Misanthropy (Born of the Phoenix Book 2)

by David Murray Forrester

  The unholy sigils were not forgotten to her. Nor the malice intended in their use. Memory guided her finger as she traced the sigil in the dirt. Once completed, the shadows surrounding her grew deeper as the light of torches dimmed.

  Throughout the forest, the dead turned their gaze to the castle.

  “What the cursed-shit is going on?!” The Knave burst from his chamber in a fit of rage. His aging limbs disagreed with broken sleep. The hallway was choked with noxious smoke. Rushing to the balcony, Knave beheld flames bellowing from the lower levels of the castle. The voices of men, screaming in horror, were drowned out by the shrill cry of the dead. Mangled corpses lay in pools of blood.

  “The castle is ablaze!” Caiden’s hands trembled.

  “No fucking shit! Fucking idiot!” Knave ground his teeth. Caiden’s fear enraged him.

  “The karabell is loose as well! It’s escaped its cage! And the dead… the dead roam the halls! They’re tearing people apart!” To The Knave, Caiden was as pathetic as a scared child.

  “Knave!” Crane, Knave’s fiercest warrior, rushed down the hall. “The castle’s fucked!” His face, stained black, housed exhausted eyes. Grey ash was littered through his long beard.

  “How did the fires start?”

  “I don’t know?” Treason, Crane suspected. Or, a drunken fool’s mistake. “But the fires are the least of our worries! The karabell’s causing hell! It’s acting possessed! Running through the halls and killing everyone it comes across. There’s more, the foul ghosts of the dead have arisen. The phantoms are everywhere!”

  The barracks were located deep under the gatehouse. No fire could burn there. Protected by steel doors of immense weight, the karabell would be unable to assail them. “Gather what men you can and secure the barracks! We’ll use incense to ward-off the cursed phantoms. Death isn’t taking us tonight!” The Knave refused to allow the Circle to be ended.

  “Running away to hide behind your stone walls, are you?” A trail of blood dripped from Sunderfall’s blade as Akella approached. Drawing back the hood of her cloak, The Knave found himself staring into purple eyes which reflected the dancing flames of the fires below. “Your son was a coward too. The whelp didn’t crawl far from his father’s shadow, did he?”

  It was ignorance which swayed his hand, waving aside doubt. Rumours of the black-haired witch were not foreign to him. Oh, he knew them well. The massacre at Menark. King Pradosse’s death and the destruction of Valomere. Despite knowing this, Knave refused to dismiss Jeremy’s murder and saw through with his plans for revenge. It was an act of provocation. Hope spawned scepticism of retribution. False hope. For here she stood, in the hall outside his chamber while his castle faced utter devastation. “So, you’ve come.”

  “How could I refuse your invitation?”

  Witch or sorceress, Crane cared not. Her skin was flesh and with steel, flesh can be brought to ruin. Smoke, lingering in the hall, was severed neatly by his sword blade. Crane’s strike was ferocious, filled with murderous intent. Sunderfall answered in kind, overwhelming the Bastard and bringing his villainous life to an end.

  A filthy weasel. Caiden possessed a sinister heart of malice and depravity. Sneaking into houses and slitting men’s throats while they slept thrilled the despicable man, gratifying his twisted desires. Murderer. Rapist. Intimidating the weak was his game. Fighting powerful warriors was not. Caiden did not wield sufficient courage to clash blades with Akella. His flight was swift. Into the castle he fled, running through corridors bordered with flames and down spiralling stairs littered with his dead brothers. Ghostly hands foiled his escape. He died in agony, shrieking with the voice of a coward.

  The screaming of men ended. The sounds of crackling flames and splintering wood crept its way into the hall. Akella and Knave faced each other as the fires grew and black smoke bellowed into the sky.

  “I can see it in your eyes,” Akella said.

  The Knave scoffed. “If you think you can see fear, you’re wrong.” He drew a serrated dagger from a concealed sheath behind his back.

