Fallen Ambitions

by Vann, Eric J.

  Duren released her and stepped back. “Good luck,” he said as he melted into the crowd.

  Celia stood there, absorbing his words. Issac, she saw, had one hand on the hilt of his blade, and was still watching the place where Duren had disappeared. Celia glanced again at the smoke that rose from behind the walls of Fes, then smiled.

  “Come,” she said, sheathing her dagger, before leading them onwards. If it was indeed a trap, she would like to see how well it worked against an Elder Succubus, aided by a hundred Grauda warriors carrying enchanted armor and weapons.

  * * *

  At the gates, they were met by four guards wearing an assortment of leathers and furs. Each wielded a short spear. Celia glared at them—would the trap be set here? Though these men were supposed to be guarding the people, they simply stood by as the citizens of the town abused the refugees. She blamed them just as much as the abusers for what was going on here.

  Isaac quickly moved in front of her. “These are the Fallen representatives. Mayor Orin has been informed of their presence and has invited them to the meeting.”

  The guardsmen glared at Celia, then at the Grauda, their expressions twisting in disgust. But they stepped aside to allow entry.

  Celia kept her guard up as Issac led the way into the town. Fes appeared to be a prosperous town in every sense. Directly ahead was a well-maintained courtyard, the ground made of packed soil. People wearing comfortable, clean clothes gasped and stepped away when they noticed her party, but Issac did not halt. He quickly led them down a long, wide street into what appeared to be an open-air market. People drank, ate and browsed the stalls and stores. It was a completely different world to the one just outside their gates.

  The crowds made way for them as Issac continued on, making for what Celia guessed was the center of town. Just like in the camp, all eyes were on them. With the exception of the men, whose attention was predominantly focused on her. The looks weren’t friendly. She didn’t need to be a Succubus to know what was going through their minds. This was the first time she had walked into a human town without any attempt to hide her race, and while she had expected her Succubus Allure to have an effect, it was far stronger than she had ever thought.

  Celia also noticed the growing number of guards around them. Most of them acted as if they were patrolling or viewing goods, but some did not even bother—they glared straight at Celia and the Grauda with obvious contempt.

  With Duren’s warning still fresh in her mind, she was about to hasten their pace when she felt someone grab her arm. Celia spun to face her attacker, her hand again reaching for the dagger strapped to her upper thigh—only to relax when she saw it was the female Grauda who gripped her.

  The female pointed to a stall a significant portion of the Grauda males appeared to be entranced by, manned by a now-terrified human girl. The stall was stocked full of cuts of red meat, no doubt from the herds they had noticed being tended to on their way to Fes.

  “You’re hungry?” Celia asked with a raised eyebrow, and the female Grauda nodded, her antennae quivering.

  Celia chuckled, their hopeful expressions causing her concerns to melt away. “Don’t worry,” she called to the terrified butcher’s girl. “They won’t hurt you. They’re just hungry.”

  The girl didn’t reply, her eyes darting between Celia and the many Grauda.

  Celia looked over the stall. “How much for all your stock?”

  The girl’s eyes opened wide at that. “A—all of it?” she asked, her voice pitching higher before she shied back again.

  “Yes, all of it,” Celia said, firmly.

  “Twelve silvers,” the girl forced out, after a moment’s thought.

  Celia laughed aloud—it was certainly a higher price than usual, but she couldn’t help respecting the girl’s bravery under these circumstances. She also didn’t want to waste time haggling.

  Without hesitation, Celia reached into her pack, where she had stored the wealth looted from the noble family’s carriage. She pulled out a gold coin and placed it in front of the girl.

  The girl stared at the coin almost as intently as the Grauda were staring at the cuts of meat.

  “Take your coin,” Celia advised, “and a few steps back.”

  The girl slowly reached for the coin, her eyes glued to Celia’s as if expecting it to be snatched away. Celia waited with a knowing grin. This one gold coin was likely more than the girl would have made in a month’s good trade. As soon as the girl’s fingers touched the coin, she grabbed it and jumped back, holding the gold close to her chest.

