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

by Matt Howerter

  The last remaining darkness before the dawn was destroyed by torches; mercenaries carrying them poured from the other buildings out into the courtyard. Some ran to the gap in the curtain wall, while others wandered about in small clusters of confusion.

  A rattle and thump from down the hall drew his attention from the window, and he dropped into a defensive crouch, knife at the ready.

  “Jagger!” came a woman’s voice through a door midway down the hall on his left. “Jagger! Someone? What is going on?” The rattling and thumping on the door increased in intensity.

  Erik hustled over.

  Shouts and calls from a battle floated up through the window, as well as screams of terror. Whatever was going on out there, Erik thanked Eos it was giving the bandits something else to pay attention to. The princess’s attempt to draw attention to herself was the last thing he needed at the moment.

  “Princess Sacha?” he asked in a pause between her calls and pounding upon the door.

  “Erik?!” Her voice was incredulous. “What are you... Oh, thank Eos! What was that noise? Was that you?”

  Erik checked the door and found the lock and timber were both more solid than their age should have allowed.

  “Stand away from the door,” he said.

  He gave her a few moments to back away, then gave the door a stiff kick as he had seen Kinsey do time and again in the past.

  The door rattled in its frame but remained intact.

  Damn. He makes it look so easy, Erik thought, while rubbing his numb heel. He tried again, and this time he felt the wood shift and crack. A third kick sent the door flying back to crash against the wall.

  Sacha came flying out of the room, flinging her arms about his neck and shoulders. “Brier is dead!” she said without preamble.

  Erik didn’t waste time asking for details. “Come on! We have to move.” He took her hand and ran for the stairs he had ascended. Alarm calls within the Keep had begun to sound—their time was up.

  The embers of Kinsey’s fire started to glow white hot and the leaves and branches closest to them caught fire. Fingers of orange flame crawled up the tracings of the oil he had doused on the mound of twigs and branches he had constructed. A smile of satisfaction made its way across his face as the fire grew and took hold of the larger logs.

  A howl sounded from across the river, not too far from the fire. More howls joined the first, and Kinsey had a good feeling his fire had been discovered.

  He knew his scent clung to the ground all around the flaming woodpile and led off in many directions. Hopefully those false trails would buy him enough time to get to Kesh and the horses. No better time to find out than the present, he thought, and took off at a run back toward the rendezvous point upstream.

  Kinsey had never enjoyed running. Erik would lightly dance across the most broken ground while laughingly prodding at him and his “morbid stomping.” Running in the dark, in the jungle, did not endear the activity to him. Roots, rocks, and vines snagged at him, while low-hanging branches and spiderwebs obscured his vision. Several times, he found himself rebounding from one trunk or another, but miraculously he was able to keep his feet.

  He spun from one such night-shrouded trunk just as a figure stepped into his path. Cursing, he plowed right into the shadowed form and they both crashed to the ferns in a sprawling tangle of arms and legs.

  Pain blossomed in his gut, and his breath left him in an explosive groan. He rolled to his back, hunched around the unbearable pain radiating from his midsection.

  The figure scrambled to its feet. “Did I get you?” Rapturous excitement was so thick in the voice that Kinsey couldn’t distinguish it, though his brain told him it was familiar.

  Kinsey gasped for breath but couldn’t seem to get any air. He forced himself to sit and his head spun from the effort. “Kesh?” he rasped, then began to cough, which sent fresh tremors of pain through his tortured body. The taste of blood filled his mouth and he reached up to feel the moisture around his lips.

  “Ha!” Kesh’s unmistakable laughter cackled in Kinsey’s ears. “I got you. Finally, I got you.”

  Kinsey felt as if his mind had slowed while time continued at its normal pace. Panic edged into his muddled thoughts. Why can’t I breath? Reaching up to rub the pain below his chest, his fingers found a hard object protruding from it. He looked down to see a dagger buried deep in the center of his torso. He stared for a long moment, poking at the hilt with a finger. “Kesh?” Lights blossomed behind his eyes, and his body was pitched back to the ground from an impact to his head.

