Dark Stallion

by Dark Stallion (lit)

  It was almost eerie in a way since most everyone was away at summer camp and the city was so empty, but it was pleasant, too, to be able to stroll along the streets without a hustle and bustle around them. The took her to the market place anyway and then a short distance beyond the city to show her the experimental farming underway, explaining that they’d been trying to perfect a method of growing specific crops under the less favorable conditions of the altitude and rocky soil.

  She was pleasantly tired when they started back. “I suppose you realize we’ve probably missed supper and we’ll be in Sarah‘s black book!” she murmured, linking arms with them as they walked on either side of her.

  “She knew we’d planned to take you to our place for supper,” Colwin said.

  “She did? When were you planning on telling me?” she asked teasingly.

  Colwin grinned unrepentantly. “When we got there. I figured if you knew ahead of time that we doing the cooking you would excuse yourself.”

  Emma chuckled. “Well, I haven’t had rabbit in a while. Maybe I can face it.” She was too excited at the prospect of going to their place to be hungry anyway, she reflected ruefully. She just hoped sex was on the menu!

  The house they took her to was a complete shock. It looked far more like a mansion than a ‘house’—not that it was huge, but it was certainly big and beautifully ornamented with carved friezes and fluted columns. It looked almost more like a temple than a home—from the outside. “It’s beautiful!” she gasped. “Did you two help build this one?”

  They looked pleased. “Yes,” Aydin responded. “All of that work there along the roof is mine, the columns, as well.”

  Emma had more than half expected to discover it was apartments. She was stunned discover it wasn’t. The rooms were spacious, but oppressively so—a little sparse of furnishings. When they’d shown her around the first floor, they all gathered in the kitchen. She discovered that they’d been ‘cooking’ while they’d shown her around the city. A stew was bubbling on the stove top—a seamless slab of stone that looked like marble and was heated by wood fed into the firebox below it, which also heated the oven.

  She loved the kitchen. It was the perfect size, and the perfect design, a marriage of beauty and functionally that would’ve been hard to surpass by anyone.

  Colwin pulled a crusty loaf of bread from the oven as Aydin served up stew from the pot. As they settled around the eating counter, Aydin brought wine from the cooler. Sarah studied the bottle a little longingly but resolutely declined in favor of water—which was icy cold from the refrigerator.

  She discovered once they settled together to eat that she was nervous now that the moment of truth had arrived. She’d spent days trying to think of the perfect time and place and way to tell them and now she couldn’t remember anything at all that she’d practiced.

  The bedroom really seemed like the place, but was it? Would it totally spoil the mood? And if she did decide to tell them then, how was she going to get both of them into the bed at the same time.

  It was obvious as big as their house was that they didn’t share a room.

  She thought the living room might be a good possibility, but then again, there wasn’t a lot of furniture. It would be hard to get comfortable.

  “The stew is wonderful and the bread is fantastic!” she murmured appreciatively when she discovered they were waiting to see what she thought of their efforts. “Who cooked?”

  They shrugged. “We both did,” Aydin said. “I started the stew. Colwin started the bread. Then we just sort of toss things in as it cooks. It is never the same.”

  Emma chuckled. “What if you really like the way it turned out and you wanted to do it the same way again?”

  Aydin grimaced. “It is never the same way twice.”

  “That must keep things interesting.”

  Aydin frowned at his stew. “I would not mind if it was something that I could expect to be the same,” he said finally.

  Emma realized abruptly that he wasn’t talking about the stew—not per se. It sent a tingling warmth through her. “You’re saying you aren’t as adventurous as Col?”

  He didn’t look like he wanted to say that all and Colwin didn’t seem particularly pleased to be thought adventurous.

  “I think that I have had my fill of wild adventures,” Colwin said flatly.

  “You didn’t think our adventure together was … thrilling?”

  Aydin shifted uncomfortably. “I was not particularly thrilled about being chased by hoonans or ending up in the prison in the lost city.”