  Celia nodded to the female Grauda, who signaled to the rest—and the male Grauda swarmed the stall and began devouring the raw meats.

  Celia smiled at their low, satisfied hisses, their enjoyment of this unexpected treat clearly visible in their beady eyes. But the crowd of onlookers was growing, and their presence reminded Celia of her concerns. “Eat as we walk,” she commanded. “We have no time to wa—”

  Screams erupted from the crowd, as people were shoved and pulled out of the way—Fes guards yelling and positioning themselves all around, men and women running in every direction to clear the market.

  “What’s going on?” Issac asked as Celia drew her dagger.

  “Get in position,” she said to the Grauda female, who began letting out a long high-pitched hiss. The males responded immediately, dropping their cuts of meats to form up and raise their spears defensively around Celia and Issac—just in time, as at that moment, two dozen men charged them from all sides.

  The Grauda thrust their spears forward, and Celia heard rather than saw the tips rip through flesh. She noticed one guardsman duck under the first spear thrust, then sidestep another, pushing his way through their protective line. Celia raised her hands, prepared to blast him with fire magic—but before she could, one of the Grauda leapt on him, forcing him to the ground. The Grauda’s twin scythe arms ripped into the helpless man, who let out repeated agonizing screams in rhythm with each strike. Blood and gore splattered out with every stab and slash before his screams eventually died away.

  More soldiers separated from the crowd and the ensuing chaos to attack, their battle cries mixing with the groans of the wounded and the screams of the fearful.

  Celia’s eyes darted left and right, scanning for threats. She picked out a pair of guardsmen among the panicked crowd, but snarled in frustration—any spell she used would kill more civilians than guards.

  “Come on!” one of the guards yelled, which is when Celia saw what they were doing. The first man was holding a wooden sphere, while the other was trying to light a piece of cloth stuffed into an opening in the sphere. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

  She rushed forward, her tail lashing at another guard and slashing his side as she closed in on her targets.

  The pair noticed her just as the cloth finally caught fire. The soldier didn’t hesitate; he lobbed the wooden sphere directly at her. Celia reacted by weaving an activation symbol with her air mana and blasting it with a gust of air. The wind howled as it pushed the sphere back, the lit cloth snuffing out. The two men stared at the sphere as it rolled onto the ground between them before they each raised their battle maces and charged.

  Celia grinned at how slow and sluggish their movements were compared to her own. She ducked easily under the first guard’s swing and rushed his side, stabbing her dagger into him thrice, each strike accompanied by the sound of liquid sizzling as the blade cooked his insides. The man screamed, his hands grasping at his wounds before he collapsed, a whiff of burned flesh reaching her nose.

  The other guard looked down at his former partner then back at Celia, no doubt stunned by how fast she had dispatched the man. He then promptly decided that whatever they were doing here was not worth it, and dropped his mace and tried to run. Celia was having none of this; her tail whipped forward to wrap around his ankles, and the soldier fell onto the packed soil face-first. He flipped onto his back just as Celia straddled him, and used her n
ow-extended nails to rip open his throat, blood pooling around him as she rose smoothly to her feet.

  A loud hissing diverted her attention back to the main fight, where the situation had gone from bad to worse. Arrows began to whistle through the air and pepper the Grauda line. Celia cursed, seeing the archers firing down at them from rooftops and windows. How could they have overlooked shields? The Grauda had nothing to defend themselves against projectiles.

  They were trapped here, out in the open. Even with their enchanted armor, holes began to appear in the Grauda formation as their numbers dwindled—something their enemies took full advantage of it.

  “Celia! We must go back, we’re at a disadvantage here!” Issac yelled over the screams of battle, as he parried a blow and kicked another of his attackers away.

  He was right, she realized—not only was there a lack of proper cover, but these humans were using their own people as shields. Celia growled, her desire to not kill innocents starting to irritate her. Thankfully, there were other ways to get things done.