  Kesh veritably danced in his fevered excitement, brandishing a large branch. His mirth rolled over Kinsey and his voice sounded stretched-out and slow. “You stupid fool! To think I’ve had to tolerate your buffoonery for these past five years!”

  Kinsey’s eyes began to slip closed and he was struck again.

  “Wake up. Wake up, damn you!” Kesh’s face looked gigantic, it was so close. “You need to know that I intend to skin your elven friend alive and I’ll take his ears for my private collection, just as I’m going to take your scalp.”

  Kinsey’s body convulsed as he felt the knife in his chest slide out. He groaned from the pain but could do nothing; his limbs had gone numb. His head jostled when Kesh grabbed a handful of his hair.

  The chancellor’s blade cut into his skin and he screamed as the knife sawed back and forth.

  Kesh rose with Kinsey’s bloody scalp. “You know, it’s too bad you don’t have a woman, but then, what woman would have you?” He chortled in delight. “All the same, I’d take pleasure in letting you know she would be mine now as well.”

  Something stirred within Kinsey, something he couldn’t identify through the haze and pain. His eyes fluttered and he knew his time had come. If only he had been able to crush Kesh’s throat before he went.

  “Oh, one more thing.” Kesh made a hacking sound. “Never let it be said I don’t keep my word.” Then he spit in Kinsey’s face.

  The spittle stung as it seeped into his eye, and suddenly, he recognized what it was that crawled within him, deep within his soul. It was the same thing that had attempted to free itself so many times in the past few months. The thing he knew, one day, would escape his control.

  Rage.

  Kesh fingered the scar on his forehead and smiled while he watched Kinsey play out his death spasms on the jungle floor. He had wanted to kill this man for so long and now it had finally come to pass. And you thought yourself my better, didn’t you?

  Too soon, the howling of the wargs drew near to the bonfire that still blazed behind him.

  “I’m here!” he shouted, adding in his normal tone, “you Mot-muddled idiots.” He hated dealing with the filthy creatures and the equally dirty monsters they rode, but necessity drove him to measures he would not otherwise undertake. He turned and walked toward the fire that his former companion had started.

  More victories awaited him this night. His princess waited for him within the compound. Yes, Banlor might want her dead, but she would be his. As far as the world was concerned, Sacha Moridin was dead. Kesh intended for that perception to remain, at least until he could find a way to reintroduce her as queen, with himself as king, of course. They would make a much better pair of rulers than that savage who currently sat the throne in Stone Mountain and his faded queen.

  Kesh couldn’t remember a time when he had been more filled with elation, with hope, than this moment. One of his two most hated enemies lay bleeding behind him, and another would be caught and killed soon enough. And the prize, Sacha, who loved him.

  He knew it must be true. She had saved his life as a matter of her own choosing—not for payment or duty, but simply out of affection. He knew because it resonated with his own surprising feelings for her.

  He had desired women before, of course. Lusted after them for their bodies, desired to control them, or simply desired the services they rendered. But now... No, this time was different. This woman talked to him. She
challenged him. She excited him. It was obvious that she was infatuated with him, and tonight they could finally put aside the masks they had been forced to wear. She would be his.

  Silhouettes of the giant, dog-like beasts and their goblin riders darted back and forth between Kesh and the roaring flames as he approached from the forest. Mangy heads turned in his direction as he stepped into the small clearing, hands raised in greeting. He knew the riders, but more importantly, they knew him. The largest of the pack bounded to a skidding halt before Kesh’s feet.

  The goblin sitting on the matted warg’s back was called Qual. He was a broad-shouldered, slobbering little fool who had killed his way through the ranks to attain leadership of the Gantarr—the tribe of warg riders that had joined with the mercenaries. The scarred, smelly beast he rode was simply referred to as Hogg. The warg’s head lunged forward suddenly, maw snapping. Qual savagely hauled on the muzzle reins and clubbed his mount with a twisted fist.

