“Where are we?” Dawn asked.
“This old passage, milady, leads to the sewers. It is the best way to escape without being noticed by the guards or citizens for that matter.”
“Why has Waxxon turned against us?”
Sadness reflected in Nessa’s eyes. “I don’t know, nor did your mother. It’s a coup. Most likely greed for wealth and power.”
“But we’ve been a peaceful city. We’ve done so much for Aetheaon.”
“I know. But for people like Waxxon, those things don’t matter. Some men like to parade around, ignoring the gods and thinking themselves to be gods in their own rights. They regard the temples and holy tomes like fables from madmen’s dreams.”
Dawn frowned and thought, Perhaps they are. For what good have our goddesses done Hoffnung on this day?
Dawn walked down the filthy stairs. The grime clung to her silk slippers. After rounding the first spiral, the stairs became damper, the air cooler. Water seeped and dripped from the walls. The air held a soured decayed scent. Her slippers soaked water like a sponge. Water and mud squished between her toes. In disgust she closed her eyes.
The fringe of her silk gown was also ruined. Dawn found Nessa’s hand. She grabbed it and squeezed.
“Once we reach the sewers, then what?” Dawn asked. “Anyone will recognized me in these clothes.”
“We will . . . make adjustments.”
“How?”
“The goddesses will provide a way.”
Dawn regarded the elderly maid. Studying the haste in Nessa’s eyes, she believed the old woman was hiding something, or perhaps knew more than what she wished to tell. Whatever her secrets were, in time, Dawn believed, they would be revealed.
Moisture dripped from the ceiling. The further downward Dawn and Nessa walked, the more the sticky cobwebs and water matted her beautiful brown hair. She shivered and wiped away the meshed webbing gummed to her face. She had never felt filthy, but the deeper she traveled into the catacombs, the nastier she felt.
She wanted to cry about the loss of her mother, but Nessa was right. Nothing could be done to bring her mother back, just like when her father had died in battle. Death was final. Tears could come later. Perhaps she was like her mother and vengeance reversed the sorrow. Time would tell, but when the opportunity arose, Waxxon would die, and she swore to herself that she would be the one to plunge the dagger into his heart. She would watch the life fleet from his eyes. She’d see his pain, and she’d enjoy each moment of his agony.
No, she swore to herself, she would not cry. Not yet. No mourning. Not until Waxxon paid the price for his betrayal and tyranny. Then, and only then, would she succumb to tears.
Or, perhaps not. Depending upon the amount of time it took to exact the justice that Hoffnung now ached and longed for, she might be hardened in spirit, mind, and her soul. Vengeance came at a high cost. She understood that. Iciness could freeze a soul to no longer understand compassion, and no true inner peace came after vengeance won. Bitterness and wrath were allies to those who claimed unfaltering revenge. At the moment, those were comrades she welcomed. She pitied those who chose to stand in her way. Hoffnung was her kingdom now, her throne, and she would reclaim it with all her fury.
Dawn had counted fifty-three steps by the time they had stepped onto a level floor that opened into a large room, but the stairs continued downward, possibly all the way to Hoffnung Bay.
“Why are we stopping here?” she asked.
Nessa placed the tip of the torch to an unlit one on the wall. When it ignited, the room brightened. An old table was layered in dust and cobwebs. Old flasks, a steel dagger, and an opened map lay on the table. Aged tomes lined a bookcase against the wall.
“This was your father’s hidden study.”
“Here? In all this filth?”
Nessa nodded. “Yes. He liked isolation at times. Clearly, no one would ever interrupt your thoughts here.”
Dawn stepped closer to the table and studied the map. “What place is this?”
Nessa held the torch over the table and shook her head. “The Isles of Welkstone.”
“The Vyking Isles?” she asked with sudden interest. She traced her finger across the dusty, aged map.
“I believe so.”
Dawn took the lit torch from the wall and crossed to the other side of the circular room. The far wall was lined with square openings. Open vaults.