  “Or in the middle of a battle with ogres and then the centaur army and the hoonans,” Colwin added. “I do not think I would have found it especially to my liking if you had not been there, but it was downright terrifying to have you in the middle of it.”

  Emma put her fork down. “It had it’s moments,” she said, smiling faintly.

  They both glanced at her warily. “What we are trying to say is that we do not usually do that sort of thing … ordinarily,” Colwin said uncomfortably.

  Emma nodded. “Usually, you build things and you make beautiful things—like this house.”

  “And plant and harvest and hunt.”

  “We are not gone a great deal of the time—except when we work, of course, but not on excursions like that one,” Colwin added.

  “And you’re even great cooks!” Emma said teasingly.

  They blushed. “Mother said that it was absurd for anyone not to be able to take care of themselves,” Aydin said a little stiffly.

  “She taught you to cook?”

  “And of course other household chores.”

  Emma finished her stew and then got up and collected everyone’s plates and forks and carried them to the sink. It gave her pleasure to turn on the faucet and watch water fill the sink, to pick up a dish of soap and watch the bubbles it created. Maybe, she thought, coming through the gateway was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to her in more ways than one?

  She’d learned to enjoy and appreciate the simple things, things she’d always taken for granted before.

  “You do not have to do that,” Aydin murmured, moving up behind her and slipping his arms around her. “You are our guest.”

  Emma sighed, leaning back against him. “Maybe I don’t want to be a guest.” Pushing away from the sink, she turned in his arms and discovered that Colwin had moved closer, as well. He was leaning against the counter near the sink. “I don’t think you believed me when I said it before—either of you—but I really do love you.”

  Aydin swallowed audibly, searching her face. “You will stay?”

  “I will stay.”

  Aydin stared at her surprise for several moments before than sank in. “With me?” he asked a little doubtfully.

  “And me!” Colwin snapped irritably.

  “Of course with you and you!” Emma said, chuckling. “I’m not going to stay with your mother!”

  Aydin grinned at her abruptly and dipped his head to kiss her. It was more divine even than his stew, Emma thought dreamily.

  He passed her reluctantly to Colwin when he broke the kiss and shut the water off before the sink overflowed.

  Laughing, Emma kissed Colwin with equal enthusiasm. “That was almost our first domestic disaster!”

  Aydin leaned against the sinking, folding his arms. “You like the house we bought for you?”

  Surprise flickered through her. “You bought it for me?”

  “Yes—from the man we had built it for. Actually, it was more of a trade—the house that we had built for us plus more work for him in the future. Ours was not big enough for a family.”

  Emma didn’t know whether to be insulted that they’d been so sure of her or pleased that they’d gone to so much trouble. “Good thinking! We’re going to need a nursery in about six months or so!”

  They stared at her blankly.

  “For the baby,” she added.

  Colwin and Aydin exchanged a look and s
he grabbed their hands, placing them on her belly. “This baby.”

  “You are pregnant?” Aydin asked shakily. “You are certain?”

  “Yes I are!” Emma said teasingly. “Very certain.”

  “It is mine!” Colwin said, excitement threading his voice.

  Aydin whipped his head toward his brother and glared at him. “It could be mine!” he growled.

  “It’s ours,” Emma said firmly, “and whoever fathered it won’t father the next one! I want to have both of your babies!”

  * * * *

  Emma studied the red headed toddler wobbling back and forth between Colwin and Aydin hard, trying to decide whether she looked more like Aydin or Colwin.

  “It’s a hard call,” Sarah said after a few moments. “I’m think Aydin.”

  “Really?” Emma said doubtfully. “I was thinking she looked more like Colwin.”

  “Well, we’re going to have to figure it out!” Sarah said briskly. “They’re getting antsy to breed again.”

  Emma could relate. She hadn’t actually wanted to wait until Marsella was half grown to have another baby! She’d wanted them close enough together in age to be company for one another and two years had seemed like a good spacing. Marsella was already a year old, though.

