by James Fuller
“There might be others down below,” Stefan said, his face ashen as he stared down at the unconscious man.
“I do not care,” Daden said, pushing his way past Meath. “Kara!” He called out desperately as he took the stairs two at a time. He reached the bottom and a long stone hallway awaited him. Several thick stone doors lined each side of the hallway. “Kara, Kara, where are you?”
“Daden?” A rough voice called out from one of the doors small barred windows. “Daden, is that really you or am I dreaming?”
“Kara!” Daden ran to the door and gripped the bars. “It is me!”
“But how? How did you know I was here?” Her eyes went wide. “How did you even get down here?”
“No time for that,” Meath interjected. “We need to get out of here. Now how do we open this door?” Meath stared at the large stone slab confused as it had no seems or hinges.
Stefan pushed Meath and Daden aside as he examined the stone slab until he came across a small circle shape indent. “We need the key.”
“Where would that be?” Daden asked looking around.
“I will go check Weston,” Stefan ran off and disappeared up the stairs.
“It is okay, Kara, we will get you out,” Daden told her, tears marring his own face.
“You came for me.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Daden grabbed her hands. “I would always come for you, Kara, I love you.”
Kara’s face beamed. “I know, Daden, and I love you.”
“Stefan, hurry up! We have no time to spare,” Meath called.
The sound of leather shoes on granite whispered through the air and all eyes went to Stefan who jarred down the stairs awkwardly.
“What is a matter?” Daden called.
“I... I am... sorry... I...” Stefan fell to the dusty floor, an ice spike between his shoulder blades.
“Stefan!” Meath cried out and ran to the druid.
“I told you I did not want to have to do this,” Weston growled as he lumbered down towards them. “Stefan was a good lad and you forced me to kill him!” An arc of power rippled for Meath.
Meath threw himself into a backwards roll, avoiding the deadly attack as it sent a spray of chipped stone and dust into the air. His innate Gift was alive in him now, mixing with his anger, his eyes were colder than the shard that pierced through Stefan’s back. He charged through the waning dust, both hands alive with power.
Daden heard Weston’s screams echo through the hallway as he watched Meath’s silhouette through the dust - the wizard did not die quickly. He ran to Stefan and checked for any sign of life, but it was too late, the druid was dead. He caught sight of a chain in his hand and pulled it free, his heart leaping at the sight of the key stone. He wasted no time in putting it to use and soon Kara was embraced tightly in his arms.
Meath stood over Stefan’s body. His eyes spoke the words his lips refused to release. He leaned down and pulled the ice blade from his friends back and rolled him over. “I should have never involved you in this my friend, I am sorry.” Meath closed Stefan’s eyes and stood, his back rigid once more. “We need to get out of here.”
They scrambled out of the archives and into the night air.
“What is going on there?” Someone yelled as they came into view.
“Run for the cave!” Meath yelled, a fierce column of wind bellowing from his outstretched arms and into the man that had spotted them. The tunnel of air threw the man back against a tree with a loud crash where he lay unmoving.
They reached the cliff top, the sound of pursuit not far behind them. They wasted no time linking up and ran into the dragon’s cave - within moments they came out the other side and sprinted down the rocky trail to the bottom of the cliff side, doing their best to fight through the disorientation.
“They will not just let us escape,” Kara wheezed, trying to catch her breath. “They will give chase.”
“We could try and fight them and hope to scare them off,” Daden put in nervously.
“To fight us would be to die!” An angry voice said from behind them.
The trio spun around -Titus and another man stood at the ready.
“How did you get ahead of us?” Daden gasped.
“Do you not think we were watching the cave, Daden?” Titus growled. “All you had to do was go with him and make sure Astaroth was stopped and everything would have been fine!” Titus stepped forward. “Now you have ruined everything!”
“I still plan on stopping Astaroth,” Meath interjected coolly. “Just let us go.”
Titus laughed. “I am to take you at your word?”
“I am not the liar among us,” Meath countered, sliding the dragon dagger from its sheath. “Or maybe I am.”
Titus’ eyes went wide in horror at seeing the ivory blade. “Give the dagger back!” His hand sparked to life with wizard’s fire.
“Never!” Meath growled.
An arc of power ripped through the jungle’s growth, lighting up the gloom around them and struck Titus square in the chest, hurling him back into the rocky ground. All eyes turned back to where the attack came from as two figured emerged from the trees.
“Ursa?” Meath gasped in complete surprise.
“Behind you!” Ursa cried out.
Meath twisted around to see the other wizard coming at him with a blade of ice aimed for his mid-section. Meath spun to the side avoiding the attack and reacted on pure instinct burying the bone blade between the wizard’s ribs. Their eyes met for a brief moment before the vampiric powers of the blade took charge.
Chapter 20
“Are you sure you want to engage them again my Lord?” Captain Larik asked, his horse shifting eagerly beneath him.
Marcus glared through the trees at the passing war party that still outnumbered them five to one. Worse yet, the enemy had several of their Gifted among them which had devastated his ranks in their past encounters. General Kenden and a score of others had fallen in their last attack, a wound to Marcus’s heart that he would avenge.
