“Who’s to say what motivates the mind of a madman?” Selen cast one hand into the air. “I say Yorin is responsible and should die accordingly.”
Baeloke barked a laugh. “I know of your movements toward the North. Yorin’s death will not give you what you seek. What we seek. To hunt him is folly.”
“I grow tired of waiting!” Selen was suddenly back on her feet, facing Gobblesnot’s friend over the lid of the casket. She had moved so quickly, Gobblesnot had completely missed the action. “Century after century passes, and still nothing. I will have what’s owed to me!” She shook her fist at Baeloke as if she blamed him for the time passed.
“Yes, you will.” Baeloke patted the casket. “But why not go after easier prey?”
“How are you so certain Yorin isn’t responsible?”
“Initially, I did suspect our brethren, but I have searched their lands thoroughly. I have found nothing. Something else is out there, and it has the power to evade our senses… Well, it has had the power to evade us, until now.”
“What do you mean ‘something else’?” Selen spat. “What could possibly hide from us?”
“I don’t know how, but the one responsible for this,” Baeloke said, looking down at the elegantly carved slab of stone, “has great power, similar to our own.”
“Nonsense. Nothing could stay hidden, or survive, for that long. One of us is responsible, it’s just a matter of finding out who.”
Baeloke shook his head. “I would agree with you if just the five of us remained, but this”—he gestured to the coffin—“proves otherwise.”
“Proves what otherwise?” Selen bared her teeth in a snarl.
Baeloke looked at Gobblesnot’s seething mistress with a blank expression. “Have you not considered how the Awakening might have been delayed?”
“Always questions from you!” Selen’s anger writhed across her lips. “You live to try my patience, and I have none. Get to the point!”
The small smile returned to Baeloke’s face. “The answer is quite simple, really. Too many of us still live.”
The anger slowly bled away from Selen’s face and she looked down at the casket. “Who is in there?”
Baeloke raised his brows. “Not one of us, but a brother nonetheless.”
“How do you know if you haven’t even looked inside?”
“Believe me, I know.”
“Prove it,” Selen commanded. “Show me!”
Baeloke slowly sat back down in his chair, steepling his long fingers in front of his face. “I need your help with something first.”
Selen frowned. “What do you propose?”
Baeloke leaned forward. “I believe there are more of these.” His hand gestured, again, to the casket. “But I cannot get to them. None of us can. More conventional means are required. An army. Your army.”
Selen gave her guest a furious scowl. “So you need the resources I have cultivated for centuries while you sat on your backside like a lazy mule—”
“Do not belittle the information I have gathered over the same centuries you speak of,” Baeloke interjected. “This knowledge will change everything. It has changed everything. Even someone as self-absorbed as you should see that.”
Amusement suddenly made its way into Selen’s voice, “I have yet to see anything.”
The goblin cringed in anticipation of the return of the burning sensation as the two demigods eyed each other, but instead, Baeloke rose to his feet and looked down at the sarcophagus. He began to speak words that were not only meaningless to Gobblesnot, but words that also twisted in his mind, refusing to be remembered. The runes on the lid of the casket started to glow an eerie green. All along the sides of the coffin, the stone carvings of the dead came to life and began to claw at one another in an attempt to reach the globes that now glowed with the same green light.
Low and powerful, the words bathed Gobblesnot’s mind in writhing pain, and he screamed. How long the chanting lasted, he could not say. When his friend’s powerful voice subsided, Gobblesnot found himself on hands and knees, shaking. Taking sharp breaths, he wiped the drool from his mouth and dared to look at the casket and his masters.
The faces of the stone box no longer had skeletons adorning them. Only the orbs, once again cool, lifeless stone, remained. Selen and Baeloke stood on either side, facing each other, as smoke drifted around them.
“Those words you spoke… I have never heard their like before. What dialect was it?” Selen asked.
“A dead language, lost before our time,” Baeloke replied dismissively. “Shall we open it?”
Grabbing the sides of the heavy stone lid, the two slid it easily to the foot of the casket, letting it drop to the ground with a thud. The same terrible green glow that had emanated from the runes and orbs now radiated from within the lidless tomb as the two peered inside.
“Amazing.” Selen’s eyes were wide as she reached into the opened casket.
Curiosity drove Gobblesnot to his feet and he tottered closer to catch a glimpse of the object of her attention.
The green glow from within the casket faded from view as she stood, to the accompaniment of a wet, sucking sound, followed by a soft pop.
An abomination was cradled lovingly in her arms. Slick with some gelatinous fluid, the form possessed similar characteristics as the two beings who regarded it. Pale, almost transparent skin, long, delicate limbs, and a mouth filled with sharp teeth. Where the two masters were hale and strong, this thing was desiccated beyond description. The belly was sunken into the body cavity, where the shapes of organs could be seen pressing into the pallid flesh. Bones stood out starkly from the sunken flesh, and once blonde hair fell in wet, stringy clumps from the skull. As Gobblesnot watched in lurid fascination, a single finger twitched. How anything could be emaciated to this level and have any life was beyond the goblin’s grasp. A putrid odor, far worse than that of the swamp, contaminated the air at the creature’s release and finally overwhelmed the goblin’s nostrils.