  Celia’s golden eyes began to glow brighter as mana filled them. A wave of weakness rushed through her as most of the guards and civilians suddenly dropped to their knees in the street, their eyes distant, but they were not her target.

  Her gaze shifted to the rooftops and four archers suddenly stood from their perches, before taking a step off the edge. They didn’t scream or yell; they made no sound at all as they fell to their deaths. Celia switched her focus to the archers hiding behind windows, but at that moment a horn sounded, distracting her.

  It was coming from the gate they had entered through. Smoke was rising from there—and this time, it wasn’t from the forges. Another wave of civilians were fleeing, but toward Celia now, away from the gate. “What’s going on now?” she muttered as several of the guards attacking them retreated before running in the direction of the gate.

  “Watch out!” Issac yelled, and Celia turned just as the thwop of a heavy crossbow reached her. She didn’t have time to react before a bolt slammed into her shoulder.

  There was a flash of light and Celia stumbled back, struggling to keep her footing. It was as if someone three times her size had shoved her by the shoulder, but strangely there was no pain.

  Catching her balance, she watched as the bolt which should have pierced her rolled back and forth on the ground, its tip flattened as if it had struck an unmovable wall. Celia couldn’t hold back her grin; her beautiful enchanted dress had protected her.

  Just as she was about to spring forward, another bolt struck her, and this time, Celia screamed as she was thrown to the ground. Her hands were shaking as she grasping the fletching on its shaft—the bolt had plunged straight through her chest and come out the far side. It had all happened so fast. Even as her link with her Master expanded to allow more mana through to heal her, she gasped, choking, struggling with each breath. She was drowning in her own blood, she realized.

  The Grauda female and one of the males ran to her and dragged her away before unceremoniously dropping her again. Issac threw his blade aside and he crouched beside her, grabbed her bloody hands to stop her from pulling the bolt out. “You’ll bleed to death,” he said as he got her upright and laid her back against him. “Come on now, cough it out, you’ll be alright,” he continued as held her, his voice calm.

  Celia saw now that the Grauda—whose numbers seemed to have dropped considerably—were using the merchant booths for the limited cover they provided. She could hear and even see the rain of bolts and arrows as they embedded themselves into the wood.

  “I—I,” Celia tried to say, but only blood poured out of her mouth. Pain, excruciating pain radiated from her chest, and she began to lose sensation in her legs.

  “You’re going to be alright, Celia. Try to stay awake,” Issac said, his fingers probing the area where the bolt protruded out of her.

  “Issac? Is that you I hear? Come out, you treasonous mule!” a male voice yelled as the assault suddenly came to a stop. Issac gently laid Celia down and peered around the corner of the booth at someone she could not see from her position. His eyes opened wide.

  “Adrian?” Issac called out. “What are you doing? We are here for the meeting—your father invited us!”

  “My father is an old fool. No! No demons or monsters will attend any meeting, not in my town,” the voice said, as the horn sounded from the direction of the gate again, accompanied by even more yelling and screaming.

  Celia grunted as she pushed herself onto her elbows in order to get a look at the speaker. She glared at the man who stood in the center of the street with more than a dozen guardsmen flaking him to either side.

  This Adrian was middle-aged, and wore a brown gambeson and chainmail. He had a disgusted frown on his face, as if he had just caught a whiff of spoilt meat. He hefted an impressive-looking crossbow, which appeared to have space for three bolts to be nocked at once to be loosed in quick succession. Two of them were already spent.

  “You made… a terrible mistake, human,” Celia spat out between breaths, then coughed and grunted as a Grauda female pulled her back behind cover. The female gripped the bolt which protruded from Celia’s back—and without warning, pulled it clear.

  The bolt made a horrific wet noise as it passed through her. Celia screamed, suddenly light-headed. She coiled into herself as she tried to hold back any more screams. If not for her Master’s constant healing mana pouring through their link, Celia was certain she would be unconscious right now, if not worse.