Marcus glanced over to his Captain. The man sat tired and bloodied upon his horse, yet ready and willing if commanded, as were all his men, he knew. He had so few of them now. Less than half remained of his two hundred.
“We have the advantage of surprise and higher ground,” he began.
“The men are tired, my Lord, and have suffered two daunting defeats in less than a day.”
“Speak plainly please, Larik.”
The man turned to his Lord timidly. “We cannot win this, Marcus. To order us to attack again is to order us all to our deaths. Even if our numbers were double, we would still be slaughtered. I beg you to reconsider.”
“And if I order you to attack them?”
“Then I will ride with my brothers, down into the heart of the enemy and fight until I am struck down, my Lord.”
Marcus sighed. “I will not send you to your deaths because of my damnable pride. Let us find somewhere to camp, rest, and regroup.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Captain Larik saluted and turned to give orders when the sound of a horn blasted from the enemy ranks below them.
“Curses, we have been spotted!” Larik bellowed.
Marcus edged his horse forward, his hand on the hilt of his blade as he peered through the trees. “No, the enemy charges east.”
“Refugees?”
The evening sky lit up time and again and the screams of dying barbarians haunted through the trees.
“No, another army has come with wizards!” Marcus gasped.
Zehava paced the hallway nervously, fretting with his adornments on his new leather plated armor, trying to ensure they were properly placed. The only thing he was missing was a sword at his hip and he knew it would not be long before he received his new one.
He licked his dry lips anxiously and reached for the cup of wine that had been left for him. He downed it in a single swallow and the warmth that rose within his center calmed his nerves for a moment, before he was pacing
the hallway once more, waiting to be called forth.
He had never expected this to happen to him, for such an honor to be bestowed upon a mere farmer’s son. If his parents had still been alive, he would have sent word to them and let them know what their son had become, but they were not.
Zehava walked over to the window and looked out at the courtyard below - so much activity took place within the castle walls, he wondered if it had always been this way. He chuckled to himself - this was the first time he had ever been within the walls of Draco Castle, how would he know what the norm was?
“You look nervous,” a voice said from behind him.
Zehava turned and smiled at Barnaby. “A little, yes. I never assumed I would become my future Queen’s champion. The thought is overwhelming.”
“A fine title, earned rightfully, by what I have been told,” Barnaby replied. “I doubt not for a moment that you are the reason she was not sold or killed while in that slaver camp.” Zehava looked away. “Do not feel shame for what you had to do. It was a horrible thing, but you did what you had to. Yes, it will be a tough thing to shoulder your whole life, but a lesser man would have given up and then who knows where we all would be.”
“I have not thanked you for your part in our rescue.”
Barnaby held up in hands. “No need to thank me… I did so because I knew I would be well rewarded for it.” He grinned.
Zehava chuckled. “No you did not. You did so because you are a good man, Barnaby. Do not taint such behavior with indolent untruth.”
“Bleh,” Barnaby rolled his eyes in defeat. “I am a terrible lair anyway.” He laughed. “A terrible trait for a thief would you not say? Though deeply rewarded I have been.”
“Enough to give up the life as a thief and settle down with your sister in an honest life among true friends?” Zehava raised his brow.
Barnaby shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”
The double doors opened and a servant waved to Zehava. “They are ready for you.”
Zehava turned back to Barnaby. “How do I look?”
“As you should...”
Nicolette walked the paths of the royal garden, no particular lane or avenue, yet she knew where she would end up. She always ended up there, even when she tried to avoid it. Zehava’s ceremony had been wonderful and his oath had been taken - he was blood bound to her as Champion, as Rift had once been. Fresh tears stung her already scarlet eyes. She had lost so many people she had held dear and though she was back within the wall of Draco Castle, she felt more lost and alone then she ever had.
Lord Dagon would hold the mantle as King until she was prepared to shoulder such a weight as Queen, and until such a time as an appropriate suitor was found to rule beside her as the new King. She placed the thought far from her mind, and refused to think of it now - too many other things took importance.
Dahak and Shania had still not been found and all she could do was pray for their safe return. News from the south had arrived the day before; Mandrake Castle had been liberated from the savages and was now under their control once more. Dagon and Angelina had broken down with tears of joy when the news had come to them. Though it would be awhile before they would set foot within their own castle again, just knowing it was free was enough.
Dragon’s Cove was still in the hands of the enemy and Lord Marcus had not returned and was feared dead.
Nicolette stopped before their tree, how it had grown all these years, no longer a tiny sapling that she could easily climb. She slid off her slippers and set herself to the task. She almost laughed at the thought of what someone would think if they happened by as their future Queen scaled the branchy tree.
She rested herself along the thick branch they had once used with their child- like imagination for a thousand things. That branch had been a ship sailing on countless heroic voyages, a horse that had galloped a thousand miles on endless quests. She smiled as the memories flooded back to her, her fingers tracing the carved heart with their initials. To have that time again, even if only for a day, she would trade all she owned.
