Chains of Fate (The Fate Circle Saga Book 1)

by Alledria Hurt

  Mordaen sat above the group on his horse, his own thoughts dark as the night already heavy with worry. His daughter was right, for all her headstrong behavior, they had only so long to find Sorren. Worry slipped tempered claws into his mind, dragging his thoughts around in circles. Could he lose a son as he lost a wife? Their mother was gone. Had been gone for years. Now he ran the risk of losing his son. His hands were cold and tight from gripping the reins.

  “Jalcina.” He rode up close and leaned away from the torch as she whirled. “We need to cover more distance. I’m going ahead.”

  “Then you’d best take me with you.”

  “No. I want you to go back home. So you can be there if he comes home. He’ll be sore, tired, and hungry.”

  “You wouldn’t be telling me you were going if you weren’t planning on taking me with you. And if you send me back, I’ll simply get my own horse and follow you.”

  “Will you simply do as I say for once?”

  “No, I won’t. Sorren needs us. You should have put a hundred men on horseback. Sent them after him. You didn’t. Now, hurry if you’re going. I’m going back for a horse.”

  Jalcina broke the line and ran back toward the tunnels, her torch creating a tail of fire in the night. Mordaen spurred his horse forward and along the fields, far past the tree where he’d spoken to Sorren in the afternoon, until he came to the edge of the woods. The well loved dog lay at the edge of the trees, out of its shadows, still whining for the young man who had gone before.

  The animal got up at Mordaen’s approach, moving to bark at the horse and rider.

  The king whistled the command for silence to it and it followed the command as it had been taught, sitting and shutting its muzzle. An odd whine came out time and again when the tree leaves rattled.

  “I know,” the man agreed. “I know. Evil resides here.”

  His eyes went to the ropes hung around several of the trees, undisturbed. The ward keeping it within the woods still stood.

  “He went in.” Mordaen groaned, his eyes squeezed shut. “He knows to stay out of these woods.”

  Just like he knew not to steal and knew not to torment his sister.

  When he urged the horse forward, it reacted like the dog, taking a few steps forward and then pulling back as it stepped into the shadows of the trees. Neighing and plunging, it backed up, refusing the command to go forward. Mordaen brought the horse under control, then slipped from the saddle.

  He guided the horse’s long face to his own, pressing his forehead to it. “Stay here,” he whispered. “I must go get my son.” The animal calmed, though it still snorted unhappily as the man stepped away and then Lord Mordaen moved into the shadows of the trees, swallowed like his son into the darkness.

  Jalcina found both the horse and the dog waiting beyond the reach of the branches above them. Her own horse stopped just as they did, stamping its feet and tossing its head in protest.

  “I know.” Jalcina looked at the red ropes, twined around the trees. They still held, so long as they held, it could come no closer. The Peria could not threaten Sartol. She slipped from her horse, dropping to one knee, her face upturned to the moon hanging in the sky.

  “Let them be safe.” Then she too stepped into the woods, her footsteps following her father’s. She found her father at the edge of the stones where Sorren had scraped his arm, his sword dug into the ground, the mist growing redder around him.

  “Father.”

  “Jalcina, stay back. It will try to draw you in.”

  She stopped, her foot finding the hole made by Mordaen’s sword. The holes were only footsteps apart. As she watched, the Lord pulled the sword, stepped forward, and drove it in again. The fingers of the mist dragged at him, tugging him toward the center where Sorren’s body lay, motionless.

  Sensing her, the creature sent new fingers out, reaching for her just as her father predicted. Jalcina took a hold of the stone nearest to her and closed her eyes, willing herself not to hear the soft voice already sliding against her ears even as the fingers sought purchase on her flesh and hair. Those words sounded so much like the memory of her mother.

  “Give him back,” she muttered. “Give him back. You can’t have him, not now.”

