“Two wagons, aye.” It could mean loot. It could also be peasant scum dragging their worthless belongings to scratch a living in the hills. “Any sellswords?”
“Don’t know,” Kassen shrugged.
Such outstanding scouts he had. Jerick growled. ‘Absolutely useless.’ How was he supposed to plan ambushes with such pitiful information? He’d have to have words with Kieren about this later. “Alright, let’s mount up and go see who’s wandered our way.”
A haggard man, sitting atop an aged, frail mare rode in front of two wagons. A woman whose face was veiled by a hooded cloak drove the front wagon. Two young boys with shining eyes sat beside her, gazing whimsically at the surrounding landscape. Hay and livestock-feed was piled high in the second wagon. A pair of donkeys trailed behind, tied to the back of the wagon with aged, fraying rope.
“Bah!” hissed Jerick. “What is this rabble?” Leaning back in his saddle, he shook his head. This wasn’t worth leaving camp for.
“Don’t bark about it yet,” said Kieren. “We can give the feed to our horses. Might be able to find a good use for the wagons, too. Plus, there’s a woman down there.”
“I like women,” grinned Kassen.
“You’ll be last to have the woman, Kassen.” Blake despised the weaker man. “She’ll probably be dead after Albert has his way with her. You know what he’s like.”
Frustrated, Kassen looked away. Not possessing the strength to oppose Blake’s will, submission his best option.
“Kieren, what the fuck are you going to use the wagons for? Firewood? Fucking wagons.” These penniless refugees were not what he was hoping for. Jerick wanted gold and riches, not peasant’s scraps. “Let’s get this over with.” Spurring his horse forwards, Jerick lead his eight highwaymen down the hill to confront the unsuspecting farmers.
It felt cramped within the confines of the wagon. The bench seat uncomfortable, offering practically no cushioning to soften the bumpy ride. King Balester was use to the comfort and luxury of his royal carriage, tolerating this inferior transport was maddening. His three escorts were not open to conversation, nor did they speak amongst themselves. They sat quietly, each consumed in their own thoughts. Though, as Balester recalled, the Knights of Mundayne had never been a talkative bunch. They were his personal, secret organisation of anti-assassination specialists. Neither the queen or Balester’s kingsguard were aware of their existence. With his life in danger and the empire falling into ruin, there was no-one the king trusted more to chaperone his journey to the Mossrine Ruins.
There was little to do within the wagon, the king stared out of the tiny window at the passing countryside and pondered the world. Balester found himself trapped within his own mind, unable to cast away the unsettling and detrimental thoughts which plagued him.
Grinding his teeth, Balester dwelt on the queen’s betrayal. How dare she! Running off with his most trusted general, it was unforgivable. He pictured his beautiful wife sitting atop the general, grinding her pelvis into him, Haycox’s hands reaching up to explore her chest. Being a warrior, Haycox’s body was muscled and firm. Balester was tall, his body frame had potential, yet he possessed the soft physique of a king who did little but sit upon his throne, feasting and drinking at his pleasure. Jealousy raged within him as he imagined Traciel’s pleasure from riding a superior man. Balester made a promise to himself, that one day, he would have his revenge upon them both.
The wagon stopped. Balester peered out the window. “There are men on horseback coming down the hill?”
“Bandits, I’d say.” Finian didn’t stir, the armoured warrior continued to sit unmoving.
“Bandits?” Finian’s calmness surprised the king. “Shouldn’t you go out to defend the wagon?”
“Don’t worry, My King. Darrell and Yasha will take care of them,” said Anton. A strand of his long hair dangled across his face. “They don’t need our help to defeat these lowlifes.”
“You forget yourself, Anton.” Jescina had a soft, lovely voice. With her sublime looks, she could have become a wealthy and famous bard had she not chosen a life of blades and bloodshed. “I doubt he will bother drawing his blade against them.”
“You’re right, Jescina,” said Anton, retying his ponytail. “The hounds should be quite famished.”
“Hounds?” Balester didn’t recall the group bringing hounds. He pressed himself against the window to catch a glimpse of the beasts, thinking how incredibly well-trained they must be to have remained out of sight the entire journey.
