoticed and without incident—a greater force would be spo
tted in minutes.

  Entering the centre of the pass, Romaine wondered at the queen’s boldness. Nguyen’s soldiers were well-armed and taking a terrible toll on those attempting to reach the ramparts. The bloodshed was terrible to behold. It seemed a terrible price to pay for a distraction. And all for what? To save one woman.

  Or to save a God?

  The distinction was still muddled in Romaine’s mind, his memories of Cara seemingly split into two people. There was the Goddess he had seen on the shores of the Illmoor, wings spread, eyes burning with untold power. But there was also the sweet, innocent young woman he had known in Fogmore. That woman felt far more real to Romaine, his memories of the days they’d spent training together, the sharp smiles and her flitting romance with the recruit Travis crystal clear. Despite the importance of the Goddess, it was that Cara he searched for, that Cara he sought to rescue.

  An hour passed quickly in their desperate race across the mountainside, up spires of rock and down into twisted gulleys, their passage all the time punctuated by the distant shrieks of weapons clashing, the howls of the dying. Romaine kept his eyes on the trail, thankful that Yasin seemed to know his way. It made him wonder how many times the man had crossed this way, what other undertakings he might have performed in the lands of the Gemaho.

  Though whatever disreputable actions the queen might have taken against the kingdom, Romaine couldn’t help but think it was justice. The king’s cowardice in abandoning the alliance had left Calafe exposed, their armies too weak to withstand the Tangatan assault. As their kingdom inexorably fell to the creatures, Romaine and his comrades had often cursed the man’s name.

  What sort of king hid behind his walls while the rest of the world burned, while his former allies fought and died in the name of freedom?

  Such cravenness could only bring fate down upon such a man—and his kingdom, too. Romaine prayed to the Gods above that he would live to see the day.