The thing parted its lips in a wide smile and said in a low, rumbling voice distorted by thick tusks, “Yeessss... you, die, hooman.”
As Renee’s sight blackened completely, his last thought revolved around how this was not how things were supposed to end. I never... even... got paid...
Renee woke, his body folded up on the dirt path like a marionette with no strings, arms and legs spread madly. His head thrummed with a headache that would rival any hangover. He untangled himself and sat up, looking around in confusion. Words squeaked out of his bruised throat. “Am I dead?”
Laughter boomed from behind him. “No, not this time! I was afraid we wouldn’t make it in time.” Prince Galen’s rich voice rose to cut through the constant crash and surge of the battle that still moved around them. “I saw you leap from the rock. Brave, but not too smart. It won’t do for you to die while under my protection. Sacha would have my head!”
Renee turned, wincing in pain as he did, to look up at his savior.
Much like King Hathorn, Prince Galen was built with proportions that made him seem of a slightly different race. Standing flat-footed, he was just shy of his father’s seven feet and broad shouldered, and possessed all the raw power of youth and long training on the battlefield. Unarmored, it was hard to call the prince anything but impressive, and in full battle attire, he was a truly imposing sight. The armor itself was closely tailored to the prince’s body and not a gaudy affair, as was typical of so many men of his position. However, it was made of red-hued metal, accented lightly at rondel, vambrace, and gauntlet with gold enamel that was reflected in his pennant. The eagle wings of Galen’s personal sigil were emblazoned in an ebony inlay on his helm, avoiding the ostentation of three-dimensional antlers, wings, or crest that were often seen in other noble houses. The effect made him reminiscent of some ancient fire god sent from the heavens to punish those foolish enough to threaten the might and splendor that was Pelos.
“Come, now, on your feet.” Galen smiled as he offered Renee a gauntleted hand.
He took the prince’s generosity, instantly regretting it as a quick wrench of Galen’s great arm hauled him to his feet. Sharp pain shot through every part of Renee’s body and his vision blurred for a moment.
“Good work, saving Barden. Would have been a shame to lose him,” the Prince said, while delivering several hard blows to the back of Renee’s armor once he had ceased his stumbling.
Still not fully understanding what had happened after his blackout, Renee shook his head and took a better look at his surroundings.
The first thing he saw was his hobgoblin captor, on its knees, slumped to one side with the bright red point of a lance protruding from its chest. The next unavoidable observation was the constantly moving wall of horseflesh and steel that protected the prince and Renee from attack. One of the mounted men, his horse stamping impatiently, bore the banner of Prince Galen, a gold field surmounted by a black triangle with a red eagle soaring, wingtips brushing the black borders that defined the edge of the shimmering triangle. Although his was the honor of bearing the Prince’s flag, he never stopped scanning the field, searching for enemies.
“Ho, there, Rosa!” the Prince barked. “Can we move him?” Galen moved past Renee to stand beside his personal physician, who was busy at work wrapping Barden’s wounds.
“Aye, My Prince, but not by horse,” Rosa declared, wiping the sweat from his brow.
A roar of horns sounded in the distance, pulling the prince’s attention away from the wounded man and physician.
“We must go!” Galen bellowed to his mounted guard. Turning toward the enormous destrier he rode, the Prince eyed Renee. “Get Barden and yourself behind the gates. And don’t come back out,” he commanded, gesturing at the keep.
Renee could only nod in acceptance, not feeling the need to come out from behind its heavy stone walls ever again. He watched the Prince and Rosa swing up into their saddles.
Prince Galen yelled a chant to destroy all enemies of Pelos and thundered off in the direction of the blasting horns, his cohort close behind, leaving Renee to drag Barden’s unconscious body back to safety.
The crash and thunder of the raging battle subsided abruptly as the door to the infirmary slammed shut behind Renee, leaving his ears ringing in the comparative silence. His voice rasped roughly as he called out, “Help needed here!”