“What an unfortunate day this is for you,” said Jerick, a look of indifference upon his face as he stopped his horse in the centre of the road, blocking the farmer’s passage. The shabby appearance of the three men angered the bandit chief, such pathetic, destitute peasants as they were. “This road has a toll. A very costly toll.” The toll, of course, Jerick sneered, was going to be their lives.
No reply came from the farmers, who sat motionless on their mares. Bursting with excitement, the young boys jumped down from the wagon. They ran to Jerick, standing before the surprised bandit with wide smiles.
“Are you the bandit chief?” One asked.
“Wow! I like your horse,” said the other. “What’s his name?”
“Can I hold your sword? Is it sharp?”
Questions continued to roll off the boy’s tongues, one after the other, in fast precession, neither boy pausing to hear a response. Jerick lashed out, silencing one of the youths by kicking him in the face. The force of the blow sent the scrawny lad sprawling to the dusty road. Despite the violent outburst, there came no reaction from the farmers.
With a smile, the boy stood, wiping blood from his nose. “Good kick Mister! You broke my nose!”
“No fair!” The second boy pouted, stomping his feet on the ground before looking up to Jerick, his eyes shining with a sudden realisation. “Break mine too! Break mine too!” He sang, jumping up and down.
Lunacy, surely these children were deeply troubled by illness. No other explanation could Jerick think of to explain their mindlessness. Unsheathing his sword, he stabbed the blade into the youth’s chest. Despite his brother’s death, the other boy was still smiling up at Jerick.
With the shedding of blood, the bandits closed in on the farmers. The hour of slaughter had come.
Drawing back the hood of her cloak, the woman’s face was aged and care-worn. “Six miles,” her voice cackled.
Jerick gazed up at the woman, confused by her nonsense. The boy lay bleeding on the ground, yet it didn’t appear to phase her in the slightest. The woman’s eyes were not upon the boy, but on her lead rider.
Kieren and Kassen exchanged wry glances, then chuckled. “She’s got a few screws loose, this one,” Kieren said.
“Six, is it,” nodded Darrell. With no witnesses around for a six-mile radius, it was safe for Darrell to shed his disguise. The secrecy of his mission came before all else. Dutifully, he played his role as peasant farmer, travelling across the land without anybody giving him or his supposed family a second glance. “Alright Yasha, let them loose.”
Jerick felt a tug on his pant leg. He gasped as he beheld the young boy smiling up at him, blood seeping from the vicious wound upon his chest.
“Come-on, Mister! I want to play some more!” His voice was cheerful.
‘What devilry is this?’ Thought Jerick as he stared at the youth, ‘I stabbed my sword through his chest, the boy should be dead! What the hell is going on?’
Standing, the aged woman cast her cloak aside. The bandits sniggered at her, wondering what the weak, old fool was planning to do. A sphere of magical light appeared around the woman. Colourful sparks burst forth as her appearance began to drastically transform. Long, silver hair curled around her eccentric armour. A frightening staff was in her hand, tipped with a sharp, griffins claw. Magical energy erupted from the staff, engulfing the mares and riders, it shattered the bonds of falseness and transformed the creatures into their true forms.
Jerick f
ound himself confronted by monstrous hounds. Shaggy fur covered their massive bodies. Reptilian in nature, the hounds hideous, snarling faces brought great dread upon the bandit chief.
“Tell me again, bandit. About how unfortunate today is for me?” Darrell, adorned in black armour, sat atop the monstrous hybrid.
No words came to Jerick. He trembled.
“Mister,” the voice was guttural, demonic. The young boys skin stretched and split apart, allowing a new form to tear itself free from the confines of the youth’s body. Tall, crowned in horns, the bony demon clutched onto Jerick’s leg. “Time to come and play.”
Wrenching Jerick from his saddle, the demon tossed the bandit chief onto the roadside. Blood showered the ground as the second youth transformed into his grotesque, demonic form. Together, the hellish terrors descended upon the cowering chief.
The door of the wagon swung open. Balester stepped out. The fallen bandits lay scattered, their blood seeping into the dirt. Noisily, the hounds feasted on the horse corpses, their powerful teeth shredding flesh and crushing bone.
