by Lora Leigh
They were said to be the finest warriors in either human or magickal lands too, and weren’t warriors supposed to respect strength?
Could he be strong enough to earn such respect? Surely even at twelve cycles he could show more courage than others his age.
“I am Prince Quin Alistair,” he finally found the courage to inform them. “And I come to you on an urgent matter. I would beg you hear me out before your fury takes me from this life and sends me to my ancestors’ arms.”
For a second silence reigned, then once again deep-throated, fearsome laughter jeered at his determined statement.
“Your ancestors’ arms?” That guttural tone mocked him now. “Boy, you’ll go to pay for your father’s sins until the time he can arrive to pay for his own, do you not think?”
Fear was an acid taste on Quin’s tongue now, but he’d made a vow to take the punishment he would face for being the son of Alistair the Perverted.
“Whichever it is to be, I have come to the Ogre on an urgent matter. I would beg but a moment of time, and should I have it, then I shall willingly face the punishment reserved for Alistair the Perverted in the deepest reaches of the pits of Shadow Hell.”
His voice shuddered, though he did not mean it to, drawing chuckles, rasping sounds of amusement from the dark shapes that surrounded him, that found amusement in the courage he’d scraped from the depths of his soul to speak rather than scream out for Arabella to save him.
Oh mercy, where was Arabella? She always saved him when…
Ah, for a second he had forgotten, Arabella could not save him this time. This was why he was there to meet his death, to save Arabella.
Was that not a brother’s duty?
He prayed to the One, the god of magick and all of Sentmar for but a moment’s courage to face whatever horrors these creatures would mete out to him in exchange for that one moment with the Ogre Tribe.
“And what would such a boy, no more than a mere child have need to see the Ogre about?” he was questioned, the booming voice causing his knees to shake with such force that he near stumbled into the muck beneath his feet. “What think thee that we have time for such a pathetic twit as a human ‘get’? Especially one of Alistair the Perverted?”
His teeth were near shuddering now.
“I beg but a moment.” He tried to sound firm. Truly he did. But tears were gathering in his eyes and fear was cramping his stomach with more force than the fish Cook hadn’t prepared properly several evenings past.
“Why?” The growl sent a flinch jerking violently through his limbs and causing those he feared the most to laugh at his weakness.
They laughed at him.
“You jeer,” he snapped back, anger giving him but a moment to allow his voice to deepen before it cracked with humiliating weakness, the sound causing his teeth to clench as laughter echoed around him once more. “I may be but a child, but I come to face my death for but a moment of the Ogre’s time. That is worthy of more than your laughter.”
“Poor little prince,” another mocked him. “You’re not even worthy to be a snack this eve. What thinks you we would hear anything you have to say?”
He had not considered the Ogre would not even hear his plea.
His grip tightened on the sword he carried, his hands shaking as anger tore at the fear that would cloud his mind.
“I have been tasked with this journey by the One who created us all. Do as you will, but should you deny my claim, should you deny my audience, then you deny the One who created you as well.” How his voice trembled with fear, and how he hated the sound.
Silence surrounded him now. He could feel the beasts watching him, towering over him as he kept his head held high, his gaze straight ahead, praying he did not chance to meet the black and fearsome gazes of the creatures said to have the power to steal a man’s soul.
“Boy.” One stepped forward. “Know you the punishment for lying in such a way?”
“I do not lie.” Quin gritted his teeth, hoping to forestall that sound of stuttering fear as it lingered on his tongue. “Whatever your punishment, warrior, I will accept for invading your lands. I was given a vision and a voice called me forth to come to this place of mists to seek out the Ogre Kings Kellan and Aherin. Tell me how I would know two kings share one throne if not brought here by such a vision. I can naught but obey the demand of Sentmar’s creator.”
Caedan stared at the boy, nay a child, as he quaked and shuddered in fear and cold.
He could be no more than ten and two, shuddering with such force that his bony body threatened to come apart at the joints.
Terror whitened his face, trembled on his words and scented the air around him, yet still he stood before them, certain he would die this day, and demanded what even grown men would have bitten their tongues off before demanding.
No human ever returned once given an audience with Kings Kellan and Aherin of the Ogre Tribe, Taithleach. Certainly no boy could be allowed to carry the tale of the Ogre twins and their lands back to a king whose perversions and taste for magick blood had earned him the name Alistair the Perverted.
“Child, know you that you will not return from this journey?” Caedan questioned him, his voice lowering as he eased to a crouch to watch the terror that filled the boy’s eyes. “Turn now, return to your own lands and we will forget this trespass, this one and only time. Continue in your demand, and Shadow Hell will greet you as a willing lover whose blade seeks the very depths of your soul.”
The kid was about to wet himself. Caedan could sense it as surely as he had sensed the child’s trespass into the dark dangers of the Causeway.
“I fear a willing lover I will never know, Ogre.” He sighed then, a rather pitiful sound of regret that had Caedan’s lips threatening to curl in true amusement. “I cannot be swayed. I will not be swayed.” Resignation and tears filled the youth’s oddly colored eyes of the purest hue even as his shoulders shook with the fear he fought to hold back.