She blinked away a fresh tear and knew she needed to be getting back inside. She carefully climbed down the tree, her foot missing the lowest branch and she tumbled the last few feet to the soft grass beneath with a thud. Nicolette heard a chuckle behind her.
“I thought after all these years you would have learned to climb that thing,” a familiar voice said.
Nicolette’s heart nearly stopped in her chest as she turned to see if her mind was simply playing a cruel trick on her. “Meath!”
Several days passed and things around the castle slowly began to come together. With Mandrake freed and almost all of the enemies supply trains severed, it was only a matter of time before they would take back Dragon’s Cove. Word that Lord Marcus was alive and well had finally reached them. He had joined up with the Master Morgus and Master Kendal and the thousand they had been charged with.
King Dante had left to return home and promised to stop by Mandrake for King Dagon to ensure his castle was being fully resorted. He also promised to make a stop by Drandor to ensure Lady Tora had arrived safely.
“I should not hold the title of King,” Dagon told everyone.
“There is no one else until Nicolette can adjust and find herself ready to take up the name of Queen,” Lady Angelina said.
“Marcus should be back here and holding such a title,” Dagon muttered.
“If only he would,” Jewel replied. “But he is determined to win back Dragon’s Cove.”
Dagon sat back in his seat his features defeated. “A decade ago I may have been thrilled by this occurrence. Bleh!” He cursed, downing his wine.
Lady Jewel rose from her chair. Her face pale and unsure as she fought some inner battle between her own will. “I... I hold a secret...” she paused as all eyes rested on her now. “I hold a secret from the past in which I prayed would never have to come to light.” She swallowed back her nerves. “But it is apparent that it must.”
“Well speak woman, do not leave us in such suspense,” Dagon chided.
Jewel stared ahead at nothing as she spoke. “King Borrack did have a bastard heir.”
Epilogue
Astaroth stood staring east from the cliff side as the sun began to set over the jungle. They had travelled for over a fortnight through the jungle’s rainy season. Astaroth had quickly given up hiding within the growth and they had acquired horses and rode at night much of the way, sleeping during the day. Another two days travel and they would be at the entrance of Salvas and he would be ‘home’. A wicked grin crossed his lips. It would be good to see mother again. The thought of the woman who had denied him his birthright and cast him from his home stabbed at his heart. How dare she!
His lips quivered as he suppressed a sneer. How she would come to regret that decision, they all would. Only those who pledged themselves to him, would he let live. There would not be many, but that did not matter once he was ruler. They could always find more Gifted children and train them his way. He would create an army of Gifted who would be feared. Then, he would do as prophecy had foretold.
He smiled and inhaled the fresh, evening air deeply. How he could not wait to breathe that perfect air once more. To see the vivid colors of the world he had known nearly his whole life.
“Master, Vashina has found a good spot to set up camp for the night,” Keithen said as he came and stood beside him.
“You see that cliff over there, Keithen?” Astaroth pointed east.
Keithen squinted and looked to where his Master pointed. “Yes, I see it.”
“That is where we are headed. That is where we will find the dragon’s cave that will take us into Salvas,” Astaroth whispered, lost in his thoughts of longing that would soon become a reality. “That is where everything will change.”
A sudden stab of burning pain laced through Astaroth’s side and his knees gave out. He looked down to his side and saw a small ivory knife embedded there, Keithen’s h
and gripping it tightly. “What are you doing? Where did you get that blade?” Astaroth growled, as the pain grew nearly unbearable. “I am your Master, Keithen!”
Keithen grinned wickedly at him. “I have a new Master now.” He pushed the bone blade in further. “I am not yours to command anymore.”
Astaroth could feel the daunting pull upon his life force as the blade bit deeper into his side. “You wretched bastard! I should have killed you a hundred times over!” Astaroth hissed, but soon was overcome in agony as the dragon bone blade ate into him.
Keithen pulled himself to his feet, his body trembling with the effort. He stood above the body of his former master, gazing down at the husk with a grin. He could feel the immense power flowing through him now. It was like nothing he had ever dreamed of - he felt like a god. He leaned down and pulled the enchanted ring from Astaroth’s brittle finger, dipped it into the knife wound and slipped it on his finger.
“My life meant nothing to you, anyway,” Keithen said to the corpse. “As soon as you had no need of me you would have killed me and taken my powers, like you have everyone else.” He used his foot and pushed Astaroth’s body over the ledge, watching it plummet to the rocky ground below. “Farewell, brother.”
“There you are,” Vashina called from behind him. “I sent that useless wretch to come find you.”
Astaroth turned to Vashina, a wide grin spread across his face. “You need not worry about that ‘little’ wretch again.” He looked over the ledge.
Vashina glanced down at the mangled corpse below. “Surprised you put up with him as long as you did.”
“As am I,” Astaroth replied coolly.
“Well now that he is gone maybe we can…” she ran her hand down his firm chest and stopped just above his groin before she began to walk away, her hips swaying seductively. “Do not be long.” She called over her shoulder.
Keithen looked over the ledge once more at the body of Astaroth. “I am going to enjoy being you, brother.”