Past of Shadows

by Colleen Connally

  Soon, Falco’s wings would be fully formed. Turstan pushed to go into Scarladin.

  Guilda warned, “When the time is right, everything will fall into place, Turstan. We can’t force the issue. The children need time to gain strength. Do not be fooled into believing Asmeodai has ceased looking for them, especially Sareta. He must feel her power.”

  As of late, though, Sareta had grown weaker. Barely seven years of age, Sareta was a delicate creature. Despite Guilda constantly guarding over her, the light in her eyes was fading. Guilda feared they had leaned upon her magic too much.

  Unlike Turstan, Guilda never rambled. Although Kela realized, Guilda held within her more knowledge of Witheleghe than she told for she was ancient. She had served both Kela’s mother and her mother before her.

  Guilda longed for Witheleghe. Yet, she comprehended that with the ascension of Asmeodai her home was under a reign of terror. The thought terrified her. She was a true Witheleghean. She abhorred violence, yet when called upon gave no issue if Turstan felt the need for such. She lived in fear for herself and her charge, Sareta.

  Kela’s fears of facing her guardians eased on the long ride home. By the time the cottage came into view, her thoughts had been forgotten.

  Falco had a way of diverting her worries. Indeed, he had her laughing as they rode up the lane, but in unison, the two stopped cold.

  Standing on the porch, Guilda met them with a cold glare.

  She knew! There was no way out.

  “Explain yourselves!” Her face was tensed and angry. “Your sister has taken to her bed. What have you asked of her?”

  A silence ensued.

  “Falco? Tell me true!” Looking at Falco, then back at Kela, her teeth clicked together. “Kela?”

  Kela lowered her head, wishing that Turstan was here to stand between them and Guilda’s anger. He was nowhere to be seen.

  “It was fun, Guilda.” Falco forced a smile. “Nothing really. A small fog. It shouldn’t have been too much, not for Sareta. She did it with ease.”

  “Ease! She has taken to her bed. You take her too much for granted!”

  “It was not our intent.” Kela dismounted. “Is she going to be okay?”

  Raising her hand, Guilda halted Kela’s progress. “I’ll take care of Sareta,” she stated firmly.

  Guilda drew in a deep breath. It did little to ease her anger.

  “I have warned you both about your sister. Neither of you listens. Have I not told you to stop asking magic of her? You know well she will give you both anything you want. She hasn’t the strength. The years of need have put a strain upon her.” Her hands squarely on her hips, she shook her head. “Now, the question is what did you do? A fog, you say.”

  Cono

  Majesty of Yucca

  The morning dawned, cool and crisp on the early spring day. Cono soared over Saxton Pass, patrolling the skies and land below as a warrior of King Edulf’s Royal Wings. He flew under the stone archway that bridged Scarladin to Brixtone, over two thousand feet in the air.

  Exhilarated, he had not expected this assignment. When he first got his wings, he had flown these winds endlessly over the Bodiam Mountain, in and out of the Risen Stones. Cono loved the feeling of gliding through the ancient towering icons that rose above the treetops.

  Since he had joined the Royal Wings, his time had not been his own, nor would it be for a long while. His life was his commission, a course that had been set since his birth, but the path laid before he had not come with ease.

  A cloud followed him.

  During the Arachnidan Terror, Lanka, the land ruled by House Lothar, had been invaded and overrun with Arachnidans. The terror caused alliances to be forged. Lanka aligned with Scarladin under the rule of the young, brash King Edulf Calledwdele. The war was won, but peace had come with a steep price to pay.

  Lanka was not their own.

  Hundreds of years before, the House Lothar had broken from Scarladin, becoming an entity unto themselves. A proud, strong Sordarin race of dark skin and almond eyes, the Lankans kept to themselves. There was little contact with the outside world, minimal trade and they had even outlawed mix-marriages.

  Lanka was a place of beauty, a rich land. Hot and humid, the forest was dense with green vegetation and filled with life. Mines gave to the House Lothar gold, diamonds, and iron to make the mightiest of swords. Life was good for the clan, but Lanka bordered the Payelaga Desert, home of the Arachnidans…home to Asmeodai.