Gobblesnot reeled from the smell, and he retched up the remains of his afternoon rat on the lifeless form of the girl he had slain.
“It is indeed amazing,” Baeloke echoed, “and my gift to you, if you choose to assist me.”
Selen looked up from the gaunt, comatose form in her arms. The hunger in her eyes was impossible to overlook. “What is it you require of me?”
“Nothing you won’t enjoy. Your forces are already headed in the right direction. Our goal would require only a slight adjustment to their final destination.”
Impatience crept into Selen’s voice. “Who am I to attack on your behalf?”
The cold, pale features of Gobblesnot’s friend stretched in an evil grin. “You must lay siege to Stone Mountain and breach its walls.”
Haunting laughter came from the depths of Selen’s chest. “Those walls are impenetrable. What you ask for cannot be done. You would do better to sneak in yourself.”
“Oh, I’ve tried. Apparently the magics that make those walls ‘impenetrable’ also prevent creatures like you and I—and any of the others, for that matter—from entering.”
“And your failure makes what you ask of me more palatable?!” Selen barked another laugh with no trace of the haunting lilt from moments before.
“I’m sure you have many other means at your disposal to help your army with such a task. Besides, think of the gain.” Baeloke looked toward the slime-covered thing in Selen’s arms. “And to trigger the Awakening after so long. Isn’t that worth the risk?”
Selen gazed at the atrocity she held in her arms. “Yes, it is.”
“Then accept my gift, and together we will find the rest of these hidden treasures, so that we may step into our rightful roles—as gods!”
Selen screeched and threw her head back. Popping and snapping of bone resonated through the tent as her jaw distorted into a gaping maw far too large for her formerly petite, feminine features. Already pointed teeth grew in size and number, giving her the likeness of a
wicked sea serpent from the deep waters of the Hook. With her transformation complete, the mistress snarled and bit into the neck of the helpless creature trapped in her embrace. She ripped its flesh and gurgled down its blood in a frenzy.
The goblin grinned in delight. Such savagery was a sign of leadership amongst his kind. Her ferocity affirmed her right to rule his people.
Gobblesnot tore his eyes from his mistress’s feasting and looked at his new friend. He found the dark form staring at him once again with glowing, red eyes. Unspoken words echoed in Gobblesnot’s thoughts. I must leave now, my little friend, but you will remain here, with your mistress. Stay close to her and be attentive to her plans. I will check in with you from time to time to make sure all is well.
The grin deepened on Gobblesnot’s face and he nodded in anticipation of serving his new master.
Moisture dripped from the unfinished rock ceiling to land on the large maroon roots that cut through the solid stone after centuries of growth. A pool of crystal-clear water emitted a soft, glowing light reflected from the small patches of moss and fungi spattering the rough walls. The spore light gave a green-and-blue hue to the little cavern sanctuary located deep within the bowels of Waterfall Citadel.
A stone table and chair were the only furnishings in this subterranean retreat that had been here prior to his discovery of this place. There was no evidence to indicate who had brought them here, nor what they used them for, but the effort involved must have been significant. No path existed to allow something of this size to be transported whole, so the crafter had built them in small but cunningly wrought pieces that were covered in decorations to mask the joinery. The top of the table was square in proportion and extended the entire span of his arms if stretched to their fullest. Covered with a repeating pattern of inlaid metal, the table glimmered with a dull, silver sheen. Running fingertips over the surface was the only way to feel the main joints where the pieces of the table had been made separately and the skill almost cried “dwarven.”
Vinnicus sat on one of his own additions to this cavern, a massive stone sarcophagus perhaps seven feet in length, three in width, and another four in height. He had commissioned the construction of this and the five others like it many years ago. His long white fingers danced lightly across the runic inscriptions carved into the lid, his sharp nails lightly tapping on the edges and the impressions. His eyes passed without seeing over the scenes of dead men’s bones and lit upon the finely crafted furniture. It was well he did not have to rely on physical means and limitations to move through the world, although bringing his prizes here was far from easy. The creatures of Dausos always had a cost tied to their use.
A twin to the coffin he perched upon sat parallel to the first; both boxes together took up almost all the space that remained amongst the massive roots that snaked from the ceiling of the grotto and twisted through the walls and floor.
He had felt the protective spell on one of his finely crafted prisons come undone. This could only mean one of his wards was now lost to him.
“So, it has begun.” Vinnicus’s cold voice bounced off the rough stone walls. Speaking aloud and acknowledging the reality settled his nerves and opened his mind to the choices that must be made.
The tools he needed were finally falling into place, but he was no longer sure if there was enough time for him to guide them in the correct directions. His plans were so close to fruition that it made the discovery of one of his wards most unsettling. I need more time.
There would be no escape if more of his prisons were found. He was certain, though, now that their existence had been discovered, they would be. His pursuers had not even known they needed to hunt for such items before, much less himself. Now, however, the first rock of the avalanche had dribbled down the cliff face. Each discovery would bring his enemies closer to the truth and eventually, he would have no place left to hide.