She held the torch closer. Amongst the dust and dangling spider webs lay full skeletons and skulls. With interest she examined each tomb.
“Relatives?” she asked.
“Yes, dear,” Nessa replied from near the table. “Your ancestors for the past thousand years or more are housed on this floor and others on down the stairs.”
“Why not in the temple cemetery?”
“Ah, dear. There’s power in the closeness of ancestors.”
“You believe that?”
Nessa nodded. “Aye. I imagine your father came here to consult with his elders when he sought wisdom for decisions kings and queens must make.”
A lump rose in Dawn’s throat as she realized her mother’s bones would not be placed to rest here. “Why did they never bring me here?” she asked, facing Nessa.
“I don’t know.”
“And my father’s bones? Are they amongst these?”
Nessa lowered her torch. Sadness filled her voice. “No, child. His body was never returned, and that may be why your mother never brought you here. Her sadness overwhelmed her at times.”
She wondered what the counsel of her elders would think about a generation missing from the tombs? Indeed, she could never consult her parents should she need. Well, not here anyway. Of course, that was only if what Nessa said was true. Could those elders in the higher realms still see them? Could they speak?
Dawn studied the bones of her ancestors a bit longer, coming to the final open sepulcher. A gem glimmered in the torchlight. She leaned over and plucked it out of the dust. The deep sapphire was warm to her touch, which she found surprising. She examined it in the light and marveled at its beauty. She wondered which of her ancestors had owned this stone.
After rubbing the stone on her blouse, she kissed it and set it back with the bones. The stone glowed for a brief moment and dimmed. A small smoke-like vapor drifted from the bones and levitated momentarily in front of her.
A ghost? She wondered to herself. Was what Nessa said true? A smile widened on her grimy face, and the spirit faded into nothingness. However, she felt less alone.
She whispered, “For the return of Hoffnung’s glory, spirits of old, please guide me.”
Light wisps of smoke danced over the bones for a moment, and then faded. The gem shimmered again, and for reasons she didn’t quite understand, she took it in her fingers. The bluish stone glowed, and like a quick wink, it faded. She glanced around, looking for Nessa.
The maid stood at the table with her back to Dawn. Dawn placed the sapphire in her left hand and formed a tight fist around it. The stone glowed inside her hand. Warmth ran up her forearm. She tingled inside. Moments later, the stone was cold.
She opened her hand and whispered, “Do I take you with me?”
The gem brightened ever so softly. She nodded and closed her hand around it.
Dawn returned the torch to its wall sconce and looked at the map on the table again. Nessa turned from Dawn and found some tattered clothes hanging on a rack. She took the clothes, a long narrow strip of cloth, and walked back to the table.
“Get undressed, Lady Dawn,” Nessa said.
“What?”
“Undress.”
“Why?”
“Like you mentioned earlier, people will recognize you if you traipse the streets wearing your gown.”
Dawn frowned. “You want me to wear peasant clothes?”
“Make due with what we have, milady. You have to blend in unnoticed.”
Lady Dawn turned and allowed Nessa to loosen her corset. She slipped the gown from her s
houlders and let it spill to the dirty floor around her feet.
“Everything,” Nessa said.
With uncertainty, she freed her modest breasts from their restraints and dropped the linen straps. The cold air caused her to cover herself with her hands. Since her body was slim and slender like her half-Elven ancestry, she didn’t possess the curvy hips of a human lady, even at her age.
“Raise your hands over your head.”
Dawn did so without question or protest, still holding the stone tightly, but she wasn’t certain what Nessa planned to do.
Nessa took the long narrow strip of cloth and tightly bound Dawn’s breasts until she appeared more like a young man than a young lady. The rough cloth was itchy and uncomfortable. The tightness of the crude cloth tied around her made breathing even more difficult than her corset had. Instead of accentuating her breasts, they were now flattened.
The maid handed her an old brown shirt, pants, and a rough leather belt. They were tattered and covered with thick dust. While Dawn dressed, Nessa took a rusty pair of scissors off of the bookshelf.
