Ageless Fury

by S L Matthews

  “You must hear me, please. There is a greater threat, one that will soon be upon us.” Amoran lowered his arms and raised his palms to the ceiling. His tone calmed, and his voice soothed. Ava studied his movements, smooth and practiced. She wondered why he would attempt to convince others he was a merchant. He clearly was not.

  “Fighting amongst ourselves will only hasten our defeat! If we are not united, we will certainly…”

  “Out of the way!” Rowan shouted, shoving Amoran to the side.

  Rowan raised the rolled piece of parchment and pulled it open, reading before the crowd. “Want to know the real danger here, old man?” A mocking smile erupted across his face, directed toward Ava. “She’s standing right behind you.”

  Rowan’s eyes scanned the parchment as Ava held her breath in anticipation. “A lone girl stands among a field of corpses. Those that survived knelt before her, as they would a god.” He lifted an eyebrow, turning to seduce the crowd. “She is a curse—a disease—and she will kill each and every one of you.”

  Ava gasped in unison with the crowded tavern. Her soul ached, refusing to believe the words, yet her curiosity could not be sated.

  “What else does it say?” Ava shouted, her voice carrying above the crowd. “About—me.”

  Rowan read quietly to himself. Subtle noises of interest and concern fell from his lips, yet he spoke nothing. He then rolled the parchment and eyed her with a wicked grin.

  “Well?!” Ava demanded, stepping forward, inches from his face.

  Rowan chuckled, pacing toward the fireplace. “It says—you stole my money this morning.” His grin grew venomous as he extended his hand, allowing the scroll to dangle from his fingertips.

  “Tell me what it says!” Ava screamed, reaching for the parchment. A subtle tremor rocked the inn, and all civilians dropped their heads into their hands.

  “It says,” Rowan mocked, tossing the parchment into the blaze. The paper lit instantly, flashing a brilliant red before crumbling to ash. He leaned into Ava’s ear while she stared, horrified at the eerie glow.

  “That you’re a monster.”

  Ava staggered, and her legs buckled. Horror gripped her heart.

  A bestial, terrifying roar echoed deep within the streets of Wyvern’s Rest. What started as a low rumble quickly grew. Tables rattled, and loose glass fragments fell from window frames. Cries shot from the families trapped within the inn, followed by a hushed silence that fell over the room. All looked to one another, all bearing the same look of horror—all but two.

  Ava’s terrified gaze fell upon the old merchant and the Cambrian Lieutenant, who each shared a knowing glance, one full of understanding—and fear. They knew the roar, and the beast behind it. She saw it in their eyes as their hope faded. Amoran took the opportunity to step before the crowd once more, pleading for sanity.

  “Every soul in the city heard that. You are not alone. It is the nightmare that awaits us all. The fear in your heart—that is your voice of reason, and the only voice you should listen to right now. Save your family, save yourselves.” He clapped the spaulders of several Cambrian soldiers, inciting the crowd.

  “If you are to live to see tomorrow, join me. We leave—right now!”

  An insidious laughter bellowed over the shocked crowd, emanating from behind the line of soldiers.

  “You will never leave this inn alive, murderer. Arrest that bitch!” Viktor’s voice cracked. Ava imagined him, standing behind a row of women and children, barking orders no rational man would follow. “She has already killed twice. She will kill again!”

  Ava tugged once more on Dari’s arm, pulling him toward the exit, but the line of soldiers quickly blocked their path. More steel slid into position while a field of blue cloaks filled Ava’s vision. Battered and beaten, the Cambrian soldiers stood by their wounded leader.

  “You have no authority here, Wray,” Anduin exclaimed through clenched teeth. He turned to Captain Ferael, lifting his shattered sword. “And neither does Cyrea. There will be no arrest without the presence of a judge.”

  “Now you listen here, Cambria,” Viktor shouted, his head bobbing between a pair of shoulders. “Ventera is a province of the great Cyrean Empire. Cambria is a province of the great Cyrean Em…”

  “You listen…steward,” Lieutenant Celaera shouted back, his words laced with spite. “There is a time and a place for your nonsense. Now is not that…”

  “Nonsense? Are you calling the king’s justice nonsense?” Captain Ferael bellowed, drawing his weapon to join his soldiers. Shouting resumed from both sides as tempers flared and blood boiled. Amoran waved his hands high in the air, attempting to wedge himself between the factions.