  “Take me to Jagger. I would have words with him.” Kesh circled wide enough to avoid Hogg’s slavering jaws and took the gnarled arm Qual lowered. “Alert the guard that an elf is attempting to rescue the princess,” Kesh continued.

  Qual hoisted him up to settle on the warg’s back. In the firelight, Qual’s face looked more brutal than usual as he turned back to look at Kesh. He smiled, showing his jagged teeth. “An elfish. We feast?”

  “Yes. After I’ve finished with him, you may feast.”

  The goblin snorted its equivalent to laugher and raised his spear over his head, shouting, “Good! Elf-eats!” The Gantarr circling the fire joined him, making the declaration a chant. “Good eats! Elf-eats! Elf-feast!” Hooting goblin laughter washed through the clearing.

  A sudden movement by the wargs almost unseated several of their goblin masters, who had taken to raising both arms in their revelry, pumping fists to the night sky in anticipation of dining on elf flesh. As one, the pack of wargs had spun, growling to face the woods. Chanting voices abruptly changed to cursing as the goblins struggled to keep their seats and control their mounts.

  Hogg took two steps toward the darkness, growling thunderously like a kettle drum. Kesh could feel the vibration between his legs. He frowned, then laughed as he realized what must have drawn the beasts’ attention. “An appetizer awaits you.” He pointed to the woods. “I would say it’s dwarvish!”

  The goblins chuckled and cheered at his words, but the wargs remained steady and their low growling never ceased. Qual kicked his mount, swearing, but Hogg continued with his peculiar behavior, ratty ears pressed flat against his massive head.

  A sound unlike anything Kesh had ever heard howled from the blackness, cutting off the goblins’ laughter and even silencing the wargs’ throaty growls. It started low, like the deep moan of a dire bear, but changed in pitch to an unworldly screech. The volume of the wailing continued to climb, ascending to the point of deafening pain. Kesh grabbed at his ears with both hands, but it did little to hamper the horrible sound.

  “What is it? For Eos’ sake, what is it?!” Kesh screamed. Through the mounting agony, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something almost familiar in the awful sound.

  The wargs bent to the ground and began to whine, while their riders mimicked Kesh and raked at their ears. One small rider at the edge of the clearing slipped from his mount’s back and staggered into the underbrush, eyes wide in panic.

  Just when Kesh thought his ears would start to bleed, the keening stopped. His ears felt as though they had been stuffed with wool after a colony of bees had been shoved into his skull. The humming of his tortured eardrums was the only sound in the night. The world seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation after that awful call. Only the unthinking flames of the fire continued to crackle with life. The wargs remained paralyzed in their submissive crouches, while their masters shook their heads and probed their ears with clawed fingers, attempting to dissipate the ringing in their ears.

  A roar from the blackness shattered the silence, overwhelming the buzz in Kesh’s ears.

  He jolted upright in time to witness the impossible.

  The underbrush near the edge of the firelight exploded as a blurred form rocketed from the jungle. Something the size of a large bear charged one of the wargs and its rider, smashing into the pair with such force that they flew through the air like leaves caught in hurricane winds. The yipping cry of the warg and the yells of its rider were both cut off by the sound of snapping bones as the pair ended their flight against the trunk of a winewood tree some twenty feet from where they had been.

  By the time Kesh looked back to see what had attacked from the darkness, it was gone. He had never seen anything move so fast or hit so hard.

  Behind him, a goblin rider screamed. Kesh whipped his head around just in time to see the last of a warg’s forelegs disappearing into the underbrush. Savage growling undercut the wet ripping sounds and loud pops that preceded the death screams of the rider and his mount.

  Kesh’s heart raced in fear, the sweet savor of his victory from moments ago forgotten. He screamed at Qual to move, to run, to go, but Hogg was still paralyzed and quaked in his crouch. Cursing, Kesh yanked his dagger free and took hold of Qual’s waist. With strength driven by panic, he drove the blade deep into Hogg’s hindquarters. “Get me out of here, damn you!”

  The warg lurched forward. Qual scrambled to hang on, barely managing to snag a handful of mane. One gnarled arm was still looped in the muzzle reins, and he hauled Hogg’s massive head around to point them in the direction of the Keep. Fresh screams and howls of fear arose behind them as they crashed through the jungle.