  The terror came in the darkness of night. Nothing had been the same for the once proud clan. After the terror, Lanka once more became part of Scarladin. The five clans of Sordarin ruled under one as it had been in the beginning.

  King Edulf reigned with a stern hand, advised by his council. Cono’s grandfather, Lord Sergius Lothar, served as His Majesty’s Lord High Stewart.

  No matter that his grandfather headed House Lothar; to his clan, Cono was a half-blood. His father, Pers, had disgraced the family by marrying an outsider. Cono had been the result of that union.

  A valiant Sordarin, his father had died before he was born in a skirmish along the western front, bordering Brixtone. An arrow to his heart—thrust through his unshielded chest. His grandfather believed his son had been betrayed. Otherwise, his grandfather reasoned, Pers would have been wearing his armor.

  Deep mourning befell House Lothar for Pers had been Lord Lothar’s only child. Not until the shock of discovering that Pers had left a child had light returned into the house. Pers had disgraced his family, not Cono’s mother. Pers had married Cono’s mother, shown by the mark on Cono’s shoulder.

  A mark confirmed his heritage. A mark that had to be hidden from the moment of his birth.

  His mother, Crestiana, had been a member of the Brixtone Royal Family, but she had angered her own house by refusing an arranged marriage. Then she went against the written laws, marrying Pers in secret.

  Both had known the dangers.

  Pers had paid with his life.

  Upon Pers’ death, a pregnant Crestiana went into hiding. Sadly, she died within hours after giving birth to Cono.

  After losing her own infant, Crestiana’s cousin, Helena, became Cono’s wet nurse and protector. She journeyed the treacherous path to Yucca with the newborn infant.

  Death would have been Cono’s fate if he had stayed.

  By the grace of the Great One, Cono survived.

  With great reluctance, his grandparents had raised him, yielding to Helena’s pleas.

  As Cono grew, there was no denying his heritage. One look told he was a Lothar. Tall and strong, he greatly resembled his father, but his skin was lighter.

  Yet, there was, also, no denying Cono was of mixed-blood…moreover, his mark placed the entire household in danger.

  As a child, Cono was reared by Helena in Coifer, the homestead of the House Lothar and far away from Yucca, the capital of Scarladin. His grandmother, Lady Faileuba, made no objection to the arrangements.

  Aghast at the shame of Cono’s birth, Lady Faileuba had not seen her only grandson again until he was six, when he had finally been called into Yucca. She saw him only after Lord Lothar arranged for Twiten, the last wizard from Narteria, to help hide Cono’s mark.

  A piercing screech broke the quiet, followed by another. Flying over the crest of the Risen Stones, Cono spotted three riders, the first carried the banner of Brixtone. His keen eyes surveyed the road ahead.

  When the Earl Marshal woke his unit in the dead of night, his orders had been clear. Ensure safe passage for a royal entourage from Brixtone.

  “Why in the hell’s burrow are we securing safe passage for our sworn enemy? Surely, we are not to trust these devious heathens!”

  Cono hovered in the air and waited for Totus, his wingman on this mission.

  “Following orders,” Cono told him. “Making sure that no others follow in their shadows…that they aren’t trying any tricks or using any of their fleogans in the air.”

  “All the same, my curios
ity is lit.” Totus nodded. “Prince Silas told me that even his brother was roused and told to prepare.”

  Cono gave him a curious look. Had the princes been alerted? “Something is in the air.”

  “It is my thought,” Totus agreed.

  A high-pitched call signaled formation. Cono broke from Totus, flying to his congregating unit. As was the right he had earned, he took his place at the head of the Fledglings.

  With the Sordarin warriors’ cry, the Fledglings made toward Yucca—announcing to the world that the Sordarins ruled the skies.

  * * * * *

  Through the breaking fog, Cono led his unit to the city in the clouds. Yucca—the unmistakable castle, which hung over the edge of a cliff on the mighty Mount Sigur. The impressive fortress dominated the mountainside.

