Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1)

by Matt Howerter

  Jagger tsked. “Do not bother yourself, Princess,” he said. “You no longer have a need for magic here.” Jagger came away from the able and offered his arm.

  Tears of frustration welled in Sacha’s eyes. “What have you done to me?”

  “Only what was necessary.”

  She looked at his arm as if it were a coiled snake. The very presence of the man revolted her. Could she afford not to play his twisted game, though? No. She had to survive. If that meant playing at falsehoods with killers, so be it.

  She schooled her features to calmness and reached out to take Jagger’s proffered elbow.

  This time, Jagger’s smile was genuine. “Smart and beautiful.”

  Sloane rode alongside Bale as they followed Rouke through the dense jungles of the Tanglevine. The massive winewood trees still stood in silent ranks beyond the road, but the increasing width of the river allowed the sun to shine below the unforgiving canopy. The undergrowth, free from the deep shadows, had gone wild. Massive creepers draped the trunks and limbs, while ferns and other low-lying shrubs completely covered the forest floor. Here and there, one of the massive sentinels had succumbed to the choking growth and its dead limbs clawed at the sky above the river. The image suited her mood.

  Captain Tigon had been intolerable since leaving Riverwood. His suspicion of the Basinians had led him to place guards on the emissaries every night, and he had even ordered Rouke and the other soldiers to be bound. After the second day, Sloane commanded the restraints to be removed at least during the day.

  The matter of Mason and his pursuit of Erik, Kinsey, and the chancellor had nearly sent her into a blind rage. Bale’s deliberate circumvention of her intentions had almost led her to order that he be flogged. Instead, she settled for his absolute silence until they reached Waterfall Citadel.

  She believed in Kinsey and Erik, that they were honorable men, and would do everything they could to retrieve her sister. The chancellor—well, Kesh may not have been so honorable, as far as she could tell, but he was clearly infatuated. Not only did she feel he would do everything in his power to see Sacha safe and perhaps play the hero, she was certain the man would be useless to her as she entered Waterfall Citadel. The golden-haired fop had been somewhat distant from her since his attentions had settled on Sacha.

  Thinking of Kesh brought to mind the irony of her most recent decision. With the events that transpired at the Riverwood tavern fresh in her mind, she decided to forgo the customary announcement of their arrival to Waterfall Citadel. It was one of the few decisions in the past days she and Bale had agreed upon. Disapproval from an insulted nobility she could handle, but another attempt on her life or those around her, she could not.

  Rouke reined in his horse at what appeared to be the edge of a cliff. He turned in his saddle and looked at the approaching party. “We’ve arrived.”

  Sloane urged her horse up beside the stoic armsman. The road did not end in open sky as it had appeared, but cut sharply away from the river and into a long zigzag to the bottom of the cliff face. The view spread majestically before her.

  They stood at the precipice of a rock shelf that began a series of geological steps. To her left, the river rushed over the edge and plunged down the sheer face of the cliff into the basin below. Another tributary, just as large as the one they had followed, poured over the same edge farther around the horseshoe-shaped cliff. The crashing water consumed every other sound, and she realized it was the noise of the waterfalls booming in the distance that had been slowly increasing over the past hour and not the rapids that traveled alongside them.

  The large basin opened again on the west side to another set of falls and small rivers that snaked along rocky shelves. The city of Waterfall Citadel sat in the middle of this second step of falling water, hanging precariously on the cliff’s edge. The main body of water swept past the limestone walls of the Citadel and crashed on the rocks far below. The massive flow of water broke again into many rivers that eventually fed the Ice Lakes, far beyond her sight to the West. Sloane had never seen anything like it and sat in awe of the impossibility and beauty of the scene.

  The most distinguishable feature of the city was a giant winewood, Terrandal, at its center. The massive tree was the largest she had ever seen, far exceeding any expectations she had based on the stories told to her as a child. The sheer size defied her imagination, and it dwarfed the other trees scattered within the Citadel’s high walls. The buildings of the city integrated themselves into the natural architecture created by the giant’s roots and trunk.

