by S L Matthews
Ava’s blood boiled. Heat rose through her chest and anger exploded from within. Eight years of mind control, torture, and humiliation, had led her to this singular moment. She let her emotions loose, solely directed at the one person she despised most in this world.
“You son of a bitch! I hate you!”
The words erupted from her mouth, and she knew she meant them. She no longer concerned herself with consequences. She no longer cared of her “place” under this tyrannical roof.
“I will see you dead if it’s the last thing I do!”
The room fell deathly silent. Thibold’s expression turned to horror. He cleared his throat and slowly rose to his feet, backing steadily away from the door. Viktor squeezed the dagger as a trickle of blood spilled across the elegant, purple lotus. With his other hand, he reached for his cane, a grotesque, gnarled piece of wood, its handle carved into the shape of a gargoyle. He studied the cane, then handed it to his business partner. Thibold gripped the instrument, eyeing it with a look of confusion.
“A lone girl stands among a field of corpses. Those that survived, knelt before her, as they would a god.” Viktor said, his tone dark, his expression solemn. His gaze drifted to Thibold, then back to the frosted weapon in his hands. “This man traveled a very long way to tell me these words.”
Ava’s body faced Dijor while her sorrowful gaze drifted to the white-robed businessman, easing himself toward the darkened corner of the room. If the gods themselves entered this chamber, they could not have evoked more fear from a man.
“Viktor, please,” Thibold murmured, tears pouring down his face. His cheeks were flushed and his lips quivered beyond his control. “You don’t understand what she is.”
Viktor grabbed a massive iron candlestick off the table and twisted the purple lotus dagger in his other hand. His murderous gaze studied the weapons, then lifted to meet his prey. “Someone has told this man you’re special,” he said in a venomous tone.
He adjusted his grip, his words soaked in malice. “It would seem a—test—is in order.”
He walked toward the doors and his intent became clear. Ava slowly backed up as Viktor approached, weapons ready.
| Chapter IX
Shadows on the Road
The trio of wagons creaked through the broken streets of Wyvern’s Rest. To the east, the dark water defied the light of the morning sky. Jagged rocks stood watch over the bay, brutalized by the relentless waves of the Abyssal Sea. To the west, the ghost town of a fabled city. Shops were boarded up, buildings collapsed, and trees had taken up residence in the middle of the roads. Eerie shadows loomed over the abandoned street, deepened by the black sands of the nearby beach.
Building after building rolled by the window, without a soul in sight.
The caravan of ornate carriages passed through an old square. Wooden signs creaked as they hung from their last hook and shutters knocked against their boarded up windows. Camille peered out her window in awe as the sun faded from view.
Shadow painted the walls of her carriage, as well as the carriages behind her. Her field of view was blocked by an enormous statue. She stuck her head out her window and gazed skyward, catching the form of an incredible dragon, its wings outstretched as though taking flight. At the base of the dragon sat large, ornamental benches, lined with hedges, trees, and wildflowers. Many of the stone benches had broken, and the foliage had grown well beyond its borders, yet the sight of the old statue drew amazement from the inquisitive girl.
“What is that, Mr. Davilla?” she questioned as she turned her head briefly into the cabin, her finger fixed in the direction of the magnificent statue. “It’s magnificent!” She spun her head back out the window, ensuring she would not miss a precious second.
Amoran, crossed the cabin and looked upon the remains of the town square in reflection. “Ah,” he began. “That…well, that is Tindera. Or I should say, she is Tindera.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and extended the other, panning from left to right. “This is…err, was Tindera Square. Wyvern’s Rest is full of these statues, in honor of the dragons that rose against the old Gods.”
Camille tugged on her golden necklace as her eyebrows turned upward. “You mean…” She thought for a moment. “This one fought in the war?” Her curiosity soaked in as much as her childlike creativity could imagine.
“Where are they now?”
Amoran’s expression grew thoughtful. “Well, truth be told…no one really knows,” he said.
Camille’s eyebrows raised and her nose scrunched. “So, they’re gone?”
A light-hearted laugh overcame Camille’s old friend. “That, my dear, is a question argued for the ages. Scholars, Archeologists, Priests, and taverns full of drunkards have posed that single question more than any other in history.”
Amoran propped his elbow against the seat, twirling the point of his mustache. “I would say, wars have even been fought, seeking the answer to that very question.”
Camille’s eyes widened as his story continued, clinging to every word.
“I dare say, young Camille. Find the answer to that question, and you may well hold the secret to all of Kel Doran,” Amoran stated with a twinkle in his eye.
“Truth is, they disappeared after the Great War. Sure, there’s been rumors…tales. But no one’s seen a dragon in a very long time.”
Camille’s expression once again turned to one of confusion. “But, can’t they just go find them?”
Another sincere smile draped Amoran’s face. “Yes, yes…it would seem that’s all it would take. Some of the greatest minds known to man have come together. Large expeditions have scoured the ruins of Valshyr in search of answers, yet most never return. And those that do, are forever changed.”
“Earlier this spring, my closest friends embarked on such a mission. I pray the next time you hear the names Eramus and Celien Caro, the world will be a vastly different place.”
Amoran continued, his eyes drifting into the abandoned square. “Our libraries are filled with legend and our halls are filled with songs of their greatness. Yet their disappearance remains a mystery.”
“Were you in the war, Mr. Davilla?” she asked, hanging on the edge of her seat.
A glorious chuckle erupted from the far side of the cabin as Servan reminded them of his presence. “Yes, my old friend. You’ve seen more winters than anyone here. Tell us about the war, will you?” he said, sarcasm bleeding through every word.
Amoran smiled, looked back to Camille, and let out an honest laugh. “I’m afraid not, dear. I’ve not been around quite as long as Servan would have you believe.”