  “Enough!” Amoran shouted, placing his hands upon weapons from both sides. He pressed against them, lowering their blades. “This petty bickering cannot continue!”

  The beastial roar echoed once more from the street, louder, deeper—closer. Everyone in the tavern felt it in their bones as wide eyes of panic shot to the market.

  Amoran turned his back to Ava, pleading to the line of Cyrean soldiers, pointing to the streets of Wyvern’s Rest. “A Macaran horde is at your very doorstep. If we continue this, we will surely…”

  “Macaran?” Viktor squawked. “You can’t be serious. Are they here to steal our chickens?”

  His insidious laughter stirred nightmares within Ava. The Cyrean soldiers and several townsfolk joined in, mocking the old merchant and his tale.

  Amoran lowered his hands, his expression growing stern. “You must listen! They are in the city, and they are coming for you!”

  Yet the nervous laughter, jeers, and catcalls continued. Rowan stepped forward, towering over the old merchant. “What’s the matter, old man, a few cave-dwellers got ya spooked?” he said, turning to his men in laughter.

  Viktor again joined from a distance, “Which scared you, old man: Their crooked teeth? Their beady little red eyes? Maybe their sickly skin looked too much like yours, no?”

  Ava scanned the crowd. Most laughed at Amoran, flinging curses, dismissing his threat entirely. Some met her gaze with a scowl, already convinced of her treachery. Others, however, stood quietly, afraid to say anything, content to simply cower in fear. Then her eyes fell upon Dari. The little boy clung to Ava’s tunic, a look of sheer terror draped across his face.

  “Hundreds,” Ava heard, “maybe even thousands.” The crowd grew quiet before launching into bellowing laughter that shook the building’s foundation. The bickering continued while Ava’s gaze remained fixed on the little boy, who appeared to be reliving every terrifying moment of that morning in gory detail, over and over again.

  Rowan clapped his hands together and patted his stomach. “Nonsense, you old bag. That’s nothing more than the waterfalls on the edge of the city.” The rest of the crowd joined in, launching their disapproval to Amoran and the few wounded Cambrian soldiers. “Macaran are no more than a nuisance. They hunt at night, eat small animals, and, oh—live in caves on the other side of Ventera.”

  Ava studied Dari’s expression while the incessant jeers blurred into the distance. The factions squared off once more, yet Ava’s attention drifted to the Cambrian soldiers and their wounded Lieutenant. Their armor was clawed to pieces, nearly sliced in half. They clutched their weapons, caked in dried, green blood, and each one, to the man, wore Dari’s mask of terror.

  It’s true, Ava thought.

  “You must listen!” Amoran shouted once more, trying to sway common sense in his favor. “We were attacked! We closed the gates. We bought time. And in doing so, we lost men; we lost soldiers.” He turned to the Cambrian Lieutenant. “We lost something more valuable than my old, worn life could ever amount to. We lost…” Amoran’s expression turned to one of helplessness and regret. Ava’s heart broke as a pit of despair welled from the Lieutenant’s gaze.

  She reached for him, placing a hand on his chest. “Your daughter.”

  Tears escaped Anduin’s eyes, and his sword arm drew limp
. The restless crowd grew quiet. The taunts stopped. Ava turned to the windows, her gaze set beyond the old market. “She’s still out there, isn’t she?”

  Amoran pleaded, pointing to the Cambrian soldiers. “But Lieutenant, you saw what they did to the caravan, to your men, she…”

  “She’s alive!” Anduin interjected, his tone grave, his gaze narrow. “And I’m going to find her.” The Lieutenant nodded toward Ava and tightened the straps of his armor.

  Ava stared wordlessly while the Cambrian soldiers took to their positions. Each was gravely wounded, yet prepared to stand their ground, to protect a young woman they didn’t even know. They stood in defiance, fighting alongside the man whom they did not question, a man who wanted only one thing—to find his daughter.

  She found herself jealous of a girl she never met, and loss for a father she never had. Ava’s heart called to her. She wanted nothing more than to reunite this man with his little girl. “Help me get out of here. I’ll find her,” she said, not realizing the thought had escaped her lips. Anduin’s gaze met hers. Ava felt the emotions within the strict, military man. She also felt the warmth of a loving father, a man tearing apart inside.