  Elongated walls stretched high above the cliff with tall towers on each side of the colossal gate, which served as the only entrance from the west side for those that could not fly. Turrets were ornamented with gables, balconies, and pinnacles, allowing the Sordarins full view of those who tried to enter.

  Yucca was built on the cliff’s ridge, centered around the massive keep where the Great Hall stood. The Twin Towers connected to the Great Hall fortified the residence of the royal family. Filled with exotic flowers, statues and ponds, the keep overlooked the castle’s bailey, giving the city a unique beauty.

  The prosperity of Yucca had expanded to the east. Merchants’ stores, taverns, and inns were plentiful. Vendors sold their wares in an open market on the Street of Vinir. Timber-framed houses with distinctive hanging tiles marked residences of the inhabitants to the great city. High-rise stoned dwellings housed the nobles and those of high-rank sat near the bailey.

  Behind the Trees of Wonder, the streets narrowed, where the Graveyard of the Brave lay. Beyond the burial ground, brothels had been erected away from the Great Temple. For none dared to desecrate the Great One’s temple or the wrath of the Great One would befall Scarladin.

  For hundreds of years, the granite temple crowned the eastern rim of the city. The richness of detail was seen in the detail of its moldings and carved sculptures. Triforiums arched into the thick inner wall above the three naves which lead to the high altar. An abbey sat behind the temple, housing priests, vestals, and guests of the holy sanctuary.

  Beyond the abbey lay the castle’s eastern walls. Fortified by twelve high towers, including the Torni. The dreaded Torni held prisoners for the crown. Thick stone cells and damp, dark dungeons housed the worst offenders.

  At the southern entrance, the Citadel had been built beside the granaries where the bastion projected outward flanked by three gigantic towers. Carved within the center fortification was the southern gate, which led down into the Runsas Valley.

  The road out of Yucca wove down a steep hill alongside the Thousand Steps stairway to the bountiful valley. From the skies, the reach of the valley could be seen for hundreds of miles. Rich crops of grain and corn grew upon the fields in the fertile soil. Fish were plentiful within the Andlos Lake, which was the source of the mighty Kampar River.

  House Calledwdele crowned hawk golden banners flew over the battlements. They had always been a source of security to Cono. As long as the banners blew proudly in the wind, all was right in Yucca.

  Below him, the great gates opened and allowed entrance to the Brixtone entourage. In formation, Cono swooped down once, then back up in the air. One more flight around the castle before he landed with the other Fledglings in unison with the other units.

  A magnificent sight. Cono had watched it many times in his childhood. Now, as he had dreamt, he was a part of the mighty Sordarin Royal Wings.

  Earl Marshal bellowed a command. As if one, seventy-five of the Fledglings dressed in full dress regalia in gold and white pulled their swords from their sheaths and gripped them in the air in front of their faces. The military unit aligned the path the entourage took into the Great Hall.

  As his position dictated, Cono stood in front. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the men that his unit had escorted. Watching as the visitors walked through the line, he gave little thought to the two shorter men, but the third he recognized.

  Tall and lean, the golden haired man was one few could ignore. He wore a deep blue tunic under his surcoat embroidered with the Brixtone emblem of the roaring Lion. He was Prince Pieter de Flour, heir apparent to the Brixtone throne.

  The Brixtone prince caught his eye. Cono returned his gaze with a long, chilling look.

  In return, the prince gave him a smug smile and stopped in front of Cono.

  “Cono Lothar, is it not? I have heard much about you.” Prince Pieter gave Cono no time to reply, walking into the Great Hall without another glance.

  The prince of Brixtone knew of him…an impossibility. Cono shook off the ominous sensation that surged through him. There had to be another explanation. If the prince truly knew who he was, neither Sordarin nor Brixtonen would leave him alive.

  * * * *

  As the sun lowered in the sky, the courtyard rang to the sound of swords clanking.

  Unlike the others in his unit, Cono had chosen to spar with a couple of Ederlings, second year cadets, as the sun lowered in the sky. Frustration high, Cono had a need to relieve his aggravation.

  The Lankan warriors with skin as black as ink were older, more muscular, more experience than the Fledgling, who had yet to see his sixteenth name day. Lankans were renowned as the tallest, bravest, and most skilled Sordarins.