Nessa said, “Child, I truly hate to do this.”
“My hair?” she asked, quickly placing her right hand to the long brown braids.
Nessa nodded.
“I’ll look like a boy.”
“I know. What better way to hide? Lord Waxxon’s men will be searching for you, a young lady, not a boy. You’re safer if you can maintain such a guise.”
Dawn opened her mouth to protest but remembered her mother’s frantic scream, and how she had died to protect her. Such a sacrifice was worthless if Dawn died at Waxxon’s hands. The disguise was her best option.
Dawn gave a solemn nod and said, “Very well.”
Her jaw tightened as the rusted scissors sliced through the first braid of her long brown hair.
Tears formed in Nessa’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, dear,” she said.
Instead of regret, Dawn found a brazenness settling over her. No tears heated her eyes. In a solemn tone, she said, “It’s okay.”
“Scissors have never touched your hair since you were a child. I know this has to pain you so much. It’s okay to cry.”
“I’m fine, Nessa. Just hurry and get it over with.”
Nessa looked at Dawn with surprise at the cold quality in her Lady’s voice. The maid replied with an understanding smile while taking the next vertical band of Dawn’s hair and snipping it. The long thick strand of brown silken hair slinked to the floor and coiled like a snake.
Using the rusted scissors, Nessa had a hard time cutting Dawn’s hair quickly. After fifteen minutes, she only had half the braids cut to Dawn’s neckline. The room was quiet, other than the creaking whine of the scissors gnawing through hair. Air funneled down the crude stairwell, which added only a slight whispering. Occasionally, curious rats peered up the stairs from the dark catacombs, but when noticed, they darted from sight.
More hair dropped to the floor, but Dawn still refused to cry. Her mother had given her life to save Dawn. Dawn was willing to sacrifice the glory of her hair for the opportunity to exact justice for the murder of her mother.
The rough peasant clothes itched, making her skin crawl. She stared down at her discarded soiled gown and ruined slippers. Everything that she had possessed, her family and belongings, were gone. The only thing left for her was the clinging hope to make the corrupt pay for their transgressions.
When the final long strand of hair fell, Nessa set the scissors on the table and then she rubbed her sore hand. A few minutes later, she gathered up all of Dawn’s hair locks and tucked them inside a hole where a stone was once mortared. Then she took Dawn’s gown and slippers and crammed them into a wide crevice.
Tears streamed down Nessa’s cheeks as she regarded Dawn without her gorgeous braids. With Dawn’s slim body and short height, the loss of hair had made the Lady look like a boy in his early teens. Nessa turned and wiped the tears from her own eyes. Her shame for what was necessary prevented her from looking at Dawn.
Nessa blew her nose into an old ragged cloth, trying to regain her composure. Her breathing was labored and raspy.
Dawn understood. Nessa had been her caretaker from the day Dawn was born. Their bond was as close as any family could be. Nessa’s devotion came from love, not obligation. Dawn never doubted the woman’s affection and concern for her wellbeing, which was another reason why Dawn didn’t protest the loss of her braids. Sacrifices to survive were necessities.
Dawn’s attention returned to her father’s table. She had been eight years old when the news of her father’s death arrived in Hoffnung. The whole city had wept.
She remembered crying for days, even though she didn’t know a lot about her father. He seemed more a mystery to her than an actual father, but she assumed most kings probably were. She had some fond memories of him before his tragic death. At least six times he had taken her to the stables and allowed her to ride with him into the forests on the outside of Hoffnung’s gates. He had taught her to ride and without her mother’s knowledge, he had trained her how to use a bow on those rides.