  Anduin offered a subtle nod, one that bore the weight of all the gratitude he could offer. The oversized coward at the base of the stairs, however, was not finished.

  Viktor stepped onto the landing, pleading to the crowd, “Your king demands justice! This is my inn, you are in my city, and I will not allow…”

  “Enough!” Ava screamed. “You are a coward and the king of nothing. You command authority through threats and weak-willed puppets. You allow nothing, and you command no one.”

  Viktor’s cheeks turned red. Veins erupted across his forehead, and he puffed his prodigious chest. His hands reached toward the crowd, imploring them to listen.

  “Without me, this city would be lost! I kept Cyrea at bay. I kept the supplies coming. I…”

  A piercing shrill erupted from the streets, followed by cries of terror. Disheveled citizens burst through the entrance to the inn, leveling the soldiers before it. They packed the crowded tavern floor, their screams drowning those outside. Streaks flashed by the seaside windows as victims fled for their lives, seeking the shadows of the old market.

  Anduin’s shadow stepped before Ava. His expression was grave, and his eyes said all Ava needed to know. “Lord Wray, none of this matters. Everyone in this inn, yourself included, will be dead if we don’t leave at once. Ignorance will not save you, and neither will empty threats. The horde is upon us.”

  The Cambrian Lieutenant lowered his gaze. “They’ll break upon this tavern like a wave. None will survive.”

  Ava stared through the broken doors that marked the entrance to the inn. A breeze rustled the feathered highland grass while frantic civilians piled in from the streets of Wyvern’s Rest. Helplessness consumed her while Anduin’s words echoed in her head.

  “What can we do?”

  A soothing voice responded. Amoran’s bearded face stepped forward, eager to add to the conversation. He lifted the arm of his robe, pointing along the shore. “There’s a fort in the northern part of the city, along the bay. It will have provisions and a cellar.” He turned his attention back to the Cyrean soldiers, ensuring none were trying to be heroes, then expanded upon his idea. “The walls are fortified and will offer sufficient protection from the creatures.”

  Ava shook her head in disagreement. She waved her hands, pointing deeper into the streets. “Fort Venter was abandoned a long time ago, it…”

  Her brow curled upright as confusion crept into her thoughts. She turned, squaring her shoulders to the mysterious merchant. “How could you possibly know that?”

  Amoran paused. His words broke, and his hands grew animated.

  “We—must have passed it on the way in. Regardless, we must get…”

  “You came from the south.” Ava persisted, stepping closer. Her gaze narrowed. She raised an accusatory finger, pointing beyond the southern city walls. “The plume of dust, I saw you.”

  The old merchant lost his composure, his soothing voice becoming rattled. His eyes drifted to the soldiers, shaking his head. “Please, my lady, we haven’t the time.”

  Ava’s gaze locked onto Amoran, as though staring long enough would cause the truth to simply fall out. “Very well. You and I will continue this later, Lord Davilla.”

  The merchant nodded in agreement while his eyes scanned the room, wide-eyed and nervous. It appeared Ava wasn’t the only one looking for a way out.

  “I need to leave,” Ava whispered, turning her attention to Anduin. “My friend, his name is Taryn…I have a bad feeling.” Her eyes turned solemn. “If you tell me what your daughter looks like, I’ll find her as well.”

  A dismissive breath escaped Anduin’s lips, one lacking hope. He nodded to the Cyrean soldiers blocking every exit, all eyeing Ava. “You have my thanks, my lady. But we are outmanned. I don’t think they’re going to let you go so easily. We would need quite a distraction.”

  Ava peeked through the Cambrian soldiers to a table of hunters, sitting peacefully at their table while both sides continued their petty standoff. Her gaze locked onto Dain, waiting until he looked her way. She didn’t have to wait long.

  Through his matted, braided hair, Ava caught Dain’s eye and stared. She pleaded through her gaze, then lifted her hands and placed her palms together, mouthing the word, “please.”

  A mischievous smile crept across her face, and she clawed at the air, like a young kitten batting at a ball of yarn.