  Kesh was too frightened to look behind as they ran for their lives. All he could manage were mumbled prayers to Eos that Jagger’s forces would be strong enough to kill whatever it was that followed. His mind’s eye conjured images of the thing loping after them, closing in, jaws wide and slavering.

  As they approached the broken wall, the sentries’ faces were revealed in the firelight. Questioning looks transitioned to masks of terror, and he knew the beast couldn’t be far behind. He screamed at the guards in desperation, “KILL IT!”

  One man on the wall raised a brass horn to his lips, blowing the alarm, and answering calls sounded from the compound. The dozen men in the gap of the wall leveled their crossbows. Bolts hissed into the night, following the twang of the weapons as the men triggered the releases as one. Several passed close enough to be heard clearly as they clove the air near Kesh’s sweating brow.

  A hideous screaming roar came from just behind him as several of the bolts found their mark, and he leaned closer into the foul-smelling Qual, urging Hogg on. The normally savage beast surged ahead, ignoring the knife wound and leaping into the gap of the broken wall, clearing more than thirty feet before crashing to the courtyard beyond. The yard was filled with shouting men. Most had armor, and all had weapons drawn.

  Hogg finally lost his footing as he landed, and Qual and Kesh were both pitched into the air, shouting and flailing.

  Rough hands seized Kesh by the collar and hauled him from the rough cobbles where he lay in a daze. He looked around, brushing dirt and straw from his face, and took note of the dozens of men and goblins, all of whom looked serious and deadly in the flickering torchlight.

  A small laugh escaped him as the tension and fear started to ebb. Thank Eos, he laughed and took a shuddering breath. He would live another day.

  As he considered the torn sleeve on his coat, the screams beyond the wall began.

  Sacha panted as she and Erik scrambled onto the broken clay tiles of the roof. They had been herded steadily from room to room and hall to hall, searching for an escape, but their pursuers seemed to be everywhere. Once again, a window had provided the exit.

  Sacha took Erik’s proffered hand and did not let go until her footing on the weathered shingles felt secure. She wanted to ask where they could go from here, but Erik turned and nimbly ran up the incline toward the top of the roof. S
he followed as quickly as she could.

  Horns began to blast a warning, just as they had during her first attempt to escape with Brier. Sacha pushed away the images of his death as she made her way up the the roof after Erik. She had been unable to save the magistrate or herself then. Dwelling on the failure now would do little to help her, or Erik, escape the jaws of the trap that were closing tighter by the moment.

  A breeze touched her face as she climbed, and a hint of wood smoke tickled her nose. She could see a fire in the woods beyond the curtain wall. Men yelled loudly to each other, swarmed into the courtyard, and began to converge on the gap.

  Erik called out and waved her forward, “There’s a flat area just ahead. Come on!”

  Sacha climbed up to the peak just as the first of their pursuit gained the roof.

  “Stop! Stay where you are!” came a voice from below.

  She stood on the peak with Erik’s assistance and looked back to see a guardsman clambering to a wobbly crouch on the broken tiles. Behind him, two other men were slowly making their way to the roof from window ledges below.

  Erik hurled a dagger at the first guard. It glittered from the torchlight below as the blade turned end over end. The dagger connected with the wobbling man’s face—hilt first. The knife spun off into the night, clattered briefly on the roof tiles, and dropped harmlessly to the earth below. The guard, for his part, dropped to one knee, clutching at his cheek where the hilt had bruised him.

  “Dammit!” Erik swore and grabbed Sacha’s wrist, hauling her down the other side of the roof in a clatter.

  The flattened roof on this side ran roughly parallel to the Keep’s curtain wall, which was below the eave and at least twelve to fifteen feet away from where they stood.

  Nowhere to run, she thought.

  A howling scream wailed from below; the voices of men and wargs rose. The sounds of battle erupted from the courtyard on the other side of the building. Fierce howling cries blended with the screams and calls of men.