Frecht looked up from where he was examining the ragged edges of a stone spear that protruded from the thigh of a sentryman. Catching the attention of two triage assistants with a grunt, the surgeon waved in Renee’s direction. The two young men rushed over and lifted Barden’s dead weight from Renee’s shoulders.
With a sigh of relief, Renee made his way to an unoccupied alcove and leaned back into its shadow, losing himself in thought while slowly taking off pieces of dented armor.
The past year and a half had begun in dreadful boredom, not to mention a total departure from the life to which he was accustomed. Recent months, however, had spiraled into something far worse. Large groups of Wildmen were crossing the border from the Savage Lands into Pelos, wreaking havoc on the common folk, and worst of all, threatening his very existence.
Renee let out a curse of resentment as he dumped his chest plate to the stone floor. He was trapped, banished by an overprotective king and jailed under the watchful eye of a self-righteous prince. Renee’s contacts in Waterfall Citadel had been unable to find him, and the opportunity to send word to them was all but impossible, especially with the uprising of the stupid savages from the South.
“No payment for services rendered two years past,” Renee muttered. “I should have asked for an advance.” He smirked sourly then slipped off the chainmail shirt and felt as if he could actually breathe again.
At least it had been a job he enjoyed. More than most of his jobs, anyway; seducing women was an exhilarating pastime and getting paid for it made the exercise all the better. This time it had been in the lap of luxury, in an environment he lusted after. With royalty.
Renee closed his eyes to bring the memories back more clearly.
He watched Princess Sacha brushing down the horse that was her current favorite. It wasn’t hard to enjoy the time he spent. The youngest daughter of the king had a love for close-fitting riding pants and high-cut waistcoats tailored to her generously feminine form.
So very limber, too, Renee thought with a smile as she gracefully dropped into a squat to inspect the gelding’s hooves.
Plucking a knot of everblooms from his pocket, Renee moved on cat’s paws toward the unsuspecting woman. As he approached, he could begin to make out the melody of a tune she was humming, and softly singing snatches of the refrain:
“Summer’s song and summer days…Warm and lovely as my lover’s ways...”
Renee pulled a single stem and leaned forward with the fragrant frond extended, brushing it along Sacha’s graceful jaw line. His mild tenor joined her contralto, “Summer’s wind, blows me...”
Sacha’s hair flowed past his vision in a chestnut storm, ripping the everbloom from his unresisting fingers. The princess turned her seemingly innocent squat into a twisting leg sweep that took Renee completely by surprise.
The world lurched as his legs were kicked out from beneath him, and stars exploded as his head crashed to the floor. Blinking past his astonishment, Renee could make out Sacha’s horrified exclamations, interspersed with the whuffs and whinnies of the spooked horses.
“Eos!... No!... Renee! What have I done?... Why did...? Oh, no!” Sacha cried.
Renee could feel her firm, deft fingers run through his hair, probing his skull for signs of injury. “So much for my attempt at romance this afternoon,” he said, turning a grimace of pain into a smile.
Sacha straightened and placed her hands on her hips. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me. It’s not proper.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Are those for me?” Sacha gestured to the flowers lying on the ground.
“The
y were, but I think I’ll give them to your sister instead. I may have better luck.”
“You will not!” She laughed and punched him in the arm.
Renee reached up and grabbed her riding vest in both hands. Taken unawares, Sacha couldn’t react before he pulled her down and kissed her deeply. Renee felt her struggle at first but then she gave in and started to kiss him back. Her lips were soft and hungry, and their touch incited a fire deep within him.
He broke their embrace after several intense moments. “I want you, more than anything,” Renee breathed. He was so caught up in his role, he couldn’t be sure if he truly meant the words or if they were part of his act.
“Then take me,” she said with a look in her eyes that echoed and challenged his passion.
“Renee! Wake up, ya damn fool!” Frecht yelled.
Renee sat upright, falling out of his daydream as the surgeon kicked his foot. “What happened?”
