“We best be on, there isn’t much time.” Kinsey looked back to watch Erik pull arrows from the other two corpses.
As if on cue, Kinsey could hear the shouts of the trailing Wildmen in the distance. Erik looked up from his task. “You won’t be able to outrun them for long. We should make our stand in the trees, at the edge of the ravine, while we still have strength.”
“I won’t have you sacrifice yourself on account of my slowness.”
With a look of irritation, Erik straightened. “Don’t be foolish... Would you leave me behind if I were wounded and unable to escape?”
Kinsey stammered, unable to come up with a response that would benefit his side of the argument.
“We’ve spoken of hypocrisy before. Perhaps you need another lesson in its futility?” Erik raised an eyebrow in challenge.
“We don’t have time for this!”
“Exactly.”
“Dammit, why do you have to be so...stubborn?”
Erik blinked with a look of consternation, then abruptly doubled over with laughter. The deeply felt kind of laughter that made you glad to be alive. The kind of laughter Kinsey had not heard from his father since before his mother had died.
“Well, I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” Kinsey chuckled, unable to defend himself against the infectious laughter. The prospect of death was high, and yet here they stood, laughing at one another. Better than weeping, Kinsey supposed, but all rather ridiculous nonetheless.
“Your hypocrisy truly knows no bounds!” Erik wiped the tears from his eyes. “Perhaps we should find cover.”
Kinsey turned to the sound of approaching horses. “Or perhaps not.”
THE arctic wind howled, sending swirls of snow off into the blanket of white that covered the land for miles. The Monastery was a dark beacon against the stark white plain. The only man-made structure within leagues, it had become more like a prison than a refuge over the passing months. The isolation was complete and unyielding. Her father could not have selected a more effective punishment.
A chill went through Sacha and she pulled the heavy, fur-lined cloak more tightly around her. Her gloved hand squeezed harder on the letter she had received just a few hours before, so the strong wind would not steal it away into the frozen void.
Looking down at the thick parchment once again, she studied the artisan’s rendition of her family crest: Stone Mountain, the capital of Pelos. The castle was forged deep within the southern reaches of Mountain Wall—a thousand feet of polished stone that thrust into the never-ending sky. It was an image she longed to see again.
Written in her mother’s long, flowing hand, the letter held words of both blessing and dire news. Sacha was to return home at last, but she could not find happiness in the prospect. Her identical twin sister, Princess Sloane—who was the elder by mere seconds—was to be married to Prince Alexander of Basinia. A man with admirable qualities, she’d heard, but this was only hearsay. Sacha had never met the prince, so had no idea what he was truly like.
A means to gain more security for the kingdom, as her father would put it. A way for her father, King Hathorn, to gain more power himself, as Sacha reasoned it. Away from the courts for almost two years now, Sacha still understood the underlying meaning of political actions, and this one was not difficult to discern.
Sacha frowned. Her skin crawled at the thought of being forced into a lifelong relationship with a man she had never met. “Sister... what has father done?” she whispered.
Sloane’s plight was grim in Sacha’s opinion, and she would do what she could to support her sister, even if that meant helping her escape. They could run together and seek out their own desires and dreams without the restraining bars of responsibility to king and country.
A small, humorless smile played across her features and she snorted softly in self-mocking derision. Silly thoughts of a silly girl, she thought. The path of defiance would bring nothing but trouble—something she had learned personally, and recently.
Regardless of how ludicrous her scheming truly seemed, excitement raced through her veins at the mere thought of the attempt. Rescuing her sister from a horrid fate was not the only possibility that raised her pulse while considering a trip home. How wonderful it would be to escape the confines of this icy cage, and to see Renee again.
She warmed at the thought of her lover. She yearned for his strong hands and the passion in his deep blue eyes. They would be reunited, if she could find a way past her father. King Hathorn was the king, after all, and he harbored no qualms about doling out punishment for disobedience. He had banished her, his own daughter, for loving a man out of wedlock.