  “No, not fear. I can see the pain you’ve inflicted on others. Your eyes are barren, pitiless. You think you are a monster, trust me, soon you’re going to meet real monsters. I don’t need to be a soothsayer to know your final destination.”

  The afterlife, heaven, hell, seldom had the Knave’s mind pondered these curiosities. He believed death was nothingness. He was nothing before birth and after his final breath would return to the same nothingness.

  “Drenos cepolada,” Akella said, her tone soft yet harsh. Judging from the blank look of confusion strewn across his wrinkled face, Akella realised her words were unknown to The Knave. “It’s Ruscarnese.”

  “For what?”

  “For the dead await.” She stepped towards him.

  Akella grabbed Knave’s arm as he thrust at her with the dagger. Lifting him off the ground, she opened his torso on Sunderfall’s blade and tossed him from the balcony, blood streaming in the wake of his fall.

  The stones below felt cool against his clammy skin as he lay bleeding from a mortal wound. It came upon him fast and brutal, death’s epiphany. The Knave felt the eternal void of darkness engulf him. Hell awaited. Terror consumed him as his formless soul drifted between realms, pulling him towards Manishka’s domain to suffer an eternity of torment. He craved nothingness now more than ever. The devil’s claws had ensnared him and his fate was sealed.

  The dawn sun was veiled. Smoke trailed across the region. Peasants awoke and greeted the day with quavering hearts, fearing another village had been butchered and put to the torch. A whispering began amongst travellers, words passed on from those whose journeys had led them past the haunted forest surrounding the Bastards lair. They spoke of a head impaled on a spike. The Knave’s head.

  Joy came to the people. Their oppression was over. Salvation, so long awaited, was upon them.

  Chapter 6

  Defeat at the clawed hands of the marsh fiends had not broken the knights resolve. Morale was high. The queen wandered about the camp talking with her warriors, bolstering their confidence. She Assured each man that he is an Engalian knight, ranked amongst the fiercest, strongest warriors in Sapphiron. Possessing hearts bestowed with virtue, they could not be ensnared by the nagging, weakening fingers of fear.

  A bonfire raged in the centre of camp, tall flames reaching high. Double rations were apportioned. The knights ate and toasted in honour of their fallen comrades.

  “Men, gather please!” The queen called everyone to assemble around the fire. “Gather round,” she said, gesturing with a kind smile.

  Once the knights had assembled, she placed her hands together, took a deep breath and began. “The north has been cruel to us. Though, just by looking into your eyes and seeing the strength there, I can tell that the north has picked a fight with the wrong group of men.” The knights nodded in agreement. “We will not be defeated by the foul monsters of this region! I admire your determination and courage. I selected you personally for this quest as you are the strongest knights in our kingdom. You fought valiantly against the horrors who descended upon us. You defended the wounded and led them to safety. I am truly honoured to call you my kinsmen.”

  “We fight for you,” came a voice from the crowd.

  “And I am forever thankful. Each one of your lives means a great deal to me. As we move forward we will continue to face unforeseen dangers and peril. It is imperative we do not suffer any more casualties. I need you to fight your hardest, for this is the darkest road you will ever travel. Do not fight solely for me, fight for Engalia. Fight for your wives, your families. Fight hard to protect the man beside you and he in kind will endeavour to keep you standing. Engalia is on the brink of destruction. We cannot yield our empire to the Surangi! Engalia is ours! Forever!”

  Cheers of ovation echoed into the surrounding forest.

  The queen raised her hands to silence them before speaking again. “As an added incentive and, to ensure you will
be richly rewarded for your bravery and valour, upon returning to Floreska I will personally give each of you twenty thousand gold coins so that you and your loved ones will have a prosperous future in our magnificent empire!”

  The knights cheered, slapping each other on the back with endless grins. Honour and wealth, the true desire of a knight as reward for his sacrifice and bravery.

  Kelaire sat, grinning also, though hers was one of mockery. Naive fools. Kelaire saw through the whole charade. It was a tactful ploy by the queen. She needed the knights to be victorious so she could obtain what she desired. They were tools to be used and discarded. Valour and wealth, words which could easily blind noble warriors. They would flock to her. Bleed for her. And die, loyal till the end.