  Mordaen moved forward, his feet coming to the first of the white stones arranged like a spiderweb from the center. His eyes were on Sorren, watching for the movement of his body, checking for breathing. His chest moved. That was all the man wanted and truly needed. Except to insure he, his son, and his daughter all left this ill-fated circle alive. With it distracted with Jalcina, he found his movement forward easier, though now he had to glance back and see how she fared. He saw her still clinging to the rock, her eyes shut, mouth moving without sound.

  He moved forward again, digging the sword into the earth in front of his feet. Sorren’s body was only a few feet away now. If he stretched, he could grab the boy’s boot.

  All around Jalcina the world had gone red and nearly insubstantial. She was losing her father in the mist, though she knew he wasn’t far away. Her fingernails broke against the stone as she dug them in and refused to hear, murmuring her own words over the sounds of the monster trying to steal her life.

  Fingers dragged through her hair, lifting it from her shoulders and caressing her ears.

  Come. Come.

  Her mother’s voice pleading for her to come closer, to stay with her. Jalcina opened her eyes and took a single step forward. Then another. Her cloak brushed the dirt as she moved forward, her feet coming into contact with the stone.

  Come. It called all the stronger as she wavered.

  She stepped into the web and…stopped. A ring of light, so blue and bright it was white, appeared around her and then spread outward from her. The red mist screamed as it burned away.

  “Take the child,” she commanded.

  Mordaen’s eyes went wide. Her voice sounded older.

  “Take the child,” she repeated. “Before it gathers itself.”

  As she spoke, the red mist was already surging up from the circle nearly into Mordaen’s face.

  “Take the child!”

  Mordaen had no time to wonder at his daughter’s change in tone or the power she seemed to exhibit, reaching down to snatch up his son and lean the boy against his body. Then he was running out of the circle, running for the edge of the trees, running for the protection of the world beyond the ropes binding the creature to the stand of woods it called home. Behind him, Jalcina ran as well her cloak flaring out behind her as ebony wings edged in bright light.

  Out in the moonlight, the pair collapsed, heavy breath panting out of their bodies. The light flickered, once, then twice, then went out, leaving them with nothing but the silver moonlight all around.

  The horses stood off, but the dog bounded forward, licking the Mordaen’s face, then Sorren’s. It yipped happily at both of them, wagging its tail.

  “Jalcina,” Mordaen called his daughter as he laid Sorren out carefully. “We have to get back quickly.” Jalcina barely moved, then stirred back to life.

  “I ride faster.” She pulled herself to her feet and then started toward the horse. “I’ll take him.”

  Mordaen did not argue with her, helping her to take a hold of her brother once she was settled in the saddle. Once she was off and running, he swung onto his own horse, certain they couldn’t keep up, but knowing he had no choice but to hope his son would survive in spite of everything.

  “He knew not to go into those woods.”

  The horse was more than happy to run away from the shadows and the sound of the dog running as fast as it could. Even if the little animal was left behind, it would find its own way home eventually. He had no room to spare in worrying about the dog.

  Morning crept into the tunnels of the kingdom of Sartol not as light but as air, the air itself warming slightly as it slipped into the corridors. It swept out the ashen smell left by the night torches with the same almost sleepy industry it used daily. Jalcina slept, her h
ands folded in her lap, head back against the edge of the chair beside Sorren’s bed. The boy slept soundly, chest rising and falling under the heavy covers.

  Mordaen stood in the doorway, watching the pair, the letter crumbled in his grip. He stepped back from the door, sliding it closed behind him.

  He walked down the hall on the balls of his feet to keep his heavy heels off the floor. No one in his home was awake but him. Mordaen had greeted the morning with wide eyes, uncertain of what he had seen. Sleep refused him after the meeting with the Doctor.

  The doctor, Helken, had been in. The older man, staff in hand, waited for the group to come back. He had known of the search, choosing instead to wait for everyone to return before making an appearance. The planes of his face moved with concern standing over Sorren’s bed.

  “Tell me where you found him. He doesn’t look as if he was in much of a fight.”