  “If I figure it from the possible conception to birth, she’s definitely Aydin’s.”

  “The king claims the royal scientists can do a paternity test now.”

  “Really? I don’t suppose he filched that little procedure from back home, huh?”

  Sarah shrugged. “Not personally, but he wasn’t pleased to discover his scientists hadn’t advanced as much as he’d thought. Anyway, what do we care as long as we get to enjoy the technology? You could always get the guys to take you to the royal city to have the test done.”

  Emma sighed. “I was really hoping the baby would look just like her daddy.”

  “I don’t think either of her daddies mind her looking like you. They adore you, you know!”

  Emma warmed at the praise, smiling at her family with pleasure. “I adore them. It’s only fair!”

  THE DARK THRONE

  By

  Raven Willow-Wood

  Chapter One

  The broken sword was an evil omen, proof positive, Fade thought derisively, that the gods did not favor them in this endeavor. The sword had protected him and slain his enemies through countless battles and yet, in the first skirmish this night, it had splintered, leaving him to continue the fight with only half a sword.

  Fade directed his horse through the melee with his knees, guiding him to scale the hill toward the front of the castle where the next queen to the dark throne was being held captive. Slashing down savagely at another hoonan rushing him, he brought his shield up to block a blow from his other side.

  The blow had found its mark. Dark red blood erupted into the cool night air, splattering on Fade and his horse, and a sickening gurgling sound emerged from the hoonan on the ground that he had just struck as he tried to breathe and found that his throat had been cut and was quickly filling with his own blood. The hoonan staggered backwards into a rut in the dirt and fell down . . . dead. Mere moments later, his body was trampled into the dirt by the boots of his fellow hoonans as they swarmed together to converge on Fade. Thankfully, because of the heat of battle and the guise of night, they still had not seen the large dark wings folded tightly against his back for they would have realized that he was not just another soldier but sole prince of the dark elves and the leader of the troops that were slaughtering them.

  Eowyn reared up, snorting viciously in a war induced fury as he began to pummel the enemy that surrounded him and Fade with his hooves. At a prod from Fade, he slashed and kicked at the first drove of hoonans that began to rush them. Eowyn’s attack was enough to create a narrow passage of escape through the chaos of elves and hoonans locked in mortal combat. Fade urged Eowyn for the opening while they still had a chance at it.

  “Hurry Eowyn,” Fade said with a soft but strong voice as he leaned over his horse’s neck to dodge an arrow.

  Striking more swords, spears, and other crude implements of war away from his mount as he fought his way beyond the crush of battle to the castle wall didn’t distract Fade from the dark thoughts that had been troubling him since news had reached them that the convoy escorting Princess Keira, from the neighboring elfish empire, had been attacked. There had been only two of his men that had returned to bear the sordid tale. The king had been so blind with rage at the news that his most recent bride-to-be had been kidnapped, he’d had the surviving guards immediately strung up in the dungeon and ordered an assault to take place the following night on the hoonan castle where the princess had been taken.

  Disgust filled him, and he had to swallow past bile that began to rise in his throat. How many had to die, he wondered, to satisfy the king’s single-minded determination to get an heir from his own loins? Princess Keira, if he could save her, would be the tenth queen to sit on the dark throne since his mother, and for how long would she remain if she failed, as the nine before her had, to produce the coveted heir? The realm was awash with the blood of his failures now!

  The ruse to draw the castle defenders away from the castle was working. From his place within the shadows of the castle, he heard the prearranged signal resonate from behind the nearby tree-line, and his troops began to “retreat”, taking the swarm of defenders with them. It was just the distraction he needed to slip inside by way of the hidden door of the castle.

