“I see your war party is eager to begin.” Luthen stood in the shadows of Chief Al’Rul’s tent, a heavy cowl pulled over his face. His magic had taken its toll on his new body, aging it into a withered old elf. He would need fresh blood soon or else he would have to find a new vessel to inhabit.
Chief Al’Rul’s eyes simmered in silent rage. “We are always ready to spill blood.”
“Good, yes, very good. I suppose you have been wondering how you and your party are to ascend to the city. I know you may play the role of a brute but I’m sure there’s more to you that meets the eye than just a bunch of fur.” Luthen smiled, thinking of how wonderful the Phooka’s flesh would feel ripped from the bones by his teeth. The world of the living had made him ravenous.
“Come, follow me,” said Luthen, “I have a surprise for you.” He slipped from the Chief’s tent and into the open darkness of the Alainia’s under belly. Down in its center was a lake with deep, murky water. Luthen approached the water’s edge and dipped the tip of his gnarled finger into its inky surface. Soft blue flame bloomed in the water into a large circle. The soft fluttering curtains of the palace’s main corridor rippled across the glassy water.
“Age before beauty,” he said, cackling, as he plunged into the wavering doorway.
Luthen found himself standing alone in the quiet hall. He knew it would take a moment for the Phooka to follow. Such beasts were always wary of strange magic.
Luthen reached into his cloak and pulled out an hourglass crafted into an obsidian top. It had taken him hours to find. Nothing looked the same as he had left it over three hundred years ago. He finally found his loosened stone tile underneath a heavy woven rug. Prying the stone up with his fingers, his heart was giddy to find the same small wooden box he had placed there so many years before.
He filled the top end of the hourglass full with sand and sat it on the snow colored stone. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it spinning. After a few revolutions, it slowed as if twirling under water until it dwindled to a stop.
Silver curtains hung motionless in the air. The sounds of the night melted into the sullen quiet of stopped time. The outside world stood still. Luthen smiled at the thought of the city slumbering peacefully through the slaughter of its royal family.
A great splash erupted behind him and slammed into the floor. Luthen rolled his eyes. At least he didn’t need require mercenaries with grace.
“What in the nine dwarvish hells was that?” Fanger shook the murky water from his fur, his eyes blazing. Luthen shrugged a lazy shoulder, dismissing the Phooka’s outrage.
“It could be worse,” he said, a smile melting into his wrinkled lip. “I could have been playing a prank on your war party. You could be trapped in the mud at the bottom of that filthy lake right now. Drowning in mud is far worse than the regular sort of drowning. Maybe I could show you sometime.”
Two more splashes exploded behind the fuming Phooka. Then three, then four more mercenaries appeared, all disheveled and grunting with annoyance. The last that came was Chief Al’Rul. He shook his great mane without a word.
“I have some simple rules before we begin,” said Luthen, shaking the water from his cloak. “First of all, the queen is not to be touched by any of your kind. She is mine and mine alone. Second, you only have an hour to do your business and be gone. And finally, of course, if any of you disobey, I will skin alive and use your fur as a rug.” Luthen’s eye burned into the fiery yellow glare of the Phooka. “This place could use with some redecorating.”
***
Evanna jerked awake, her chest rumbling from the force of a great roar. Her first thoughts were of thunder, but something about the roar chilled her very bones. She jumped up from the stool at her vanity and rushed to the window, sending her needlework clattering onto the floor. The sky was clear and full of stars. A brimming moon hung heavy overhead. She backed away from the open window, bumping against the soft motionless curtain at her side. It stood suspended in the air staring back at the queen’s widening gaze.
A scream tore through the unnatural silence, sending Evanna crumpling to her knees. A nightmare was unraveling before her eyes. She clutched at her golden hair, fighting the urge to become ill.
“Knock, knock!” A familiar voice echoed in the still bed chamber. Evanna looked up to see a cloak slip into the room.
“Lestel! What is happening? Tell me!” She rushed for his embrace, longing for his comfort. She looked up into his face and felt her insides turn to ice. “Your face! Who are you?” She struggled against the stranger’s grasp. Poisonous laughter seeped from his withered lips.