By Musera’s hand, what manner of trickery did the humans hope to accomplish…
“Secure him and grant his audience before the fire pits are prepared to roast his meatless body,” Daelan, the twin who had stood silently behind Caedan ordered, his tone harsh as two fat tears fell from the boy’s eyes and terror glowed as pinpoints of light in his brilliant gaze.
“We’ll go hungry this night,” Caedan sighed, shaking his head as he straightened, the compassion he felt for this child unfamiliar and oddly saddening. “Humans cannot even feed their young now? How are we to survive on such meager fare?”
Still, the boy stood still and silent as the sounds of several warriors bore an iron cage to Caedan’s side.
It was large enough to house several of the human “gets” of his size, yet was the smallest the Ogre possessed. The metal bottom and arced iron bars that surrounded the base similar to the cages humans used for feathered pets.
Caedan restrained a heavy breath. Mayhap the ironsmith should set about making smaller ones if human children had such death wishes as this one seemed to possess.
Reaching out and releasing the magickal locks, he then swung the iron door open and gestured inside. “In you go, little human,” he grunted, fully expecting the child to turn and run at the command.
Trembling, pale, the boy slowly extended the sword toward him, always careful not to peer into any of the warriors’ faces. Taking the sword, Caedan restrained his smile once more.
Surprisingly, rather than running as even grown men were wont to do, the child of Alistair the Perverted stepped inside, two small hands gripping the bars at the side of the door as Caedan slapped the door closed with more force than necessary.
The small, involuntary whimper that escaped his throat had anger beginning to brew within him. Since when did Ogres terrorize children seeking to carry a message from the One? And no doubt the boy had been given a vision by some force greater than human, for none but the Guardian Selects, Sentmar’s protectors, chosen by the One himself knew that t
he Ogre kings were indeed twins this rule.
“Let us go then,” his own twin ordered. “The sooner the scrawny chuck has said his peace, the sooner we shall be given leave to begin preparing the fires to roast his scrawny body.”
Daelan had little mercy for humans and none for weakness in any form. Caedan saw little weakness in the boy though. Oh aye, weak of strength and maturity, certainly. But despite the tears and the scent of his terror, still the boy had not yet wet himself nor lost his battle with the bile gathering in his stomach.
It was clear Daelan’s harsh, icy tone and booming voice was tipping the little human to losing both forthwith though.
“Leave off, brother,” Caedan demanded along the link they shared as twins. “This child shows courage no human male I have ever seen has shown. Terrifying him further could only affect any message the One may have sent, if indeed he carries such. But for his age, even if deceit is his game, he shows great courage.”
It was a strength Caedan couldn’t help but admire in the little chuck.
“What manner of treachery could this be that Alistair allows his only male heir into a place such as this?” Daelan questioned harshly. “I had heard Alistair placed great store in this boy, if not in his daughter as well. Yet he lingers here in this place where naught but dark magick and death could waylay him at any moment.”
“Aye, I heard such as well,” Caedan sighed. “Already Alistair has named this boy his successor should his perversions be cut short and his life extinguished.”
“Good thing,” Daelan growled. “Think you perhaps the perverted king has heard of the assassins being amassed by the Pix and Fey tasked with ending his reign?”
Caedan could only shrug as he glanced into the cage being secured upon the back of the short-legged, fearsome Blade that would carry him into the hall of the Ogre Kings.
King Alistair’s taste for the blood of magick beings was becoming a concern for the Guardian Selects of Power, the protectors the Ogre served as well as the Pix and Fey whom Alistair seemed much too lucky in acquiring in recent years. The land itself was beginning to tremble with fury at the perversions the Secular king practiced with a frequency that threatened to drain the crystalline spores of power of far too many magickal beings.
And what the depraved king did to the bodies of the magi he captured was nothing short of demonic. Bleeding them nightly by the gobletful, savoring the warm Spora-infused life he drained bit by bit before practicing such heinous crimes against their helpless bodies that even the dark “get” born of the Guardian Select were said to turn away from the sight of it.
What could this boy know though? What message could the One possibly give to a child?
“’Tis madness to take him to the Fortress, Daelan,” Caedan sighed. “We should take him to the boundary of the mists and set him free. Mayhap confuse him in what he has seen…”
“He reminds me of her! I cannot turn this child away. And I would question him, brother, learn her name if possible.”
Her. The delicate, magick-infused human who had managed to breach the Vale and who tempted a hunger inside them that they could not assuage without her.
They had demanded her name countless times, and still, she refused. The past week when she had left the Vale, tears had whispered down her cheeks as she stared at them from the human side of the mists and whispered she would not return to them again.
Why? She had turned and run rather than explain and both Caedan and Daelan had felt a foreboding impossible to forget.
Urging the blades to move faster as he and his fellow warriors followed along, Caedan could one hope that whatever it was, that this child had no great love for his father, King Alistair.
For soon, he would have no father at all.
Chapter Two
The Ogre Kings, hidden within the magick mists, listened in horror to the message the human child brought to their ears, as the One had given it to him as he slept. Standing just behind them, the daughter of the gods assigned to the Causeway by the One himself watched the child in sorrow and regret.