His guidance and encouragement gave her confidence that she had the adequate skill to use such a weapon, but that had been ten years earlier. She downed a giant stag on their third ride and helped skin and gut it. The warmth of blood on her hands disturbed her at first, but then she realized that the task was part of daily survival for most of the peasants outside Hoffnung and beyond. As royalty, she reasoned, it was good to know how the common folk lived from day to day. Now, with the itchy clothes pressed against her delicate skin, she discovered that she was about to learn more about peasant life and commoners outside the castle than she had ever dared imagine. She wasn’t certain she’d like the firsthand experience, especially since she could not return to her life of royalty until she took back her mother’s throne.
Beside the aged map on the table was a small yellow parchment. She took it and read aloud, “Lehrling, Caen, Bausch, Donavan . . .? What is this list of names?”
Nessa held the torch closer and shook her head. “I don’t know, child. The parchment is old and yellow. Looks like that has been here for years. I doubt anyone has been here since your father’s death. Sadly, he might have been the only one who’d have known the meaning of the names.”
At the bottom of the list of names was a wax seal in the shape of a dragon skull. She seated herself in her father’s old wooden chair and studied the list of names for a long time while Nessa continued rubbing the stiffness out of her hand. Dawn didn’t recognize any of the names, nor had she ever recalled her mother speaking about these men.
She glanced up from the list of names, and a glint of silver reflected in the torchlight at the bookcase. She rose from her seat and headed to the shelf. She found a silver pendant just like the dragon skull pressed in the wax seal on the list. She wondered what the symbol represented.
Dawn picked up the silver pendant and set it beside the gem in her left hand. It was cold to her touch, but when she shut her hand around it and the gem, a magical pulse flowed up her arm. Chill bumps rose on her skin. She trembled as the faint power tingled through her. In seconds, the sensation was gone. She opened her hand and stared at the dragon skull and the gem. She wanted to know more. No, she needed to know what the pendant stood for and who the people on the list were. These men had been of great importance to her father and possibly to Hoffnung as well. But how could she discover the hidden secrets behind their union? Had they been a secret society? Did the group still exist?
She wanted to fold the paper, tuck it away, and keep it, but she feared what might happen should someone find it in her possession. There was too much danger keeping a written record, so she memorized the names. When she could recite them in her mind without faltering or pausing, she glanced at Nessa.
“Now what?” Dawn asked, tucking the silver pendant and gem into a small leather pouch sewn near the copper buckle of her belt.
“We sneak you into peasant quarte
rs. Waxxon’s men will spend many hours scouring the castle and grounds for you. The peasant camps will probably be the last place they look.”
Dawn nodded slightly.
Nessa rubbed her hands across the dirty table, turned, and smeared the dirt across Dawn’s cheeks and forehead. The expression on the maid’s face was nothing less than total heartache and loss. While Dawn studied the old woman, she never imagined that greater tragedy was about to unfold.
Chapter Five
Lord Waxxon stood on the docks with two of his personal bodyguards. All of the Hoffnung guards loyal to Queen Taube lay dead. Pools of blood encircled their bodies. Two giant Vykings faced him with intimidating glares. Their long hair and thick beards made them appear like the savages their reputations boasted.
Waxxon’s dark eyes shimmered in the light of the torches and fire pits. He wore his wolf-head bronze helm, and with his dark complexion and thick black beard, he almost looked like a were-creature. His silver armor shone brightly, reflecting the orange-red dancing flames.
Both Vykings were armored with heavy leather that was reinforced with riveted bronze plates across their chests, shoulders, backs, and leggings. Their swords were different than all of the Vykings standing on the docks. Their swords had two-headed serpents forged into the blades. Jagged demon claws were etched into the hilts.
The Vykings both had long brown hair tied in thick, tight ponytails that hung down their backs. Their beards were fashioned in a similar manner. These men were larger than all the other Vykings, and their incredible height made Waxxon look like a boy. However, the similarities between the two Vykings ended there.
Lord Waxxon gave a slight nod to the Vyking princes.
Waxxon said, “I see King Obed wasted no time honoring my request.”
“The desire to destroy the kingdoms of Aetheaon is a mutual objective,” the prince replied evenly. “Bloodshed and great devastation follow our arrival.”
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