  She heard Adrian spit on the ground. “That’s it—scream, you demonic harlot! Let the poison burn your insides.”

  “Where are the mayors? What did you do to them?” Issac yelled, his outrage clear.

  “That’s none of your concern, Issac. You’re even worse than the filth you brought with you!”

  “Are they dead?” Issac insisted. “Did you kill them?”

  Poison! Celia thought blurrily. She could feel her wound knitting itself together, but even still, she struggled to stay conscious. Her whole body’s temperature was rising. The Grauda female tending to her forced Celia’s mouth open before pouring a foul-tasting liquid down her throat. Celia was feeling too weak even to gag.

  The burning feeling began to subside, making way for an overwhelming sense of numbness. There was a lot of movement around her, but she couldn’t see… everything was blurry. Sounds of panicked screams and battle began to mix with one another. Someone was moving her… and then all went black.

  Chapter 12

  “Such insolence,” Trikk hissed, her black eyes following the intruders as they moved deeper and deeper into the Webbed Woods.

  She recognized one of the Grauda: their leader, the same one who had taken advantage of the delicious chaos of the Great Rite to kill their weak. These Grauda were simple prey to Trikk and her kind—she once could smell their fear from a mile away.

  But now, they dared come here. No—not just come, but hunt, with their annoying new weapons and armor.

  From her perch high in the ancient trees, Trikk watched the forest below. There must have been at least six hundred prey scurrying down there. Enough to feed her whole cluster and provide her with what she needed for the first of her own brood.

  Trikk grinned. After the sudden and mysterious death of her mother, the former and ancient queen, her many daughters—including Trikk—had enacted the Rite of Ar’ach, the great feast to decide who would be the next queen. Only one could remain, so tens of thousands had died in one of the greatest feasts to ever to take place. Trikk licked her sharp fangs as she remembered biting and slashing into the flesh of her enemies. But the Rite had since concluded, and she was the last still alive… she was queen.

  Yet these prey would dare defy her new rule.

  She tilted her head, her long black hair falling to one side. Although she was queen, she had yet to gain the power of one. Her body was still that of a princess. It was only a matter of time, however, until she transformed into the most po
werful of the Arachne—the form that could not be challenged by any other of her kind.

  All she needed was food.

  The sound of cracking branches and rustling leaves, followed by a loud crash rang through the woods. Another tree felled. Trikk watched as the Grauda below quickly got to work positioning the ancient trunk, as they continued the construction of a bridge to cross the river and enter her ancestral home.

  She had to admit, they were fast builders. Perhaps she would keep some alive as her servants. No… she would make them pay; she would feast on their flesh and use their bodies as shells for her young. Unlike her late mother, she wouldn’t be satisfied with a small corner of this valley. She would birth an Arachne empire, one the likes of which had never been seen before, one whose feasting grounds encompassed the entire world.

  Trikk carefully moved along a large branch before crossing a web to another tree, making sure to keep in sight the Grauda queen and the stranger beside her. He was by far the most interesting of the prey. Even from high up in the trees, Trikk could smell him, and he smelled of power. Her tongue unconsciously licked her lips again as her eyes bore into him. Delicious. She used another web to lower herself closer, onto another branch, passing scores of other Arachne of varying sizes hidden within the canopy. Veterans of the Rite, all of them. All awaiting her signal to begin the next feast.

  A wide and sadistic grin spread across her face. These prey were going to be the first to fall to her new rule. Soon they would all be her playthings, to do with as she pleased.

  “My king,” the Grauda leader called out to the delicious man. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  The man didn’t look away from the raging river. Even above the roar, Trikk could hear his reply. “There is nothing to discuss.”

  The Grauda moved to stand beside him, her hands reaching to grasp his. “My king, you were covered in blood—your blood. I can see it in your face: something happened and it bothered you. It still bothers you.”