“Yer done. Fixed up. T’wern’t nothin’ wrong with ya but scratches. Now get out, so I can see to others in need!” Frecht pointed toward the door.
Gathering his things, Renee made his way out into the courtyard. The sounds of battle still echoed over the walls as he walked to the barracks where he slept. He started to shake once inside the heavy wooden building. The initial shock of his confrontation with the hobgoblin had worn off, and the details of his brush with death were becoming clearer.
Remembrance of the encounter left Renee with cold fear in his belly and the realization that this place had become far too dangerous. He would have to find a way to escape, and soon.
“I will miss the sea,” Sloane said into the wind.
The breeze was faint and cool as it touched her face, pushing thick locks of dark chestnut hair over her bare shoulders. Sloane’s melancholy typically lessened when she came to the Acklune, but today the skyward sanctuary only intensified the sense of loss and apprehension she felt deep in her heart. She gazed out upon the open bay, watching the many boats cut through the glittering ocean water far below under the late summer sun. Large deposits of amethyst and mica on the bay floor captured the light of the sun and cast it back, coloring the water in spectacular purples, blues, and teals.
Her memories surged as her eyes touched on the many places she had been happiest. She traced the outline of the different sections of the harbor. Her nose wrinkled with fond remembrance of the smell of the fisherman’s wharf just at the water’s edge, where she often visited to see the day’s catch. She smiled, remembering the races with her sister to the shipyard to watch the new war galleys being launched. These events she tied to the sea. In fact, every memory she had, even in the woods to the west of City Wall, smelled of the ever-present ocean.
But of every place and adventure she feared to lose, Diver’s Spire was the place Sloane would mourn most of all. Visible from where she stood, it appeared only as a gathering of towering, stone fingers jutting from the waters of the bay. Up close, it was a bountiful paradise, and every tiny detail of that island was etched into her memory. She had spent a lifetime of summers on those cliffs in the bay with her friends, cousins, and siblings. The sun bronzed their half-naked bodies as they ran along the beach and dove from the great pillars of rock into the soothing ocean below. All her memories seemed like a dream to her now, even though it was just last summer that she danced in the waters of her youth, not realizing it would be her last.
“I thought I would find you here,” said Arece.
Sloane came back to the present and turned to greet her mother. “Yes, I am here... at least, for now.”
“I know this is hard for you, my child. It is hard for me to watch you go through a situation so similar to my own, but you can be a child no longer. Even though it pains me to say so.”
Sloane watched her mother approach with the grace of the great snow cats that lived to the far north. Even here, far from the public eye, her movements were purposeful and elegant. Sloane couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, would look as regal after becoming a queen herself. In her present mood, she doubted it.
“I have not been a child for some time, Mother. I will do what is bid of me, though I can hardly bear the pain of it.” Her voice faltered more than she would have liked. Weakness was not tolerated amongst Sloane’s people, and to display such faintness of heart in front of her mother would not improve her state of mind, or her situation. Not that Arece would think less of her for showing such emotion; no, Sloane knew that her mother thought differently than her father. She just wanted Arece to be proud of her, and showing any fear generally would not inspire respect.
“In the beginning, an arranged marriage can be a terrible thing for both individuals involved, but eventually, it can become something tolerable if not wonderful,” Arece said as she came to stand in front of Sloane. The queen’s eyes swept briskly but thoroughly from Sloane’s slippered feet to the silver and crystal mesh woven into her hair, which signified her station. Seeming to find everything in place and worthy of approval, the queen’s gaze settled onto her daughter’s eyes.
Sloane wanted to cover herself with a heavy blanket when Arece looked at her in such a fashion. She felt as if she could hide nothing, not even her thoughts, while under the scrutiny of those crystal blue eyes—the mark of her royal family. Sloane looked down at her hands to temporarily break her mother’s searching gaze.