  Sloane judged by the scale of the people and buildings that clustered the isle that Terrandal must have spread many hundreds of feet into the open sky.

  She pointed to the swiftly moving shapes in the air around the ancient tree. “Are those the eagles? The Rohdaekhann?” She had heard the tales of the giant birds as well. Seeing them in the flesh, she came to realize she had begun to discount them as only a legend.

  “Aye, Princess,” replied Rouke. He looked at her and smiled his first smile in days. “Have ya ever flown before?”

  Sloane tore her eyes from the sight below to look the man in the eyes. “Are you serious?”

  He raised his brows and nodded.

  “No.” She looked back at the paradise that would soon be her home. “But I want to.”

  “Then I’m sure it’ll be so, for the prince is an excellent flier.” Rouke tipped his head toward the distant city in invitation. He pulled his mount’s head around and started down the switchbacks. Bale silently followed, as did a long line of Pelosian soldiers. Sloane stayed in place, not wanting to leave the view. Her cousins settled beside her to murmur in wonder.

  “Beautiful, is it not?” Lady Cora Barrelon stopped near the gathering of young women as the emissaries of Basinia passed.

  “I am certain your country holds many treasures, Lady Barrelon,” Sloane replied, “but this may well be its crown jewel.”

  “It is indeed, Princess, but this is also your country now.” Lady Barrelon edged her mount closer and reached out almost tentatively to place one soft, aged hand upon Sloane’s. “Your treasures to protect, your crown jewel to wear.”

  Sloane looked at the aged woman.

  She wore simple but well-made clothes. A green blouse was covered by a close-fitting brown jacket, and her skirts were divided for riding so she could sit astride her mount. Her free hand rested easily in front of the pommel of her saddle. In her relaxed grip, she held the reins and the other riding glove, which she had removed to touch Sloane. Although she must have been two and a half times Sloane’s age, Cora’s former beauty still showed. The skin of her face was lined, true, but it hadn’t developed deep wrinkles or sagging flesh. Her hair was worn just past the shoulder, and the silvery grey was shot with veins of a rich, golden brown that must have been its original color. Cora’s eyes, though, held a youth undiminished by her many years of life. Those eyes were now bright and filled with anticipation.

  “You would be happy to see me queen?” Sloane asked. “A woman from a different country. A country that could easily be an enemy, if the circumstances were slightly different?”

  “Yes, I would,” Cora said, nodding decisively. “Our prince—our land—needs a strong queen. Our people need Pelos as an ally, not an enemy. You are what we have been waiting for, my dear.”

  Leanne spurred her horse between Sloane and the older woman. “Then why have her kidnapped?” she asked, clipping each word with bared teeth.

  “That, I do not know,” Lady Barrelon replied coolly. The kind anticipation in her face had gone as she regarded Leanne evenly. “There are always those who would stand in the way of progress.”

  “Like Magistrate Harristone, you mean?” Leanne asked, not backing down.

  The older woman’s mouth tightened at the edges. “Brier Harristone is a good man. I doubt he had anything to do with the events at Riverwood, other than being taken himself.”

  Leanne scoffed.

  “
Enough,” Sloane interrupted before her cousin could frame another retort. “We will see the truth of it when Masters Kinsey, Erik, and Kesh return with my sister.”

  Lady Barrelon bowed her head. “As you say, Princess.” She nodded to both women, then urged her mount forward.

  Meagan squirmed in her saddle as the small group of cousins set their mounts to follow the diplomats down the cliff trail. “I wish Sacha could see this.”

  Sloane gazed at the horizon. “She will.”

  The island Citadel clung to the edge of the westernmost cliff of the falls. The city was accessible to them by crossing one of the two bridges that spanned over the rushing water to either side of the basin.