  “A distraction, you say,” Ava said, maintaining Dain’s gaze. She winked, then nodded. “How ‘bout four of them?”

  Ava grabbed Dari’s hand, took a deep breath, and lifted her brilliant blue eyes to the table of Huntsmen. A playful smirk carved its way across Dain’s mouth, followed by glorious, bellowing laughter.

  Dain sprang from his chair. His massive wingspan opened, clutching under each end of the table while he lunged forward. He pressed into the line of Cyrean soldiers, splitting their ranks, pinning them against the massive, oak bar. His fellow Huntsmen roared—and charged, engaging the red-cloaks head-on, each one taking two to three soldiers at a time.

  The Cambrian forces sprang forward, led by their wounded, charismatic leader. They sprinted through the line of mercenaries, engaging with a fervor Ava did not expect.

  Anduin pointed, and two Cambrian soldiers sprinted to the inn’s shadowed, back entrance, weapons drawn. Swords clashed, and bodies flew as chaos ensued. Civilians scattered while screams echoed off the rafters.

  Ava sprinted for the shadows while a subtle blue light caught the corner of her eye. She slowed, turning to see a long, slender dagger withdraw from Viktor’s belt. A frozen mist lifted from the blade, and a sinister expression crept into his face. He offered Ava a menacing nod, then reached behind his men and yanked an old, copper-skinned woman down the stairs. Her tattered, blue dress had been torn, pulled down to her waist. Her chest was exposed, along with the bloody, jagged mark etched into it—Viktor’s mark. Crimson lines flowed down her breasts before landing on the remnants of her dress, bundled around her hips.

  Ava’s heart plummeted. Elhora’s face was beaten and bruised, with blood pooling near the corner of her lips and under her nose. Her eye was swollen, and her hair had fallen, tangled into ragged knots. With one eye open, Elhora met Ava’s horrified gaze.

  Viktor calmly stepped behind her, raising the frosted, metal blade to her throat. He returned his gaze to Ava, poison dripping from his maniacal words.

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  | Chapter XVII

  Anora’s Call

  Marina settled into her cot while she listened to the muffled argument between her mother and father. For most parents, it would have registered somewhere between a spirited debate and a hearty conversation. For Marina’s parents, however, this was a fight. The topics ranged in and out of understanding, but always came back to one thing—the ti
ara.

  She didn’t understand the urgency. Father had several old artifacts back in his office at the university, and her mother had a few odd items of jewelry around the house, but never had a piece garnered quite so much attention. It must have been significant, but to Marina, it was just an old, pearl tiara. Of course, she didn’t get a good look.

  “Are you hungry, dear?” her mother called, snapping Marina out of her trance. She hadn’t even noticed they stopped arguing. The smell of fresh bread, boiled lamb, and thyme filled her senses. Stew. She wondered if they served anything else on this side of the world, but decided her mother had a long day, so a polite smile would work better.

  “Yes, please,” she said. Though, the idea of lamb for the twelfth time in as many days turned Marina’s stomach. Celien turned her attention back to the boiling pot, though Marina knew her mind was churning, focused on her father and that blasted jewelry.

  “If you’re so certain, why don’t you say something,” Celien whispered. They tried to avoid being overheard, or so Marina assumed. She didn’t have the heart to tell them otherwise.

  “And who would I tell?” Eramus spun toward an endless stack of notes, strewn across the bed, table, and tarp-covered floor. “The sentinel? The Cyrean? The tribune magistrates?” He yanked his glasses from his face, squeezing against the bridge of his nose. “There’s no one here I trust, Celien. And I’m not saying anything else until I’m sure. Not after…”

  His eyes turned to Marina. He didn’t finish his statement, but he didn’t have to. Marina heard the threat. She saw the knife against her mother’s chest and the crazed look in the man’s eyes. Marina pried her gaze away from her father. She didn’t want him to worry, but more importantly, she didn’t want him to see her worry.

  The scent of spices pulled her attention back, and she was once again accosted with lamb stew. Marina quickly wiped her eyes and turned back toward her mother, who was standing over her with a small wooden bowl. A piece of bread had been set into the stew, allowing the juices to seep into its pores. It was probably the best way to serve it; otherwise, it would be impossible to tell which was harder, her bread, or the cot she settled into.