  Neither had an issue in their belief they would better the half-blood.

  Another day perhaps, but not today.

  Cono sidestepped each blow, meeting steel with steel. While Cono battled back the larger of the two, Gherijt; the other, Ingram, attacked from the rear. Cono pivoted around, slamming into the back of Ingram’s knee. Ingram staggered.

  Cono raised his sword and swung, knocking Ingram’s sword out of the Ederling’s hand. It fell harmlessly to the ground. Cono swept the tip of his sword to Ingram’s chest mail.

  “Give,” Cono demanded.

  Hatred spewed from Ingram’s eyes. His jaw clenched in his refusal. Gherijt regained his footing. Forgetting his training, he charged Cono, who stepped aside. Gherijt slammed hard into Ingram, knocking both men to the ground.

  Sword at his side, Cono laughed.

  Rage drove both combatants. Scrambling to their feet, the Lankans jostled each other in an effort to grab their swords. Kicking their swords out of reach, Cono raised his weapon toward his fellow cadets.

  “Enough. We have been called out.”

  Immediately, the Lankans halted and bowed their heads. Cono turned and lowered his sword. He, too, bowed his head toward the cadet with shoulder-length dirty-blond hair. He was a tall man, standing eye to eye with Cono, broad-shouldered with wide, strong wings.

  Cono took off his helm and stepped back to allow Prince Silas, third in line for the crown, entrance. Silas, now in his second year at the Citadel, had been destined for a life in the Royal Wings since birth. A life well-suited to his skills.

  Silas strode over to the Ederlings. “Go and ready. We are to leave within the hour.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Frowning, Cono watched the pair snigger together on their departure. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirks off of their faces.

  “Ignore them, Cono. Nothing you do at this point will win their respect. You could have driven your sword into their heart and would have gained nothing in the eyes of your clan.”

  Cono had always known his clan considered him a half-blood, but to have that fact acknowledged cut like a sword. “I will never cease trying…”

  “Nor would I expect any less from you,” Silas cut short Cono’s proclamation. “You have Lothar blood flowing through your veins.”

  Cono remained silent. He had come to know King Edulf’s second grandson since his time at the Citadel. He knew of Silas’s determination, hard work, and skill.

  “I have nee
d of you, Cono,” Silas continued. “The King’s Wings are set to go out on a special mission. Axel has disappeared from the barracks. He needs to be found.”

  A silence ensued. Whispers about the heir apparent were rampant. Unlike his younger brother, Prince Axel was weak and lazy. He had not the discipline needed to train to be a Sordarin but relied upon Silas to oversee what he could not.

  “You do not know where your brother is?”

  “We both know where he is at.” Silas shook his head. “I need you to go with Totus and retrieve him before the King’s Wings depart. It is a necessity that he goes. Make certain he understands.”

  “But of course, Your Grace,” Cono placed his sword back into the sheath. “What message would you have me give him?”

  A shadow fell across Silas’ face. “Tell my brother his reign is coming to an end before it begins.”

  Flight to the Unknown

  Cono found Totus outside the gates of the Citadel. Both realized the need to keep their assignment quiet.

  “Do you know what this is all about?” Cono’s wings flapped, setting to take to the air. “Silas was mysterious about the mission.”

  “As well he should be if it is what’s being whispered.” Totus glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one was hiding in the shadows. “It is best to leave it alone. Take heart that Silas holds trust in you or he wouldn’t have sent you to retrieve Axel.”

  The night had darkened as a full moon hung low over the castle walls. Cono tapped Totus’ shoulder, motioning to the watch-gate. The guardsmen walked across the wall as they made their rounds.

  “You are clever, Cono. Can you not see that Silas has taken it upon himself to oversee Axel?” Totus whispered, stepping back away from the light. “He has entrusted us with the task. You should feel honored.”

  Cono gave little credence to the task at hand, nor to the Silas’ supposed trust in him. Silas wanted an underling. Nothing more. Axel, the heir apparent was notorious for his drunken escapades with whores. His brother wanted nothing to do with babysitting the prince.