  Eowyn stopped short at the door hidden amongst some vines on the castle wall, his hooves leaving ruts in the dirt. Fade’s head scout had located the hidden entrance a week prior to their attack. He shoved what was left of his sword into his waistband and dismounted after he had carefully scanned the area and had seen that everyone was gone. He crept stealthily from the moonlit battlefield and into the deep shadow of the castle, his vision adjusting to the darkness, Eowyn following suit. He turned and patted Eowyn’s neck affectionately one good time, his signal to stay put, before turning toward the door.

  Keeping a wary eye on the battlefield around him for anyone returning to the castle or hoonans that were lying wounded on the battlefield and could give him away, Fade slid the concealing vines away from the door. Testing the door, he found it wouldn’t budge, which didn’t come to him as a surprise. Of course, he couldn’t let that hinder him. This door was the only chance he had of getting in the castle and getting the princess out . . . alive. He would never make it through the front gate without killing all of the hoonans first, and, though nothing else would please him more, it wasn’t going to happen. Perhaps the princess would prefer the choice of having an easier death at the hands of the hoonans? She might well favor their methods to those of the king. The king so often favored drawn out torture followed by public beheading when they didn’t produce an heir.

  Stepping back a few paces from the castle, but staying within the confines of the castle’s shadow, Fade ran at the door with all his might, bracing himself moments before impact, and then began to ram the door with his shield encased shoulder in brief bursts.

  There had been no indication that the door was giving way, no sound of wood cracking and splintering. He had not felt the wood weakening under his persistent pressure. And, because Fade had not expected the door to give with such ease, he was not prepared when it did.

  There was no time for thought or counter reaction as Fade fell through the doorway, landing on a warm, yielding body in the process. Fast as lightning, he pulled his sword from its place at his waist, up to the throat of the hoonan he had toppled over but stopped just short of slitting wide open the throat laid bare before him. Shockwaves rippled through him as he lifted his head to survey the room he’d found himself in for any further sign of threat. Disbelief followed in the wake of it, his prominent dark brow furrowing deeply in confusion as he took in the scene around him. He could not believe his eyes. He maintained holding his broken sword at the hoonan’s thro
at as he further absorbed his alien surroundings, blinking his eyes several times as if that would clear the strange sight from his vision.

  The interior walls consisted of what appeared to be painted wood instead of plaster covered stone blocks. The room was lit from within by an unknown source overhead. He stared at it for a moment, but there was no flicker to the light from the breeze he felt wafting about him, which indicated that the source of the illumination could not be fire.

  His heartbeat hammered in his ears, evidence his heart was still racing from exerting himself in breaking down the door. Blood from the hoonans he had slaughtered minutes before was splattered on his sword, his shield that lay beside him, and his clothes. He knew damn well he was not losing his mind.

  And yet, he also knew somehow he was no longer at the castle, and as he looked down at the hoonan warrior he had expected to encounter he discovered that the hoonan was not a warrior at all . . . it was a woman.

  * * * *

  Heather examined the door knobs she had kept in a display box for a year. She had no idea why her great aunt had bequeathed them to her. It was a strange gift, since she hadn’t really known her aunt at all, had only seen her once, and that was at her mother’s funeral. She felt sure, though, that her aunt had meant well. Perhaps the collection of various knobs had a significant meaning for the family. She had no clue, as no one had ever told her about them and she was now the sole living family member. That thought brought a sense of sadness over her, but she refused to let it linger. Feeling sorry for herself had never gotten her anywhere.

  She opened the display box and moved aside the note that had been left with it. When she had first seen it, she had thought that it looked as old as the sea scrolls. She had never before held anything like it in her life, and, after the inspection, she had placed it in a protective plastic covering, worried that she might damage it. It appeared to have been well read. The edges were torn and the paper crinkled. There were ink spots and smudges, and the writing was faded. She had originally tried to make out the handwriting, but it was of such poor quality that she could only make out a word here or a letter there, and she had quickly given up on the idea of understanding the purpose of the note. After purchasing her dream home last week, a Victorian in the downtown historic district of her small town that she had seen for years through the windows of the orphanage just a few doors down, she had decided that it was time the knobs came out of their display box.