  “We found him within the stones.”

  Helken’s eyes grew, putting one hand on Jalcina’s hair where she sat beside him.

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes. It was going to consume him.”

  “How did you survive?”

  “Father saved him. I tried to help, but I couldn’t. I barely managed to make it back to the horses without being eaten myself.”

  “I’m glad for everyone. Your brother seems as if he will survive, give him a tonic when he wakes up and keep him in bed for a few days. No grand adventures for him over the next week or so, lil Jal.” He pressed his mouth to her hair.

  “Thank you, Papa Hel, I’ll look after him. Always have.”

  When Helken stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him, he went searching for Mordaen.

  “What actually happened?”

  Helken had helped to bring Mordaen into the world, saw to his rising when his own Father was gone in the old Wars. Now he was the grandfather to all, the old one, the keeper of the history and lore.

  “The Peria kills. There is a reason no one is to approach its trees. Yet you return with both of your children intact. How can that be so?”

  “Helken,” Mordaen gestured to a chair before the desk in his study. “I don’t know what I saw. She drove it back. Jalcina drove it back.”

  “She said you saved Sorren.”

  “I could only do it because she stopped it from consuming both of us. When she stepped into the ring of stones, a light surrounded her and then forced the Peria back from Sorren. Then she commanded me to take my son and leave with him.”

  “Jalcina commanded you?” Helken tapped his staff against the floor in punctuation.

  “Yes. She commanded me, Helken. Her voice froze me, but I knew I had to save Sorren, so I did as I was told.”

  “She remembers none of this.”

  “I do not think so; I have not spoken to her about it yet.”

  They spoke as old friends for a while longer before the older man took his leave. Mordaen found himself sitting, waiting, hoping for a flash of inspiration that might well explain what he had seen. How was it possible Jalcina had shown herself strong enough to not only drive back a creature known for its appetite, but to be able to do so with an ability he had never seen before.

  Even after checking on them again, he couldn’t find the words to explain it. With the contents of the letter weighing heavy on his mind, this was a mystery he simply did not have time for. The news of Kerlan’s fall was disturbing. The Usurper King was moving closer. The plains would not contain him for long. However, with the size of his army, he would not make the mountains before winter. Only fools fought in the mountains during the winter and only then if they sought to lose. He did not think the Usurper had come so far only to lose, not if the reports were true and he had subjugated so many places. Even if he were only a puppet and not a beast as the rumors held true, he was directed by someone smart enough to insure he did not throw away men needlessly.

  Berlman would be next. If he continued his march eastward to the sea, he would have to come through Berlman, Sartol, and Membalar. He could have come across the sea itself from his other seaward conquers, but he had chosen to come across the land instead. Perhaps to drive those who thought to oppose him into the sea before the might of his army.

  “Da?”

  Mordaen glanced up and into the eyes of his daughter standing in front of his desk, her shift drawn tight against her chest with one hand.

  “Jal, are you all right?”

  “I don’t know. I just had a strange dream.” Her voice drifted and her face changed to something harder than he remembered. “A dream where I was covered in light and commanded an army. It was so strange. So real.”

  Mordaen fought for control of his face and eyes to hide his concern. Then he stepped around his desk and held his arms out to her. Moments later, she was in them, curled up tight against his chest. “It was just a dream, Jal. Just a dream. Go rest. I’ll mind the youngers.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely, they are mine after all.” He forced the smile. Pressing his lips to her hair, he said, “It will all be fine. Go back to bed.” Gently, he pushed her toward the door. “Go.”

  “Yes, Da.”

  Mordaen watched her go, the last slip of her disappearing beyond the door before he sat back on the edge of his desk.

  “A dream of light that was no dream.”

  The door said nothing in reply.