Vinnicus shuddered with the first truly human reaction he could remember in centuries. The last vestiges of the man he had once been howled in horror at the thought of prolonging his current existence for another untold stretch of time. He was certain that what little sanity remained in him would be lost forever if he were forced to bury himself again, joining with the earth to wait for another opportunity for rebellion.
No. For better or worse, he would have to see this through, here and now. This would be his last chance to break the cycle that had repeated for innumerable millennia.
ARECE stood beside her king on a stone porch under the cool, clear sky. She watched clusters of crimson tabards dash about like angry red ants after their mound had been kicked by a petulant child. Much like in an ant colony, the appearance of total chaos was only an illusion. Each person who wore those tabards had a specific purpose, and like each ant in a colony, each of those purposes were tied to one common goal. Today, that goal was the departure of her daughters.
The sisters stood together, surrounded by their cousins on the eastern side of the Receiving Courtyard. All about them, the visiting delegates from Basinia and an army of servants formed a restless, surging ocean of humanity. Horses, wagons, and supply carts filled the western side. Soon, the two milling groups would merge together as one caravan and take her daughters away from the stone prison they had called home.
Arece felt a tightness in her chest, as if a great weight were slowly crushing the air from her lungs. She took a half step toward her daughters but stopped. How I wish I could go with you, my children.
“Contain yourself,” King Hathorn rumbled, glancing her way. “Lest your weakness shame us in front of our people and these others. Those we shall soon call brothers.”
The queen clenched her hands at her side but she nodded and took a deep, calming breath. “As you say, My King.” Her fingernails bit into her palms as she fought down the urge to claw out the man’s eyes. Arece searched the courtyard for something to distract her from the growing feelings of despair.
She found Bale. He sat atop a rusty destrier, posture straight as an arrow. He barked orders at every person within range of his powerful voice. Bale was busy directing the calamity on the western side of the courtyard, and around him, the chaos was swiftly falling into order. Soldiers and servants alike jumped into motion at his call.
The whiteness in her knuckles receded. Arece knew it was dangerous, placing her faith in Bale and their forbidden affair, but as she watched him resolve the disorder around him, she could feel the warmth of affection melting the ice in her veins. Her warming heart battled the despair that had threatened to claim her. She released her clenched hands and pressed them flat against her stomach. Even as she watched him and felt calm spread through her body, she knew she could not survive if they should be discovered. Bale wouldn’t have the opportunity to die of a broken heart. Hathorn might even swing the sword himself. Find our escape, Bale. She willed her thoughts to fly across the intervening space. Or do not return.
Almost as if he had heard her thoughts, he paused. His face briefly turned to regard the royal couple. With no acknowledgement of her gaze, he turned back to his work.
The last unruly groups of people fell into place like pieces of a puzzle, and the organized formations of a caravan emerged. The time for the princesses to leave was at hand. The king and his small entourage made their way down the stone steps toward the gathering of delegates, servants, and soldiers that surrounded Sloane and Sacha.
Arece followed Hathorn. Each step she took renewed the tightness in her belly and she felt as if she were walking to the gallows.
The group around the princesses parted as King Hathorn approached. The giant king came to a halt within the circle of people and all of them bowed. “Travel well, my daughters. Remember where you are from and do us honor.” He then turned to the delegates from Basinia. “Tell your prince to care well for his new bride, as it will reflect on how well our nations will commune.”
Chancellor Tomelen straightened from his bent position, one hand holding his emerald surcoat taut and cr
isp. It was not often the men around her could be described as “resplendent,” but the chancellor warranted the description. Today he had worn a magnificent coat of his country’s colors over a creamy white shirt with a tall collar that nestled in his well-brushed hair. The few days of rest had seen the swelling of his facial injury almost entirely healed, and only a small discoloration marred his regal features. “I shall convey your words, great King of Pelos. And might I add that my prince will most assuredly place his new queen upon the highest pedestal of honor.”
Hathorn stared at the man for a long moment, face impassive, then turned away without another word. He walked from the gathering toward Bale, who was moving the caravan to the center of the courtyard.
Arece did not join her husband. After their departure today, Sloane and Sacha could be gone for years. The queen did not believe opportunities to visit them in Waterfall Citadel would be readily available. The next few moments could be the last they would share in a long while. She wasn’t going to waste them surveying horses and supply wagons.
A page sprinted past the queen and teetered to a stop before Chancellor Tomelen. “Message for you, Milord.” The breathless boy held out a letter that was sealed with a dark green stamp of hardened wax.
The chancellor took the worn parchment without question and in an act of seeming generosity, dropped several coppers into the boy’s hand. “Good lad. On your way, now.” Kesh snapped the seal and read the note as the young boy deftly made the coins disappear, bowed, then sped off. The edges of Chancellor Tomelen’s mouth turned down and he carefully put the letter into an internal pocket of his doublet.
“Everything all right?” Arece hesitated on her path to Sloane and Sacha. She eyed the man’s chest where the letter had been deposited.
He raised his brows and smiled. “Yes, of course, My Queen. Just personal business back home, nothing serious.”
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 13