  The second bridge couldn’t be seen from the direction they approached, but it arched from the opposite side of the Citadel to the basin shore on the other side. The bridges themselves were a marvelous blend of stone and tree roots. Arcs of wood met and meshed with columns of stone. Both had been overlain with soil and stones to provide solid purchase across the two lanes of traffic, one leading into the city, the other leading out. Each path could easily hold four wagons side by side, with room to spare for those on foot.

  The bridge they approached was guarded by a small fortification—soldiers lethargically inspected goods being brought into the city and a crowd of people had gathered, waiting their turn to pass.

  Their group waited at the front gate, where Lady Barrelon and several of the other Basinian emissaries joined Rouke, who had been debating with a man dressed in enameled green armor.

  Sloane was too far away to hear the noblewoman’s calm voice, but suddenly, the Basinian guardsmen exploded into motion. Two young men set off at a dead sprint to the city that waited across the water. The remaining fifteen or so guards poured from the forecastle and snapped to attention behind their officer, who approached the princess and her Pelosian company with a dignified stride.

  The man stopped before her and placed one hand on his chest before inclining his head with deference. “Princess Sloane, ’tis an honor indeed to be the first to welcome you to our city.”

  Sloane nodded her head in gracious acceptance of his welcome.

  He straightened only briefly before bowing again toward the remainder of her party. “Welcome to Waterfall Citadel. Enter in peace.”

  The blended company of Sloane, Bale, and the Basinian emissaries passed by Rouke and the officer, who sat to one side, staring at the guards who maintained their rigid posture until the last of the dignitaries had passed.

  Water rushed below the arches of the bridge as they entered the city. Bells rang and horns blew. The sound echoed throughout the basin, blending with the ever-present roar of water. Waves of green- and gold-clad people, speckled here and there by the varied colors of the common people, began to flood out of the city to watch their approach. Cheers lifted as Sloane rode amongst them, and the winding streets before them were hastily cleared by yet more soldiers dressed in green and gold.

  Sloane waved at the cheering people as they approached the sprawling steps of Terrandal.

  Yet another throng of people stood in the square before the castle, awaiting her arrival. Many servants wearing the same elaborate greens and golds waited at the top of the stairs.

  Sloane’s mouth was suddenly dry. She had been so distracted by Sacha’s abduction that she had forgotten she was to meet the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life. No small thing to forget, she thought.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as she feared. After all, Kinsey had said the prince was a man whocared for his people and he wasn’t bad-looking “for a human.” She snorted under her breath. What a fool I am. Worrying about a man’s looks when Sacha is still lost.

  Brass horns sounded once Sloane and her group dismounted. A clamoring group of nobility and statesmen came down the steps in a rush to greet her and her entourage. Bale stood close by with his eyes darting every which way in search of a potential attack. One hand hovered near the hilt of his sword.

  She straightened to her full height and smiled at the crowd, even though she felt no pleasure or mirth. They had come to see a princess and she would give them one. She acknowledged those closest to her with a slight nod of the head as Lady Barrelon led her through the gauntlet and up the short, wide steps to the palace. May this go quickly, she thought.

  When Sloane’s foot touched the upper landing, the horns blared again. Silence fell amongst the gathered crowd and the doors to the palace creaked open in response to the deep harmony.

  Sloane was Pelosian, and perhaps should have been immune to feeling awed by the scale of things—but these doors were massive. The hinges alone must have been two hundred pounds of forged metal each. The doors themselves were easily three times the height of a man and an arm’s length in thickness. Each of the wooden monoliths was wide enough to accommodate a wagon. Solid wooden wheels, hidden within each door, helped bear the weight that no hinge alone could sustain. Shallow grooves, lined with metal, had been cut into the floor to keep the wheels in place as they rolled.

  Amazing as these features were, the true beauty of the portal lay in the masterful relief that had been carved into the surface of each bulwark. The two doors together contained a scene depicting humans and elves under the great tree Terrandal—both species working together to build the island city. The carvings were so realistic, Sloane could imagine them stepping off the doors to greet her as the nobility had done. She knew in her heart that the craftsmanship was the handwork of the elves, much as the bulk of her mountain home was a testament to the skill of the dwarves.