  5

  Night’s shroud had only just begun to cradle the world. Vad’Alvarn stood in a study not his own staring at a map covering the wall. The vibrant colors of each kingdom stood for their ancestral colors. Kerlan was a pale cream, covering a central portion of the continent. Its borders were bounded by a number of different kingdoms, a number of which already called Vad’Alvarn king. Yet he was not staring at those. He looked toward Berlman and the kingdoms beyond it into the mountains before the sea.

  “Sartol. Membalar,” he muttered.

  “And then this continent will be yours as well.”

  The bearded man who entered did not bow, but instead leaned heavily on his staff supporting his right.

  “It will. Have you come to ask a favor?”

  “No. No favor at all. I want only to see the man who says he will rule this world beneath only the Gods.”

  “When it comes time, not even the Gods will be able to hold me back, sir.”

  “I hope to be dead by the time that is so.”

  “I know few men your age so it may well be so.” The king’s reply was cold and slow, his attention more on the map than the man.

  “I have campaigned with you since I was a young man and you have not aged a day. None age as you, but I did not come to give or receive a history lesson, my king.” The reversion to his title caught Vad’Alvarn’s attention. This was one who needed stand on no ceremony in his presence. He turned to the old man fully, eyes skimming across his form in search of a reason for the ceremony.

  “The Council would like you to consider the possibility of finishing this campaign and allowing the men to return home.” The man’s face contorted as if he had eaten something sour as he spoke, though his eyes showed at least some conviction in what he was saying.

  “We come nearly to the edge of the world and they would have us turn back?” Vad’Alvarn put his hands down on the desk and curled them into fists.

  “There is some fear that while we are so far from home, another kingdom may well decide to launch an attack on the Burning Island itself and with no one there to guard it, surely not its rightful guardian, we will fall and have a war on two fronts. I cannot deny the idea has occurred to me as well.”

  “As it has to me. I have thought about it many a time, but we are so close to the end. How can they say we should turn back now?”

  The sense of something pressing its hand over his heart brought Vad’Alvarn to a stop. He put one hand over the ghost hand he felt pressing through his shirt.

  Take the child.

  The command snapped through his ears,
a whip-crack of sound in a voice he recognized. He raised his head, gazing out the window toward the east and the mountains he couldn’t quite see on the horizon.

  At his neck, he felt the shift of skin to scale as the dragon within him sought to surface.

  “The council begs you at least consider the idea.”

  The king waved him off.

  “I will consider it. Go.”

  The abruptness almost sent him running from the room as Vad’Alvarn’s fangs took over his mouth. The man gone, Vad’Alvarn could still taste him in the air with a flick of his tongue. The urge to chase him down, devour him where he screamed was strong. The king put his hands back down on the table, eyes once more seeking the horizon. Faint as a sigh he heard a voice commanding him to ‘Take the Child’, yet he did not know what child or why the woman he loved was yelling at him to do so.

  For several long moments, he stood and listened, breathing in the world around him, assuring himself of its place and his place in it. Then he stood and strode out of the study, his step once more confident.

  6

  The time in Kerlan was coming to an end. The nearby area had given all it could and the soldiers grew restless seeking solace in vandalism and drunken brawls. Their king felt their unhappiness growing, yet he had his own concerns. The Council was fully convened, coming from their various places in the Empire to reach him. Tonight, they would dine together and then convene to discuss the future of the campaign.

  The last to arrive was Orsten and he had brought an unexpected guest, the Princess of the Burning Island, Vad’Alvarn’s wife, Curcula. When she walked into the Magistrate’s house at Kerlan, the scarlet of her robes making a blood trail behind her, Vad’Alvarn had stood, acknowledging her place as his wife with little more than a word.

  Now he stood on the remains of the wall with his eyes dark and angry.

  “Did you know he would bring her?”

  The question was directed at his second, Navar, who thought to creep up onto the wall without him noticing.

  “I did not know he was bringing her, but it does not surprise me. She wishes only to be with you and this campaign separates you for far too long. Of course, Orsten thinks to remind you of your duties to the Empire with her presence as well.”