“Lestel, my dear, save me! Save me! Ha! Stupid girl. Your ignorance makes this far too easy. Like ripping petals from a flower.” He gripped a fistful of golden curls and ripped it from her scalp. Evanna howled, hot tears pouring from her eyes. Blood dripped onto her reddening face and dotted the white stone.
“Let me introduce myself,” he said, shoving her into the floor, “I am Luthen, son of Elothen, bastard king.” He spat the words as he kneeled to the floor, dipping a boney finger into the small freckles of blood. He smiled, rolling the red onto his craggy lips and tasting it with his tongue. “How delicious! I simply must have more.”
A low moan floated toward Evanna, draining her face of color.
“Mama, what’s happening?” Anya stood with her doll held tight to her chest, her eyes blurry with sleep.
Luthen rose from his crouch and strode over to Anya. She stood, staring up at him and squinting her eyes to better see his face. “Sleep,” he said, his willowy hand stroking her round cheek. Anya’s head nodded to her chin. She stumbled back to the bed. However instead of climbing back in she grasped at the blanket and crumpled onto the floor.
Evanna felt the scream welling inside her before she heard it muffled in her ears. “What have you done to her?!” She lunged from the floor but before she could reach Anya, Luthen yanked her back by her hair to his boney embrace.
“Now, now,” he said, stroking her bloody hair as she struggled against his grasp, “there’s no need to use such a tone with me. After all, she is merely sleeping. And when she wakes up, she’ll have a new family, a better family. She’ll have me.”
Evanna sobbed, the tears burning in her eyes. Her mouth hung open, too pained to scream. “Why… why are you doing this?”
Luthen laughed tickled in her ear. She could feel his wormy tongue dip into the blood trickling from her head. “Some say it would be for power,” he said, caressing her cheek, “others would say it would because of revenge. But it is so much more. Revenge is a simple thing. Once its quenched, your fire is spent. But my fire needs more—it yearns to consume the world. What drives me is my hatred. To put it simply, I do want revenge of a sort. Not for one person or even a handful of persons, but for every bastard that draws breath. I want everyone dead, and what better place to start than with you.”
Evanna felt her neck explode with pain. Teeth dug into her flesh, ripping it away like paper. Blood filled her throat, drowning her screams. She watched as Luthen lapped up her blood as it sprayed from her flesh, his eyes reflecting Hell itself.
***
Merrick lay silent in the mud straining his eyes in the shadow of Alainia’s underbelly. Amaeya was drawn up tight against him, her hands cold as a corpse. He could see the shadows of a handful of Phooka gathered around a sickly fire. He thought he had seen a group of the mercenaries slip in the inky water of the lake, but the darkness was keen to playing tricks on his eyes. Usually, he would ignore such a ruse, but tonight had an air about it that reeked of old magic. It intermingled with the damp of the underbelly and tasted bitter on his tongue.
Slowly, Merrick pulled himself up into a crouch. Amaeya followed, her hand still clutching at his arm. They crept forward, sheltered by the great shadow of the war machine. Clinging to its rough woodwork, they edged toward its corner. Merrick peeked out from its side and could see three Phooka lounging around the fire. They passed around a sagging water skin. Though, b
y the way they talked, he guessed that it held something far more powerful than water.
“‘Ey! Quit hoggin’ all the lickah!” The nearest Phooka scurried toward the one holding the water skin and gave it a tug. The offended Phooka responded by kicking the attacker in the knee, sending him face first into the mud.
“I ain’t done wid it, you smug bastah—eeehcup!” Dragon whiskey sprayed from the water skin as the Phooka became overwhelmed by hiccups. The remaining mercenary snatched the drink from his companion during his moment of weakness.
“I’ll be a takin’ that,” he said. He took a mighty swig and sprayed it into the waning fire. The flames bloomed into wicked green fingers before wilting back down to a yellow murmur. “That has got to be the most piss-poor fire I have ever a seen.”
