Knights and Dragons of Avondale

by Kai Kazi

  “I failed you.” She said, “But I will not do so again. Give me your blessing, your strength, and we will be together soon, my lord. I will bring you the Seed from which you may grow.”

  The silence was crushing. He had spoken to her, once, she was sure, and the voice was so pure and clear that she had wept for the first and last time in her adult life. After that, however, only the silence. Only Galerion, and when he was sleeping, no one. Her brother, her father, her friend, her lover,

  “My Galerion.” She murmured, touching the tooth on her necklace, “When you wake we will devour them whole.” A small smile jerked at her face. And when her prince awoke they would devour Galerion. So was the circle shaped, each soul devoured by another. Shaitani rubbed blood into her skin, huffing with pleasure, pushing the loose dress from her shoulders to expose herself more fully.

  Her shoulders, neck, face, breasts, all of it became red and wet with the blood of the offerings, and when she had covered her legs she lay back, letting it seep into her hair, across the skin of her back. She sucked her fingers and pushed them between her legs, looking up at the stone; how much sweeter when the fingers were no longer her own? What delicious pain he would bring?

  But as ever, no answer and no aid from the stone.

  CHAPTER V

  It was the kind of misty, hazy summer day that Avondale had loved as a child. The kind of day that begged for iced orange juice and a swim in the river followed by lounging in the warm sun. Instead she was wearing breeches and a loose fitting shirt like a man, sweating and gasping as Sonja launched fake punches at her,

  “Raise your arms!” Sonja said,

  “I’m trying.” She said, sweat trickling down her brow. She took each playful blow on her forearms, but Sonja was strong, and no matter how she seemed to pull her punches her arms were starting to throb. Avondale waved her hands panting,

  “Isn’t this pointless, Sonja?” She said, “No man is going to get into a fist fight with me, and if he did he would win.” Sonja nodded,

  “He would, but I’m not teaching you this so you can fist fight.” Sonja turned her head and spat like a man. The guardsmen had gathered to watch the spectacle at a respectful distance, but Avondale fancied they were here for Sonja, not her.

  “So why are you?” Avondale said, throwing up her hands,

  “It’s a good way to get you strong without running.” Sonja said, wiping her brow, “if you fell…” Avondale nodded,

  “I see.” She said and nodded, “very well.” She stepped forward again, “This time I do the swinging.” Sonja grinned and raised her hands, forearms presented,

  “Come on, then, Princess.” She said.

  They circled each other in the low sunlight until the sweat was pouring from them into the hungry sand of the training yard. In the two days since she had seen her father first she and Aiden had barely looked at one another. If he was waiting for her to apologize, she thought, he would be waiting for long and weary. She swung hard at Sonja, but hit only air when she ducked. Avondale pulled away, lungs burning, when the world began to blur,

  “That’s enough.” Sonja said,

  “No.” She gasped, “I can do it.”

  “No, it’s too much.” Sonja said,

  “I can-”

  “Avondale, the child.” Sonja said, and Avondale hung her head, nodding. She let Sonja lead her to the shade, help her to a comfortable sitting position. “Here.” She passed Avondale some water, “slowly, it’s cold.” She tried to kill the gulp halfway through and felt the icy water spill down her chest. The guards slowly returned to their previous activities. Avondale drew in a low, deep breath, and let the feeling of her heart hammering run through her chest, her hands, let her skull pound with it. She had never understood why the men seemed so happy, or at least willing, to put themselves to such exertion every day… but there was a freedom in it. A loosening of the shackles of the body on the mind; the more pain and weariness inflicted on one, the less tethered the other felt.

  She stared at the sky and felt her mind wriggle free to fly there. If it could stay there she would have been happy, she imagined, but that was for the birds alone.

  “Avondale.” Aidens voice was almost unfamiliar, but she turned to him. He was looking at her as if she were a stranger,

  “Sonja is teaching me how to fight,” Avondale said, noticing how he flinched at that word, “not before time.”