“I know there is nothing I can say to comfort you. Only time and acceptance can provide the relief you seek. But know these things, Daughter: Your marriage will save this kingdom from a slow, rotting death. And, to not fear the unknown would be foolish.” Arece’s voice was soft, and she raised her hand gently to caress and lift Sloane’s chin. “Courage is defined by the choice to go on, in spite of our fears.”
Arece’s fingers were warm compared to the cool breeze atop the Acklune, and the pressure she applied was only enough to raise Sloane’s head so their eyes would meet once again. Sloane had forgotten how beautiful her mother’s smile was; it had been long since Sloane had seen it.
“You are our light of hope. I will miss you dearly,” Arece said. Tears welled in her eyes but remained unshed as she leaned forward to embrace her daughter.
Sloane gave Arece a crushing hug in return. “Thank you, Mother.”
After a few moments, Sloane released her mother and stepped back to compose herself. The troubling thoughts of disappointing the woman who stood before her were banished, but Sloane’s sense of loss still lingered.
“I do have something that might cheer your mood. Come!” That wonderful smile made its way across her mother’s face once more as she took hold of Sloane’s hand and led her to the great halls below.
The masonry work of Stone Mountain had been done entirely by dwarves. Though she had never actually seen one of the skilled craftsmen, Sloane had heard tales of their short stature and surly attitudes. If the walls and pillars of the mountain fortress were a reflection of what dwarves were truly like, then she guessed they would be a race that radiated strength and stability. No other structure within miles of the castle, save for City Wall, contained a fraction of the splendor or power that the dwarven-wrought Stone Mountain possessed. She wondered, and not for the first time, why such a famously short people would build everything on such a grand scale.
Arece almost dragged Sloane through the massive hallways, dodging past servants as they tried desperately to curtsy, bow, and dodge upon seeing their queen and princess about to bowl them over. Sloane was exhilarated by the pace her mother set. Not only did it increase her curiosity about what Arece seemed so intent on showing her, but it also reminded her of how she and her friends would race up and down these halls, playing hide and seek, not so many years ago.
They jogged past an alcove that brought a young man, Cory Rholemont, to Sloane’s thoughts. He’d been sent out to the border guard last year. Before he and many of the other courtly young men left to go south, a grand ball had been thrown in their honor. She remembered Cory being so handsome that night. Sh
e had willingly snuck away with him to that little alcove so they could kiss recklessly. If her father had known, Sloane would’ve been beaten and restricted to her quarters, and Cory most likely would have been banished. Her father was not a forgiving man. The fact that Cory felt she was worth the risk of inciting King Hathorn’s wrath made Sloane’s heart race all the more. She was sad to see him go but knew nothing could become of their brief encounter. Being the eldest daughter of the king of Pelos set the stage for Sloane to be wed to a nobleman of great prominence, which Cory was not. What Sloane had not known was that the “Great Nobleman” she was to marry did not reside in Stone Mountain, or even Pelos, for that matter. Her husband to be was a king... or would be, once his failing father passed from this world, which could be any day now.
Sloane easily kept pace with her mother. Being a Pelosian was synonymous with being able to fight, no matter if you were a man or woman. But to fight effectively required training. The hours of sweaty work she and her sister had endured in both hand-to-hand and sparring with weapons had hardened her muscles even as they sharpened her mind. That practice enabled her to take jaunts such as this one as an exhilarating joy instead of a huffing burden.
Arece slowed as they came to the corridor where Sloane’s chambers were located. They both breathed in deep lungfuls of air from the exertion of the quick ascent and laughed at each other.
“Who knows what kind of rumors will spread because of our hasty little stroll,” Arece said between breaths. She grinned mischievously as they turned to walk down the arched hallway toward Sloane’s room.
“Indeed, Mother. What could drive you to such impropriety?” Sloane asked with genuine interest. She was boiling over with curiosity as to what could make her mother so impetuous. She returned Arece’s smile and privately thanked Eos for the break in her melancholy. Gods, it feels good to do something other than moping about, dreading the inevitable! she thought. Even if she didn’t know what her mother had planned, she was grateful for the diversion.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 5