Her jaw clenched; her father was a cold man, incapable of affection or mercy. He had hunted Renee and her relentlessly, finally capturing them along the borders of Basinia. They had been so close to freedom, only to have it ripped away. Their plans had been betrayed by a handmaiden more loyal to her king than to her princess. A bitter ending to Sacha’s dreams, most assuredly.
Stomping her feet on the hard stone for warmth, Sacha cursed herself for being such a fool, for thinking she could actually get away with her little rebellion. Being the “younger” of twin sisters did not give her leave to act as she pleased in her father’s eyes.
She was lucky Renee had not been put to death upon their capture. Watching him die would have been the death of her heart as well. She recalled her older brother Galen, blessed Galen, intervening on her behalf. Father was furious, but Galen had prevailed upon him in the end. Instead of giving Renee the executioner’s axe, the king sent him to the southern border with her brother to guard against invasion from the Savage Lands. A sentence better than death, but not by much.
Sliding the heavy cloak from her shoulders, Sacha let its sheltering warmth fall to the ground and stepped out from the protection of the stone wall into the freezing wind.
She sucked in a sharp breath at the wind’s fierce bite.
It was a private penance she practiced when thoughts of home came to mind. Her folly almost cost another person his life, a person she cared for most deeply. This little atonement was a small reminder of what her soul would feel at Renee’s loss. A reminder to be more careful before taking action. A reminder of the anger she bore toward her father.
The sting of tears came to Sacha’s eyes and they began to freeze halfway down her pale cheeks. As if in response to her despair, the last rays of light fell behind the distant wall of mountains to the Southeast, leaving her to weep alone in the cold dark.
Wrapped in blankets, Sacha shivered uncontrollably in front of the small hearth in her quarters. The small, cozy chamber was made of charcoal-grey stone with exposed oak beams running along the ceiling. Each of the four corners was supported by pillars of the same dark wood. Tapestries from her homeland decorated the walls and a quaint, cherry wood dresser, holding all of her possessions, sat in the far corner next to the bed. The mantle was made of the same heavy oak, carved with intricate details of an ancient, arcane language. The symbols glowed dull orange when a fire was lit and radiated blessed warmth long after the flames died away to smoldering embers.
Sacha gazed at the magical runes and her heartbeat slowed to a calm rhythm. Velvety warmth took the place of tense, icy shivering, which in turn summoned the lurking drowsiness deep within that she hadn’t noticed until that moment. Her eyelids had just started to slip closed when a sharp knock came at the door.
Sacha jolted upright and her eyes opened wide. “Yes?” she asked in bewilderment. “Come in.”
The small door creaked open to accommodate the tall figure walking in from the hallway. Dressed in thick, cream-colored robes and a fur-lined cloak, the man she knew only as “Teacher” entered the room. The light from the fire deepened the age lines in his face, making him appear much older than she believed him to be. Dark brown eyes that matched his closely cropped hair settled on her as he closed the door behind him. “Forgive me, pupil, I know the hour is late, but I must have words
with you.”
Her stomach filled with butterflies and she motioned to the hearth. “Of course, Teacher. Please, join me.”
He stepped closer to her and the crackling flames. His eyes drifted to her blankets and a small frown made its way across his face. Sacha knew he was aware and did not approve of her little ritual. At least, she suspected he knew. The hot tea she always found in her quarters after such excursions could not have been a coincidence. Teacher’s reaction to her blankets was confirmation enough.
Sacha shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Is this about me leaving for my sister’s wedding?” she asked, in hopes of changing his thoughts to another subject.
“Yes,” he replied.
His eyes moved to the hearth and focus on the dancing flames. The frown did not leave his features as he spoke. “You have been an apt pupil, but I have brought you through your training more quickly than what is traditionally acceptable.”