  “Avondale, it’s your father.” He said, and the bottom dropped from her world. She jumped to her feet, staggering as she did so,

  “Is he?”

  “No… but he’s fading.” He said,

  “He was fine when I saw him this morning,” she said, as if that would right some terrible cosmic mistake. Aiden looked at her helplessly,

  “He’s asking for you.” He said, and she pushed past him.

  “No.” Avondale found herself walking fast and fast until she was running, a strange loping thing as the stitch in her side grew, to his room. The room was crowded, now; the priestess, Fiona and her swollen stomach, and his councillors,

  “Avondale.” Ridgehand gasped, his skin was almost grey, now, “come here.” She tottered to him,

  “Oh Dadd- father.” She caught herself, “Oh no.” He smiled,

  “Come now,” he said, “I am luckier than many. I have been luckier than most.”

  “I can’t be without you.” She said,

  “You will be. Now or later.”

  “I… I know.” She looked to her hands, and Fiona rubbed her back gently,

  “I have called you all here,” he said, voice cracking, “to make an announcement.” He struggled to a sit, and though everyone now knew of her condition, they allowed Avondale to help him, “I am blessed, my friends, to have a son-in-law so fine to care for my daughter,” Avondale forced a smile onto her face, seeing Aiden smile from the corner of her eye, “but blessed more so to have such a beautiful and competent heir to take my place.” There was a moment of silent confusion, “Avondale, my darling, I know you are now Princess to Archibald, but Avondale needs a ruler. I would name you my heir, so that when the time comes that Aiden must rule his Fathers lands this kingdom which loves you so will not have to fight for the attention of its Monarch.”

  “Daddy…” she said, not caring that she sounded like a child, “I, what if I cannot…”

  “My councillors and Golden Guard will see you safe and well-informed, and I have no doubt that your father-in-law will offer you all the advice and support you need. You have the ore, Avondale, you need only make something of it.” He said, and removed his amulet with shaking hands, beckoning her forward, and when she bent to meet him he slipped it over her neck, “whatever happens tonight, my love,” he said, “you will begin taking charge of your kingdom tomorrow morning.” Avondale blinked rapidly, gathering her composure before nodding once,

  “I will not disappoint you.” She said, and he smiled,

  “You never have, my love.” He said and gripped her hand. Soon after he fell away to sleep, and the room began to empty. First the councillors went, and then the castle guard. Fiona left to rest, and eventually Aiden slipped away, Shannon and his Golden Guard were the last, and left at her motion. It was only Avondale who stayed into the twilight, into the night, into the middling hours of night when the world seemed to still, and when his death rattle came it seemed natural; the night demanded it. She held his hand in silent vigil until it went cold and the room filled with the acrid, sweet smell of urine. Until the dawn broke and the chambermaid knocked tentatively.

  By the time Fiona came to lead her away her hands seemed frozen to that shape, that bowl that had held him to this world even after he was gone. She felt the life lie heavy inside her even as death had chilled her finger tips; was this womanhood, she wondered, the real kind that men could not know? The kind that lay inside and made men so afraid of their mothers and sisters and the whores in the street, lest they find too much power? To hold the hands of life and death at once, and make
a complete circle that the world may turn over… it was a heavy burden that bore her to bed. She went to sleep in the light and awoke to dark, slept in the dark and awoke in the dark, and when Fiona appeared at the bottom of her bed she was aware of only the saccharine, stinking coat of sleep sweat and the fuzzy film that coated her teeth.

  “It is time to awake, Avondale.” Fiona said, and her face offered no sign of softness. She would accept no excuses, “there is a hot bath, and your toiletries beside it. Dress and come to the library, you have business to attend to.”

  “What kind of business?” Avondale whispered,

  “Womans.” Fiona said simply and swept from the room. She stood, legs wobbling under the sudden exertion, and staggered to the tub, resting her hands on the side to stare at the lapping, scented water. Something tickled at the back of her mind, and as she reached for the water it seemed to become black as night-

  And cold as death. The flesh of her hands numbed instantly.