“Aye,” said the Phooka on the ground. He lifted up his head, expelling black mud from his snout with a snort. “This damp is sinkin’ into me very bones. It’s worsen a that damn fog out a there.”
The Phooka sat and gazed into their fire for a moment, each lost in their own drunken thoughts. The one holding the water skin cleared his thought with a gruff cough. “You know,” he said, “I’m not so sure I like doin’ business with that demon fella’. He reeks a trouble. And this whole water thing. How are they all ‘pose to come back through, I mean, what if they drown?”
The middle Phooka shook his head and snatched the water skin back. “Nah, if they’d a drowned they would have gone and done it when they got in. Nah… I think there be something far worse at play. I don’t like doin’ business with magic folk,” he said, spitting his words to rid his mouth of their foul taste.
Merrick gripped Amaeya’s hand in his and readied his legs to run for the water. The Phooka suddenly broke out into a roar of laughter. The sound had startled him, but not enough to keep him from making his move.
He pulled Amaeya along as his boots beat into the mud. A faint blue light etched an opening on the water’s surface. Merrick held his breath as he plunged into the icy darkness.
Black water parted as he emerged from the doorway, almost as if he were breaking the surface of the lake for a breath of air. Water crashed around him as he fell through the air. He landed with a wet thud on the stone tiles. Amaeya tumbled onto the floor next to him, gagging on the murky water.
“We made it,” Amaeya said, ripping the ruined disguise from her head. Tight honey curls clung to her raised brow.
“We did, didn’t we?” Merrick peeled off his mossy hood. With a few pinches of lightening powder left, he ripped off the horns from the hood and shoved them into his belt. Even a small amount would be enough to cause trouble. “So much for the protection of our disguises.”
“They don’t seem to be following us, do they?” Amaeya did her best to brush the hair from her face but the wet curls refused to be disturbed.
“You’re right, they’re not. They seemed too drunk to notice. What a shame. It really was a good idea,” he said, tossing his rumpled hood aside.
Amaeya smirked at his discontent. “Don’t be so heartbroken. It’ll ruin our luck. And we’re going to need as much luck as we can manage if we’re going to rescue your mysterious lady friend,” she said, rising to her feet. She smiled and extended her hand.
Merrick watched her for a moment, both entranced by her determination and suspicious of her motives. Living his life in the desert had taught him that no one does something for free, let alone risk their life.
Yet, despite his comprehension, his mouth itched to smile back. He reached out for her hand and rose to his feet. The din of crashing glass and muffled screams fluttered down the corridor. Merrick gazed at the direction of the chaos, grasping for what to do. In his vision, there was no band of mercenaries or any others for that matter. The woman he saw was alone. She may be hiding. He nodded to himself, his mind firm with his decision.
With his hand still firmly set around Amaeya’s, he turned from the screams and roars to the still end of the hall. His legs were moving before he knew it, pumping viciously as he peeked through darkened doorways.
“Make sure no one comes up behind us,” he said, his words a rough whisper. Amaeya nodded at him and then fixed her eyes to the opposite end of the corridor.
He passed door after door, each empty of life and silent as a grave.
Suddenly, he found himself staring at the blank face of a locked door, his clenched fist fighting against the unmoving knob.
Dropping Amaeya’s hand, Merrick brought himself close to the door. He kicked at it, bouncing off the thick wood. He kicked again, tearing the knob from its place. His heel throbbed viciously where it had hit metal, but Merrick had come too be far to be mired down with pain.
He poked his head into the room and gazed deep into its shadows.
A huddled figure sat on one of two narrow beds. Merrick strained his eyes, hesitant about charging at the shadow. Without warning, the shadow jumped from the bed and dashed for the door. Merrick caught the child up into his arms, his hand firmly placed over her mouth.
The little girl’s eyes were wild with fright as she struggled against him.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” said Merrick, whispering through clenched teeth. “You’re safe with us. We’re trying to help you.”