Sacha’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I didn’t realize—”
“I know... You weren’t told.” Teacher interrupted, and his next words were laced with a touch of concern. “It was necessary for you to learn the art as quickly as possible. Despite it being my decision, I have held some reservations as to its wisdom.” He brought his hands together behind his back and interlaced his fingers. “This is also why you’ve been kept isolated, away from the other students.”
She looked at him with a blank expression. The fact that he acknowledged the presence of others in the monastery intrigued Sacha. Other than Teacher himself, she had not seen another living soul. Of the many questions his words brought to mind, the only one she asked aloud was, “Why?”
“I have only speculations to offer, nothing more. They also have naught to do with why I have come to speak with you,” Teacher said dismissively.
Sacha choked back her retort with a small cough and waited for him to continue.
Teacher turned from the hearth and looked into her eyes. “Learning to wield the arcane power you now possess was the easy part, my pupil, but learning the discipline to use is it wisely is a totally different matter. You have not trained long enough to understand the possible consequences of the power you wield.”
Sacha’s hand tightened into a fist under her blankets. His definition of “easy” was far different from hers, apparently. The past two years had been grueling, both mentally and physically. The scars from her mistakes would always be with her. For Teacher to belittle what she achieved made her blood start to simmer. This sounded like it was going to become another lecture, and suddenly she wasn’t in the mood. Not bothering to moderate her tone, she asked him, “What are you trying to say?”
Teacher knelt beside her chair and placed a hand on the padded arm. He looked up at her with concern in his eyes. His voice was soft and urgent. “Please, do not take my words as offensive. When I say teaching you was easy, I mean to express that you are the most capable student I have seen in over sixty years.”
Sacha’s cheeks flushed at his words and she felt a bit ridiculous that she had responded to his compliment in such a fashion—she was irritated with him, after all. It perplexed her how annoyed she could be with someone and still wish for their approval at the same time.
He continued and she could hear the tension in his voice increase as he spoke. “It is important that you understand the danger you pose to yourself, and others, in leaving this sanctuary. I can only assume you have issues in your past that have not been dealt with appropriately. Time and reflection help to overcome such grievances, but you have been given neither. I would have preferred—”
Sacha held up a hand to interrupt him. “Wait. What does my past have to do with any of this?”
His frown deepened. “Everything. Revenge is forbidden! Forgiveness is part of the arcane teaching, as well you know. You must let go of old quarrels and past wrongs. Both those done to you, and those you have done to others.” Teacher rose to his feet once more. “This is a place of peace, not vengeance.”
His words sounded practiced. A parting phrase given to all who survived these walls and were given leave to return to the world. Yet Sacha noticed his eyes held a bit of regret, or possibly fear. Which one, she could not tell, but the words themselves held a threat that seemed not to sit well with the man.
Sacha leaned back in the warm, padded chair and looked into the fire. The tension knotted in her shoulders began to ease as she gazed at the flames. “And what happens if I disregard your counsel?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Sacha saw Teacher’s posture stiffen. “This is not advice,” he said. “Someone will be sent after you, to enact punishment.” His voice moved from anger to sadness, and he too turned to face the fire.
Another insinuation that others were present within these cold, stone walls. The prospect was most intriguing to Sacha, and worthy of research once she returned, but for now, she limited herself to one other question. “How will you know if I do something?”
“Are you planning to do something?”
She smiled wryly. “No. You have nothing to fear from me.” She might hate her father, but she didn’t wish to see him dead—maybe just hurt a little. The handmaiden who had betrayed her, however...
Teacher relaxed visibly at her words. Sacha hadn’t realized how concerned he would be about her leaving. Of course, she hadn’t known he would be forced to hunt her down for crossing some imaginary moral line either. She would definitely need to be careful with her actions in the future.
“I have arranged something for you upon your return to the Monastery, if your trip goes well,” Teacher stated with satisfaction.
Sacha looked up at him and arched an eyebrow. “Should I be afraid? Your last surprise was not that pleasant.” Her mouth twisted in sour remembrance.