  “Many things have been sent to the Old Gods from this portal, and many have been brought back.” Pallas said, “Any who wish to serve Xarces must reach into the depths and bring back a treasure for him. A treasure that will tell us your role in this great tale.”

  “I… I can’t swim.” She said,

  “You will learn.” Chei said,

  “Or you will die.” Pallas shrugged, “in any case we will know.”

  “What will I find?” She asked,

  “What you are meant to.” Chei said, and pressed her slim hands to her shoulders, “Now go.” The force of the push sent her sprawling, giving her mere seconds to gulp in air before the water dragged her under. She kicked against the chilling blackness, but something was dragging her down. When she hit the bottom, or maybe it was only a ledge, she felt to her ankles, tugging the strange leather ties they had attached to her. They burned to the touch and glowed brightly enough to illuminate the depths around her. When they fell free she began to float, and the current whipped her into the abyss.

  Her hands ached as she scrabbled and groped at the walls and dirt around her, gripping a strange, smooth handhold, holding tight though her lungs ached, until it came loose in her hand and they plunged together into the maw of the earth. Soon after her head slammed into something sharp and solid, sending her into her own depths.

  First she coughed, and then she twitched. The pain told her she was alive, but the warm glow that surrounded her made her think that she might not be.

  “What did you find, child?” Chei said. She raised her aching head and pushed her hand forward, throbbing with resentment. From her clammy grip came an ornate dagger with a wicked, hooked blade. Chei seemed pleased.

  “You will be the blade of Xarces,” Pallas said, “the knife in the dark for the foes of our Prince, and the one to tear open the world for his coming.”

  “But first you will be an initiate.” Chei said. They left her in the dark, shivering, clutching her bleeding, torn hands to her chest. She fancied, between the waking and sleeping worlds, that she felt wet snuffling at her ears, but when she reached for thick fur and warm flesh there was only the cold ground, and the stench of blood –

  Avondale gasped and backed away from the tub, clutching her stomach as it rolled and heaved. That was no dream… she ran her hands through her long hair, finding it matted and greasy; she checked the bath again. The water was hot once more, so she slipped into it, reaching for the soap beside her. Lemon and Thyme, made from the plants found in the castle garden. It smelled like home, and, if her father was to be believed, her mother. Avondale let the tears fall as she scrubbed the sweat and grime from her body layer by layer until her skin stung and hummed in the cool morning air. Wrapping her hair tightly she pulled on the clothes Fiona had left. They were by no means coarse, and yet they were not those of a Princess. She could be any minor noblewoman, and when her hair was concealed under the scarf provided she became faceless, nameless.

  Fiona stood when she entered the library,

  “Good, I feared you’d not come before dawn.” She said and led the way without explanation. Two horses steamed in the morning air, panting and shifting with pent energy.

  “Where are we going?” Avondale said, allowing a stable hand to help her to the saddle,

  “East.” Fiona said and set off at a canter. The grounds were awake, though the castle was not, and the workers in the gardens and fields stopped to watch them gallop by. The sun peeked, golden, over the treetops ahead.

  “Fiona.” Avondale said, stopping the horse. Fiona turned and cantered back, “Where are we going.”

  “You,” Fiona said, “are going to see Eramys.” She pointed into the forest, “Follow that trail at a walk. She will find you.” With that she set off towards the castle again, and Avondale looked into the depths with the reins held tight in her grip.

  CHAPTER VI

  The smoke and of the candles, now burnt down to their ends, as they died one by one caught her nose. Shaitani opened her eyes to stare at the statue, Xerces himself staring down at her from his lofty perch.

  “Priestess.” Pallas said, “Are you well?”

  “I am.” Shaitani said, and rolled onto her stomach. Her cold joints clicked and ground to life as she stood,

  “Are you ready to consider the path?” Pallas said. Shaitani rolled her neck and nodded,

  “I am.”