  A faint whisper caught Kelaire’s ear. It sounded as though the whispering was coming from the darkness of the forest. Silhouettes of trees guarded the unseen, all that lay beyond the light of the roaring fire a mystery. Perhaps the men had been too loud in their celebrations.

  “Jerron, may I have a word with you?” Traciel said, approaching the knight.

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  The Queen gestured towards a lonely space in between the tents where her words would be safe from eavesdropping. “I didn’t see our former general at the gathering. Is Ben doing alright?”

  “He’s out gathering firewood, Your Grace. He understands your decision to demote his rank and accepts the punishment for his actions.”

  The queen’s face softened. Such formality in Jerron’s voice. That was not the answer she desired. “We’ll need a lot of wood if we’re going to keep the bonfire burning all night and, I do want the fire to burn all night,” her eyes became fierce. “What I don’t want, is polite answers to honest concern, Jerron.”

  “Sorry, Your Grace.”

  “Traciel.”

  Jerron met her eyes.

  “Come on, Jerron. How many banquets have we drank together at? We drink and we laugh and the next day, like all the other knights and nobles, you treat me as a stranger. Does me being your queen really intimidate you so much?”

  “Aye,” he nodded. They had drunk together at many feasts and banquets. The following day he had passed his queen in the halls without eye contact, only a respectful salute. It was a matter of etiquette, knights were not to mingle with royalty.

  “Ben’s mad at me, isn’t he?”

  “He’s definitely not happy with you. He was a general and now he’s a soldier. In the eyes of a knight a soldier is little more than a dog.”

  “Do you really consider soldiers to be so lowly?”

  “Soldiers don’t have what it takes to become knights. It may sound harsh, but there is good reason why we consider ourselves above them. I have seen it myself.” Traciel could feel the conviction in his voice as he spoke. “In times of war, soldiers falter. They become fearful, irrational and lose hope in victory. It is we knights, who rally them. Soldiers look to us for courage and strength. Without knights to lead them, soldiers are doomed to failure. Even among knights, there are few with the mettle to transcend and seize the role of general. Haycox achieved that and in an instant you stripped it from him. I can’t imagine it’d be an easy thing to accept.”

  “You have to realise though that during times of war, the majority of our soldiers are peasants and tradesmen who have been conscripted to join the army to protect our empire from foreign invaders. They’re not actually true warriors. They’ve had no training so of course they’re going to be anxious and easily distraught. They’re scared to think about what will happen to their families if they should die. It’s not easy to be brave when your mind is consumed with fearful thoughts. You shouldn’t think badly of them. They deserve your respect for simply having the courage to stand alongside you on the battlefield.”

  “I guess that’s true, isn’t it?” He stirred, thinking the foundations of his convictions were not as unfailing as he believed them to be.

  “Now, about Ben?”

  “If I can say one thing about Ben, it’s that his loyalty is unquestionable. Even if he’s not happy with your decision, he’ll still obey your commands.”

  “I was counting on him. Ben’s the most experienced man here. I considered him to be the linchpin that was going to hold the cavalcade together and in the face of defeat he sought to divide our forces with petty bickering! You have no idea how disappointed and angry I felt. I was almost going to let Helina kill him.”

  Jerron snickered.

  “What? You don’t think Helina could defeat him?”

  “Sorry Traciel. I didn’t mean it to sound rude. Ben’s the greatest warrior I know. I can’t imagine him losing to anyone.”

  “Fair enough.” There was no denying the fact that there was friction between Haycox and Helina, Traciel couldn’t afford have Haycox turning rogue. The cavalcade needed to be unified. This situation required tactful resolution. “I’ve always held a lot of respect for Ben. If he can manage to pull himself together and be the man I truly believe him to be, then I will restore his rank as General.”

  “Why don’t you tell him that yourself?”

  “Because I don’t need to. Knights don’t become irrational in times of hardship. They rise to the challenge and prove themselves greater than other men, do they not?”

  Turning his own words against him, Jerron smiled. “They do.”