Balester joined Darrell and Yasha. The king cringed, revolted by the sight of the gorging hounds. “What manner of beast are those?”
“Those are Zelleron hounds, My King,” said Yasha. “You’re not familiar with them because they’re not native to Sapphiron. They’re a rare breed of animal, who live in the remote regions of Neorelle. I had them shipped over as pups.” Yasha adored her hounds. Their reptilian blood makes them immune to poison and when physically wounded, their aggression increases tenfold. Fiercely loyal and extremely hard to kill, the Zelleron were perfectly suited for their role as royal guardians.
“Zelleron hounds.” Their appearance unnerved Balester. The world of violence was so estranged to him. The king was glad to have the Knights of Mundayne under his command to perform the unpleasant tasks which he did not possess the nerve, or stomach to accomplish himself.
“Mummy! Mummy!” The youths bounded around Yasha excitedly. “We had so much fun!”
“That’s wonderful, boys,” she said, caressing the youth’s cheek. “My, my. You’re all covered in blood. Go and clean yourself up boys, then you can have some chocolate.”
“Yah! Chocolate!” The boys grinned at each other.
Transforming into a demon had completely healed the sword wound on the boy’s chest. Darrell asked Yasha many times who the boy’s father was, each time she declined to answer. Allowing an unholy entity to enter her body, Darrell couldn’t imagine anything more repulsive. Even as scrawny youths, the boys possessed incredible strength. Their personalities were bizarre. They loved pain and death. Darrell feared that once grown into men, they would become dangerous and uncontrollable.
Yasha turned to the king. “Can I get you anything, My King? Some food or drink perhaps?”
“I’m quite alright for the moment, Yasha.” After watching the ravenous hounds befoul the horses, food was the last thing on his mind.
“You should return to the wagon, Your Grace,” said Darrell. “We’ll be departing shortly.”
“How many more days until we reach the Mossrine Ruins?” Balester was eager to be free of the wagon.
“Roughly two days,” answered Darrell.
“Splendid.” He’d rather it be one, but two days was bearable. “I’ll leave the rest to you then, Commander.”
Darrell bowed to his king before addressing his subordinate. “Alright, Yasha. Time to bring the hounds back in. Let’s get these wagons rolling.”
A piercing whistle was all it took to summon her hounds. Raising her staff, Yasha admired the Griffin’s claw, not an easy item to procure. Unleashing her magic, the group transformed back into their humble disguises, travelling north as a simple, peasant family.
Breaking apart the landscape for a hundred of miles with its fathomless depths, was the Chesfell Ravine. The ravine had but one crossing, an ancient, colossal stone bridge. The enduring structure, built many hundreds of years before the arrival of the Gorigarni, was a testament to man’s mastery of stonework. Weathered arches, built upon great pillars, decorated the bridge. Broken remains of statues stood on the highest parts of the arches. On a distant hill beyond the bridge, stood the decrepit towers of the Mossrine Ruins.
“Look, Mummy,” said one of the boys, pointing to the sky. “Birdies.”
A pair of toherns descended from the heights. Aroused by their ravenous lust for horse meat, they shrieked loudly, spiralling towards the group, talons outstretched to ensnare their prey.
Lightening erupted from the griffin’s claw on Yasha’s staff. The horrific spell ignited the tohern’s feathers, a savage fire engulfing the pair. Death, almost instant. The smouldering carcasses fell, disappearing into the ravine.
A harrowing roar bellowed from the depths of the ravine. The fallen bodies of the toherns awoke a slumbering evil. An upheaval of wind, rising from the ravine assaulted the group. The surge of wind so powerful, the horses were forced to use great strength anchoring their feet to remain standing and not be knocked down.
There came a terrible clamour of wings as a zombie drake arose. The dragon’s black scales were marred with wounds and rotting flesh. Pale rib bones protruded from its chest. With glowing, yellow eyes, the drake scrutinized the group as its expansive wings carried it above the bridge, where it perched itself upon an arch and sat. The sound of its breathing, deep and predatory.
Dread gripped Darrell. This nightmarish creature was no mere foe. The drake possessed the power to destroy them all. Considering the landscape, there was no chance of escaping the flying monster. Their only hope of victory was to ground the beast, Darrell doubted Yasha’s magic was powerful enough to accomplish such a tremendous feat. “Yasha!”