  Once the doors opened to their fullest, she could see lines of guards, decorated again in emerald and gold, stretching the length of a great hallway. A smaller group of people was centered between the lines of men. Six individuals moved forward in unison and more than a dozen servants fell into place behind them.

  Lady Barrelon stepped up next to Sloane and whispered, “The armored men are knights of the Citadel.” The men she described were on either side of the half-dozen people approaching and wore full suits of plate armor that clattered as they walked. The lacquer used to color each suit was a deep forest green and decorated with intricate floral designs of embossed gold.

  “The pair walking just inside the knights are Lord Farin Tyler, General of the Citadel, and Lord Banlor Graves, Head Minister of Trade,” continued Lady Barrelon.

  Sloane recognized the name of Banlor Graves. He had come to Stone Mountain for trade years ago but he hadn’t been a lord back then and looked much older now.

  The two wore matching attire, robes of emerald silk that shimmered as they walked. Rectangular layers of cloth lay across their shoulders, draping down the front to mid-torso and all the way to the floor in the back. Each layer was covered in the same decorative patterns of gold as the honor guards beside them. A shield of emerald and gold emblazoned the breast of the general, while a balance with what appeared to be sheaves of wheat graced the chest of Lord Graves.

  In the center walked a couple, a man and a woman that could only be her prince and his mother, the queen. The pair wore matching cloaks made of feathers from the colorful native birds found close to the banks of the Tanglevine river. A single giant eagle feather, easily eight feet in length, trailed behind each cloak. The woman appeared to be quite a few years older than Sloane’s mother but portrayed little frailty on her thin frame. Her eyes were a rich jade with light flecks of amber that shone brightly enough in the day’s light for Sloane to see, even from a distance. A crown filled with emeralds and fire rubies held back thick, pale golden locks of hair that fell to her waist.

  In contrast to his mother, the man was young, not much older than Sloane herself. His dark hair was held back from his temples by a simple circlet of woven silver branches. The prince’s features were chiseled perfection, and his body was masculine, but not overly so. He held himself with quiet poise as he approached.

  For a human? she thought, incredulous. When their eyes met, Sloane c
ould feel her cheeks grow warm. She blinked and looked away. Her thoughts rushed wildly. Please, Eos, do not allow me to embarrass myself.

  “Queen Rhian and her son, Prince Alexander,” Lady Barrelon finished, then stepped back and bowed as the royal family came to a stop before them. The crowd standing behind knelt as well, the sound of their ruffled clothing echoed softly against the palace walls.

  Sloane gave a slight bow, showing respect but not weakness. “I am honored to be received. I bring the greetings and wish of peace from my father—my king—and my people.”

  “And we are honored to receive you,” Queen Rhian replied. “Welcome to Waterfall Citadel.” She stepped forward and threw her arms wide, catching Sloane in a warm and firm embrace.

  Sloane was stunned. Her father’s court had not prepared her for such a gesture. Nothing could have prepared her.

  The people cheered as though nothing was amiss.

  Sloane desperately tried to reestablish her equilibrium. She found her arms trapped at her sides by the older woman’s hug. She was a head taller than the queen, so the points of the crown hovered just in front of her nose. She twisted slightly, attempting to raise her own arms in reciprocation of the gesture, but the other woman’s embrace remained too firm.

  A muffled snicker made its way to Sloane’s ear over the receding cheers.

  She was shocked to discover her prince smiling and covering his mouth with one hand.

  Catching Sloane’s wide-eyed expression, Prince Alexander coughed loudly and thumped his chest, but the smile remained on his face.

  Sloane almost laughed herself but managed to maintain her calm.

  The queen released her suffocating embrace and smiled up at her. “Now, the two of you take hands.” She waved her son forward impatiently. Alexander moved up gracefully to stand beside Sloane.

  She was pleased to see they stood almost eye to eye, with him being just a touch taller. She had not realized until this moment that she harbored a secret fear that he would be as short as Kinsey.