  “Then he can do it of his own volition.” Traciel studied Jerron’s face. “Don’t tell him I told you this. Promise me?”

  “You have my word as a knight, I won’t say anything to him.”

  “Thank you, Jerron.” Traciel put her arm through his. “Come on, let’s go have a drink with our brothers.”

  The whispering voices were ghostly, fraught with malice and anger. Kelaire sat, hypnotised, trying to decipher the meaning of their words. The voices were too faint, the task was beyond her. She needed to be closer to hear with better clarity. Tying her rapier to her belt, Kelaire walked alone into the forest, the voices luring her away from camp.

  It was a hefty log. Haycox felt his arms begin to buckle under the immense strain. He dug deep, tapping into his stamina, refusing to submit to the logs weight. Through the trees he saw Kelaire walking alone. Her long blue locks bouncing in her stride. His strength was bolstered by the sight of her, the log became weightless. The moment was fleeting, she disappeared behind the undergrowth of the forest. His heart ached with a deep longing. Sighing, the warrior continued his march to the camp.

  Dumping the log beside the pile of wood he had amassed, Haycox was quick to notice the change of atmosphere within the camp. The men were excited, talking about wealth and future plans. Desiring solitude, he found a place to sit away from the others to be alone with his thoughts.

  ‘Have the thorns of rejection stabbed me so harshly that I have become weak like lesser men? Cursed to petty behaviour in retaliation for the slightest of wounds?’

  It was a heavy blow, having Kelaire spurn his affections. Surely, he could have tried harder to win her favour. What a fool he had been. Worse still, the look of disappointment in Traciel’s eyes was a memory that shattered his pride. Failing his queen was not acceptable. He should have rallied the men and lead the defensive counterstrike. His mindset had been all wrong. Emotions clouding his ability to think clearly. Now, only regret remained. Lingering, refusing to allow Haycox’s thoughts to settle. Worse still, there was little hope in achieving his heart’s desire.

  “She’ll never love me now…”

  “Who’ll never love you?” Jerron approached. Haycox cursed under his breath, those words were not meant to be heard by another. “Don’t look so miserable!” Jerron slapped his friend on the back and sat beside him. “There’s still a chance for you to win Kelaire.”

  Haycox didn’t speak, staring blankly into the darkness of the forest.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at her. Just tell her how you feel?”

  A simple solution, yet easier said than done. “How can I now?�
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  Jerron shrugged. “It’s not going to be easy after your little lover’s tiff with her and Helina, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out. But that’s not why I came looking for you,” eagerly he tapped on Ben’s shoulder. “The queen had a word with me about you.”

  “Traciel,” his eyes turned side-long as a sigh escaped his lips. “What now? Am I to dig the camp’s latrines?”

  “Worse.”

  As if being demoted wasn’t bad enough, Haycox’s descent seemed to have no limit. “Can’t wait to hear it.”

  “She said if you can pull your finger out of your arse, she’ll restore your rank as general.”

  Doubt shadowed his face. “In those words then, was it?”

  “Not in those exact words, dickhead. But she said she was very disappointed that after the battle you turned against Helina. She said she wanted you to be her ‘linchpin’ or something. I think you might be her favourite.”

  “So, you’re serious?” Hope was born in his eyes. “She’ll restore my rank?”

  “Yep. That’s what she said.” Jerron nodded. “She also told me not to say anything to you about it.”

  “Why?”

  “She wants you to show her that you’re a real knight. You messed up and now you have to prove yourself worthy of your title. I guess she wants you to rise above adversity.”

  “Rise above adversity, how poetic of you.”

  Jerron gave Haycox a swift, firm punch in the arm. “Don’t be a smart-ass. And don’t let her know that I told you either. She made me promise. So, keep playing the role of the beat dog, ok soldier boy.”

  “I can do that.” Haycox’s talents were leagues above his comrades. Defining his superiority over the other knights will be a simple task. Courage, temperance, perseverance; he would display the epitome of a knight’s true virtues. This resurgence of his knighthood was long overdue.