He chuckled. “My apologies. You have no need to be frightened by my next offering.”
Sacha was skeptical. His “offerings” since she arrived at the monastery only lead to a whirlwind of questions that couldn’t be answered, and trials, both mental and physical, that tested her to her limits. She had started to wonder if he was doing it intentionally to throw her off balance. For what purpose, she could not imagine. Tonight, she resolved to wait for him. She pulled her legs up beneath her for more warmth and looked at Teacher expectantly.
“I’ve arranged for you to see your daughter,” he said, smiling.
Thunderstruck, she sat immobile for a long moment. Hot tears came to her eyes and Sacha looked away quickly so he would not see. The ability to speak eluded her as she tried to control her emotions and respond to Teacher’s heart-wrenching announcement.
Sacha had not seen her baby in almost two years. Three weeks after her daughter’s birth, Sacha had been told she was to go north, without her infant child. The parting was ugly, and it was a scene Sasha would never forget. She had fought with all her strength, used all of her martial training, and in the end, begged on her knees not to be separated from her child. All for naught.
Teacher cleared his throat in the awkward silence. “Forgive me, I thought... I will leave you now.” He bowed. She could hear the rustling of his robes as he made his way to the door; the latch made a soft click at his exit.
Sacha stood, neatly folded her blankets, and placed them in the chair. Her tears ran freely now, and after climbing into bed, she began to sob. “We will be together again,” she whispered, conjuring an image of Renee, and the child she could hardly remember. “A family, the three of us.”
“Die!” Renee screamed as he leapt from a boulder and rammed his spear down toward the hobgoblin’s hunched back. In spite of the screams, calls and chaos all around them, the hobgoblin that was brutalizing Barden’s prone form heard his battle cry. The savage face swung up to regard him, scabby eyebrows raised, the spittle flying from its yellowish tusks.
Renee cursed, realizing his roar of challenge had come a moment too early. The knobby arm of the pivoting monster came up and pushed the shaft of his spear away just enough to
keep the strike from being a killing blow. The broad head of the spear sliced a thin, brilliant line of red down the hobgoblin’s chest and belly before disappearing into the filthy rags it used as pants. Renee almost lost his grip entirely as the blade shuddered to a halt in the monster’s thigh.
A scream of rage and pain erupted from the wounded hobgoblin and its gnarled fist closed on the shaft, yanking it free so violently that Renee found himself airborne.
Within the blink of an eye, Renee was dashed to the ground in a senseless heap. His thoughts swam in a dark murk of sound and color and his eyes refused to focus. Unable to do more than struggle and kick feebly, Renee felt a grip of iron seize his ankle and start to drag him… somewhere.
He could hear the calls of men and the bellows of the creatures they fought all around him. Above, on the walls of the keep, tremulous notes of a horn rang out to rally somewhere within the chaos.
Renee stopped with a jolt and he blinked his eyes, trying to regain his bearings. He could make out the massive rock formations that surrounded the keep and found he had been dragged in between two of the monoliths, sheltering them from the sounds of battle and the possibility of rescue. Barden’s groans could be heard echoing off the sharp edges of stone nearby. It was as if this small spot were an island, separated from the battle in some unknowable way.
“I’m going to die,” he moaned, his own words returning to him from the uncaring stones beneath his bruised face. Hearing his thoughts put to voice gave rise to a panic he hadn’t felt since the first time he and his fellows had charged out against their foe, what seemed like weeks ago. “I’m going to die!” he shouted this time, beginning to claw at the ground, fighting to get away from the hands that flipped him over.
One massive hand hauled him off the ground by the throat and hoisted him into the air. Another club-like palm smashed into his cheek, sending sparks of light across his vision.
Renee struggled for air, both hands raking at the meaty fist wrapped around his throat, but darkness crept into the edges of his vision, taking all the strength out of his fight.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 4