Her large violet eyes darkened as the boy’s fear and pain could be heard, the long waves of inky black hair crackling with the energy of her anger as the child’s voice trembled and he begged for the life of the princess.
“She is my sister.” The boy trembled within the mists. “King Alistair has whispered that her woman’s peak is nearing and the magick that infuses her must be destroyed.” Tears dripped from the boy’s eyes for a sister he obviously held much love for.
Small fists were clenched, betrayal echoed in every word, and the knowledge that the child had opened his mind to allow magick to read the truth of his words was lost on none of the Ogre. Especially those of the kings sworn to protect all magick from the humans.
“She is bound in chains, infused with a spell purchased by some witch taken many years ago. She was bathed and dressed as though to be wedded,” the child continued tearfully. “When night falls on the first crest of the full moon in but two eves from now, he will…” Ah, the boy was fast losing his ability to hold back the pain and betrayal of a father’s depravities. Not that Daelan could blame him.
Shadow Hell, what monster of evil could countenance the repeated raping of his own child? Especially a rape he would inflict himself? A child once treasured and adored by him before he began using her as a source of the blood he craved?
Magickal females did not lose their power per se when taken before the peak of their magick. That magick became trapped within them instead, rising and amassing in their bodies with no outlet for there was no longer trust left within her to open herself fully to her magickal twins.
Their blood became so infused by the crystalline spores of their magick that many were driven to insanity because of it. Scarlet blood gleamed like diamond-studded essence when drawn directly from their fragile veins. Especially the blood of their females. As though their life’s liquid were filled with crystal dust.
“And how would we know your sister has not lied to you, boy?” King Kellan questioned the child in a voice of harsh anger. “What proof have you that she is of magick? Magick cannot exist in Secular lands or within human soil.”
“Not true.” Prince Quin trembled once more. “She is of the Spry—the Crae’all line. Royalty to the Spry hierarchy and destined for warriors of incomparable strength. The One told me this.” Desperation was beginning to lace the lad’s tone now. “I came as I was bid when I prayed upon the stone that glitters like diamond dust, passed down from eldest child to eldest child of that line, and carries the mark of magick.”
Caedan shook his head then. There was no mark… His gaze whipped to his brother at the sudden tension whipping through Daelan as the boy mentioned a mark.
“And what mark would this be? Magick carries no mark, boy, proving you to lie as all your kin.”
“She does,” the boy cried out furiously, thin little fingers clenched white around the iron bars of his cage. “At the very base of her back. I have seen this mark myself and her mother swore to her it was the mark of her birth of the magick house whose blood she carries. The mark of the Crae’all line, a flaming sword set as though piercing her flesh.”
A mark neither Caedan nor his brother had heard of existing. A glimpse of Muse’s surprise hinted that perhaps she had indeed heard of such, though.
“You cannot deny her.” Terror scented the air in a surge of raging emotion. “You must go for her now!”
“You do not order me, boy.” Cold and shocking in its lack of mercy, the voice of King Kellan did no justice to the concern and fury that burned in the eyes of the Ogre King Aherin. As he and King Kellan glanced at each other, Muse stepped forward slowly to stand between the heavy Ogre thrones.
“I do not order you,” the boy denied desperately. “I beg of you.” The young prince went to his knees. “I beg thee.”
“Rise, child,” Caedan murmured from where he stood to the side of the cage. “Do not weaken now.”
T
rembling, tears wetting his face, the boy rose to his feet, his shoulders straightening despite his fear. What courage the boy had. And what a shame that a child of such will had a father to shadow his days as this one did in Alistair the Perverted.
King Kellan stared at the boy thoughtfully for long moments, his fingers tapping restlessly, silently on the wide arm of his throne. Muse bent to his ear, whispering some message to him as her gaze stayed on the boy.
“As Prince, you have certain rights,” King Kellan stated moments later, causing the boy to visibly start as his head lifted, hope brightening his gaze. “Is this not true?”
Confusion filled the young heir’s gaze. “I have been told.” He nodded slowly.
“In matters of a sister’s safety, is it not true that a Secular heir to a throne may petition champions to her protection?”
Blue eyes widened as the young prince fisted his fingers in determination. “I have been told.” He swallowed with difficulty though.
“What say you then, young prince?” King Aherin questioned him suggestively. “As keeper of your sister’s protection, is this your request?”
“Aye.” The boy’s voice strengthened. “I request champions to my sister’s protection.”
“Know you that such champions may lay claim to the princess should their magicks align?” King Aherin asked then. “That in deigning to take responsibility for her life, they are given also the chance to accept responsibility of taking her as their consortess?”
“Would they be cruel to her?” Prince Quin appeared concerned now. “She is a delicate thing.” He worried, fists clenching once more. “She is not like other women. Small of bones, my uncle has said. She would break easily.”
“Are champions known to be cruel?” King Aherin boomed then, causing the child to flinch in fear.
He shook his head quickly. “Nay, sire.” His voice shook, but the boy did not back down. “Should you swear to know champions who would not break or abuse one so fine as she, then I petition your highness to choose from among your warriors champions to rescue her from the horrors that await her.”