Magical energy spread throughout the group, transforming men and beast alike. The Zelleron hounds lowered their heads, growling viciously at the drake. Darrell drew his sword, his warriors followed suit.
A haze of smoke appeared on the bridge. A cloaked figure emerged from within the swirling mist. “There is no need for combat, Commander. Eliesaar won’t attack you,” he said, approaching Darrell. “Look at this,” he turned his gaze to Yasha. “Such marvellous transmutation magic. My compliments, Yasha.”
“Who are you?” Darrell lowered his sword.
“We are, Vodeska. We have been waiting for the arrival of the king. You are the Knights of Mundayne. The king is travelling with you, yes?”
Nodding, Darrell sheathed his blade. Dressed as noble, the Jidarr occultist appeared differently to what Darrell had been expecting, though Balester had mentioned Vodeska was a shapeshifter.
King Balester was ushered from the wagon. The sight of the cursed dragon perched upon the bridge terrified him. Kind, soft words from Jescina’s beautiful lips calmed his fears as he learned the hideous monster was under Vodeska’s control.
“You have arrived safely I see,” Vodeska bowed politely. “This is splendid.”
“Yes. I have arrived safely thanks to my knights. I didn’t expect to find you here. I thought you’d be tracking down Crystal?”
“Not until I knew you were here and settled,” Vodeska clapped his hands together. “Now, as for my payment. Did you bring the diamonds?”
Kaylen and Finian placed an elegant chest in front of Vodeska. As the lid was raised, a thousand diamonds glistened and sparkled within.
“Excellent,” grinned Vodeska, delighted by the sight of the precious stones.
The ground surrounding the chest began to tremble. A skeletal hand burst forth from the soil. The group stepped back as two undead skeleton warriors emerged, their bones stained with decay. Collecting the chest, the pair carried it across the bridge.
“Come now, Your Highness. If you would please accompany me. Mossrine is not far.” Vodeska gestured towards the bridge.
Balester nodded, and stepped towards the wagon.
“No!” said Vodeska. “We shall be travelling on foot.”
“Why can’t the king ride in the wagon
?” asked Darrell. There seemed no reason for it.
“The wagons will not cross the bridge,” said Vodeska. “And neither will you. You are not permitted to enter Mossrine.”
“What!” Darrell was outraged. The Knights of Mundayne were the king’s elite force, they would not be so disrespectfully cast aside. “You will not send us away, Vodeska. We are the king’s guardians, and will remain in his company.”
Vodeska sighed. Humans are such troublesome creatures. “Mossrine is a Jidarr stronghold, the other members of my sect will not take kindly to your intrusion. But, since you refuse to leave the king’s side, I will consult with our Council of Elders and ask that you are granted asylum. Does that satisfy you?”
“Do you think they will allow us inside?” Considering the zombie drake and the undead warriors under Vodeska’s control, Darrell wondered what other horrors resided with the Mossrine Ruins. Under no circumstance could he leave the king alone in the company of such abhorrent creatures.
“I will make sure the Elders grant your entrance. I’m sure they’ll find Yasha’s transmutation magic quite fascinating, just as I do. I’m afraid you’ll have to remain here though, until they’ve given their consent.”
“That’s fine.”
Darrell explained the situation to the others. They didn’t take kindly to their forbiddance from Mossrine, but agreed to wait patiently for Vodeska to return with the Elder’s decision. Finian constructed a small fire while Jescina prepared food for a light meal.
With the matter settled, Vodeska led the king across the bridge. Despite knowing Eliesaar harboured no malice towards him, Balester still shuddered as he walked below the terrifying drake.
An unearthly fog lingered around the outskirts of the Mossrine Ruins. Vodeska led Balester up a flight of crumbling stairs to the entrance of the ruins. Fallen columns lay between dead trees, whose decaying limbs housed abandoned spider webs. Wondrous buildings with detailed and extravagant architecture from an age long past stood decrepit. Thorny vines strangled the buildings, invading the dark windows with their ever-growing limbs.
Misanthropy (Born of the Phoenix Book 2) Page 11