  Two initiates slipped into the room, ready to dispose of the spent offerings, as they left, and Shaitani turned to look at them. Young, sombre, and yet fresh faced.

  “They are new.” She said, Pallas said nothing, “how new?”

  “Weeks.”

  “For the proving or the pot?” Shaitani said with a smirk, and Pallas clicked her tongue,

  “That depends on how they show.” She said and turned to the kitchen. Shaitani stopped, raising an eyebrow, but Pallas walked on. Chei had lit the central fire, and it blazed like a sun. Shaitani licked her lips and sat by the fire in silence; scrying in fire was not a power unique to Chei, but it was rare and powerful… and temperamental. She swallowed and sat by the fireside. Silence, focus, and calm were required for success; this lesson she had learned as a child and had been burned more than once for forgetting it. Shaitani served Chei from the steaming pot by the fire and waited as she muttered low and guttural under her breath. Her head lolled, eyes rolling, as the shadows drew in, but the fire did not dance. The spirits were reluctant to come.

  Chei gasped suddenly, a shudder running through her body as a gust blew out all but the central fire. Chei raised her head, in a strange, jerking way as if she was unused to a body… or was fighting to keep it. The smile was strange and bright; too wide and too straight. A grave-robbers grimace.

  “Chei, can you hear me?” Shaitani asked, though it was not Chei that looked back,

  “Yes,” the hiss lasted long after the word ended, “and I can see you, too, Little One.” The voice came from nowhere, from a deep oceanic void filled with terrors, and amongst them it was one of the great beasts. A leviathan of the undertow,

  “My Prince.” Shaitani gasped and fell to her knees, pressing her forehead to the flagstones,

  “Yes.” Xarces said through Chei’s trembling lips, “My silence has displeased you, High Priestess.”

  “No, my Prince.” She said, “I have no right to displeasure, but I have ached for your presence and voice.”

  “Indeed.”

  “How is it I can serve you?” Shaitani raised her head to stare at the gleaming eyes above her,

  “You lost my Seed, and the host.”

  “I… did,” she let her eyes fall, “I ask no forgiveness, my Prince, I deserve none.”

  “And yet you will have it,” Chei moved smoothly now, as if a great battle was over, “if you do as I command.”

  “Anything.”

  “You will gain a suitable seed.” He said,

  “Of course, my Prince,” she said, “we have already one in mind who will be host and provide the Seed.”


  “Gain another Seed but bring me the bearer of the first.”

  “I will tear her from this li-”

  “No!” He said, “Alive, I have use for it. It will be the host.” Shaitani blinked owlishly,

  “My Prince, she is nothing.” She said,

  “Yes, but you will see her changed as you were. She will take her Seed into life and deliver it to death, as you did.” He said and touched her face,

  “It will be done, my Prince.” Shaitani said, and Chei nodded before dropping suddenly to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Pallas caught her head before it hit the stone and cradled it in her lap. “It will be done.” She said once more, quietly. Pallas nodded,

  “We have a path, Priestess,” she said, dispensing with the title of honour given by Xarces,

  “Yes,” She said, “we do, sister. Is the chosen-” The screams which rose were so sudden and frightful that they froze, unable to place their source until Chei began to thrash and kick upon the floor. The blood that ran from her ears, nose and mouth was nothing to turn her stomach, but the sound made Shaitani flinch; from the day they had met Chei had been as silent, as strong, and as stoic as the mountain around them. She bucked and kicked in their grip, but they held fast until she fell silent and whimpered like a kicked dog.

  “He is in the east,” Pallas said when Chei fell silent, “the second son of a great warlord, ready to fall of his own jealousy and wrath. You need only be there to push him a step farther.”

  “Then I will leave in the morning.” Shaitani said,

  “And the Seed?” Pallas said,

  “The bitch can be convinced to give it up. She bears no love for the father, no doubt less for the spawn she carries.” Shaitani said,