He looked into the girl’s eyes, his expression calm. Her struggling stopped, her limbs dangling from Merrick’s embrace. He slid his hand from her mouth and sat her on her feet.
“What’s going on?” Her voice was small yet surprisingly strong. “I heard screams and shouting. I tried banging on the door but no one came.” Her voice crackled with fear.
Merrick was silent, not knowing whether to be truthful or lie to the child. He could not afford to have her in a panicked state.
“As he said, we’ve come to help you. And a lady that lives her. She’s in danger,” said Amaeya, knelling down to brush the girl’s hair from her eyes and comfort her with a smile.
“A lady? What does she look like?”
Merrick tilted his head, thinking. “She has green eyes and long blond hair. She may be someone of great importance, maybe someone—”
The girl’s eyes opened wide as she clasped her hand to her mouth. “—Mama.” Her words spilled out, muffled by her fingers.
“What is it, girl? Do you know her?” Merrick could feel his heart race, the blood pounding in his head.
The girl glanced at him and tore down the hall, screaming.
“MAMA!”
***
Evanna could feel the life squeezing out of her. She hung there as helpless as a doll as the darkness crept its way into her vision.
Luthen’s head rolled back onto his shoulders, blood smeared on his smiling face. Evanna slid from his arms and onto the warm red-stained floor. Raising a hand to her neck, she held the wound closed. Her skin had become dry and brittle with age. Silvery strands of hair now framed her face instead of golden curls.
Luthen stood gazing into the mirror of her vanity, running his fingers through the blood on his face. His wrinkles smoothed and his face shifted into a stranger’s. “Much better,” he said, running his fingers along the chiseled angle of his jaw. “No more frumpy elf, no more withered old man. Just my old, wonderful self.” He laughed with a voice younger and sharper than before.
Evanna’s breath rattled in her chest. Her body was weak. But her mind was sharp.
With her free hand, she rolled onto her belly. She crawled, inch by inch, toward the open window. Maybe, just maybe, someone would see her or, and if she summoned enough strength, hear her pleas for help.
Luthen’s laughter had ceased. She could hear him tsk as he strode up behind her.
“Dear little queen. Do you want to go to the window? Here, let me assist you. It’s such a pretty night.” Luthen scooped her frail body into his arms. Evanna’s mouth fluttered silently in protest, too weak to do anything but sway with each of his footsteps.
Evanna was propped up onto her feet on the window’s ledge. Luthen held her close a
round her waist, swaying to an invisible melody. She pawed at the window frame, fearful of what would come next.
“MAMA!”
Evanna’s heart sunk in her chest. Her eyes darted to the door, begging her child to come no closer. Astrid stopped, their eyes linked together in a fiery lock. GO! She begged with her eyes. Go, before it’s too late.
The queen felt herself slip from the window. She drifted for a few moments like a feather caught on the wind before her body realized its true weight. Plummeting, she was submerged in mist and the sweet taste of wet grass. Her mind lingered on memories long past—the first time she had kissed Lestel, the first time she had held her daughters in her arms. Darkness overcame her long before her broken body crashed into the ground, exploding into a cloud of dust.
Chapter Seven
Merrick skidded across the stone floor, his fingers inches from the screaming girl. She had stopped, transfixed, as he and Amaeya came crashing in behind her. The color had faded from the girl’s face and her mouth hung open in horror.
Merrick reached out to grab her but froze when his eyes caught a familiar green gaze.
The queen!
Instead of the beauty he beheld in his vision, he was met with a withered husk of a woman. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were cut short—the queen slipped from the window as if she had been nothing but an illusion. Merrick shook his head, trying to make sense of what he had seen.
The girl suddenly cried out, bringing Merrick back to the present. He grabbed her by the arm before she could do anything foolish.
“We must go!” He words sounded harsh in his ears.
“Yes, you really should be going.” A shadow pushed past the motionless curtains and stepped out before them. A pale angular face sneered out from beneath a heavy hooded cloak. “Perhaps you would like to come see where your mother’s gone to?”
Shadows of Time: Shadow Maiden Page 6