Her excitement did not fade, however. Camille turned to the large, yellow robed man and continued her question. “What about you Mr. Kendle? Do you remem−“
Over Servan’s shoulder, beyond the abandoned courtyard, hunched shadows danced through patches of highland grass. Blood red eyes reflected through the darkness, like a sea of ruby stars in a horrific night sky.
Camille’s eyes grew wide and her body shot upright. She vaulted to her feet, and both men in the carriage jumped with her.
“Camille?” Amoran said. “Is everything alright?”
Her eyes were fixed and her lips were frozen in place.
Amoran’s eyes followed hers toward Servan, then both men turned toward the empty square. They squinted, trying to bring the empty streets into focus, but were greeted only by bushes, trees, and highland grass blowing across the road.
Servan heaved back into the carriage, meeting Camille’s shocked gaze. His annoyed expression turned to one of concern. He looked to Amoran, then back to Camille.
“I say, little girl. You look as though you’ve spotted a ghost.”
He laughed at the remark, the same fake laugh Camille had heard a hundred times since leaving Cambridge.
“There’s something out there,” she said, unamused. Camille finally exhaled, but her fear was palpable.
Servan rolled his eyes. “It’s been a very long trip my
dear. I’m sure there’s nothing to be worried about.” He adjusted his yellow robes and fixed the angle of his ruffled, feathered cap. “We are in a city, dear child. It is therefore my assumption that you may have seen…”
He paused for a moment.
Camille had seen this one as well. A craft many practiced in the court of Cambridge, she learned to despise the dramatic pause. She sighed, then moved to cut him off.
“A person, perhaps,” he continued, visibly annoyed. With the last word, he stuck his face out the window, ending the conversation.
Camille’s face scrunched at the remark, shaking a pointed finger his direction. “Now you listen, Mr. Kendle. I may be a little girl, but I…”
A warm hand came to rest on Camille’s shoulder. She turned to see Amoran’s worn eyes upon hers and steady shake of his head.
“It’s alright, Camille,” Amoran said. “Maybe he’s right. But we’ve come a long way and we’re nearing the inn. Let’s do our best to stay calm, shall we?” he added with a polite smile.
Camille kept her arms crossed and glared at the back of Servan’s head. She added an overt sigh of disapproval, ensuring Servan heard. As she exhaled, a slurping noise echoed through the carriage, but only for a moment.
The back of Servan’s robes turned red. The stain grew, sinking deeper into the oversized robe. Camille gasped, “M…Mr. Kendle?” She took a step closer to the large man and placed her hand on his shoulder.
Servan was leaning into the window, his weight coming to rest against the wall in an unnatural way. Camille’s eyes widened in horror. She felt a tug on the back of her dress. She spun around, her eyes watering. They met Amoran’s and she saw the same fear staring back at her. He slowly raised a finger to his mouth, pulling her away from their travel companion.
Screams erupted from outside the carriage—not the screams of women, or even the screams of men. They were shrill and cold, like a hysterical child amidst a torrid fit. With a jolt, the carriage lunged forward, sending Amoran and Camille flying onto the bench. Servan fell from his window and collapsed to the floor, a large spear protruding from his forehead. As the carriage continued to accelerate, Camille looked wordlessly at Servan’s face, and the look of terror that it still wore.
Camille screamed as Servan’s eyes blankly stared back at her.
The wails grew louder outside the window. Camille shuffled across the bench, catching glimpses of pale figures racing through the square. Short and ghostly white, the creatures hurled themselves toward the carriages while they emitted their cries of battle. The carriage walls splintered as small, hand-carved spearheads erupted in quick succession throughout the wooden frame. Groans of agony sounded from the oxen, peppered with gnarled spears.
With a sudden lurch, Camille flew from her seat, landing in an obscene mixture of blood and splintered wood. She opened her eyes to find herself face to face with Servan’s lifeless body, the spear still lodged in his forehead. The floor of the carriage was slick with blood as the rampaging oxen galloped off the highway.
“Bloody Hells,” Amoran screamed, pulling himself away from the bench. Camille screamed, helpless to the incessant bouncing and sliding of the runaway carriage. She felt Amoran tug against her dress, but the blood-soaked fabric slipped through his fingertips with each attempt. Another jolt sent the pair flying to the sea side of the wagon and Camille tumbled underneath the seat, wedged under the ruined silk cushions.
“Camille!” came a shout from outside as Lieutenant Celaera raced through the enemy ranks for his daughter. “Camille!”
“Daddy!” Camille screamed with a glimpse of hope in her eyes. The clashing of swords followed, along with the shrill cries of the pale creatures. “Daddy?” Camille shouted again, more of a question.
She pushed herself upright, striking her head against the underside of the bench. The screams faded and her vision blurred. Camille collapsed onto the floorboards and her body lurched side to side along with the bounding wagon.
Amoran jumped off his bench, reaching for Camille’s limp form. He fell to the floor and crawled to her, his robe blood-soaked and torn. “Dear girl,” he said as he felt her forehead and the long crimson streak left by the wooden beam.
He pulled her body from under the bench as a piercing shrill erupted throughout the cabin. Withered pale fingers gripped the frame of the carriage window as two creatures clawed their way through, plunging the secrets of the brilliantly decorated wagons.
They reached for Amoran, clawing at his silken robes. He spun away and backed himself against the far wall, kicking and cursing at the abominations. “Get back you damn beasts!” Repeatedly, he kicked their arms and faces, but it did little to diminish their resolve. The creatures were entranced, their gazes locked onto the golden necklace around Camille’s neck. As if charmed by the goddess Rheilar herself, their attention could not be turned.
He moved his body in front of Camille and reached for the spear still sticking out of Servan’s head. But as he reached, another ghastly set of hands clawed from the window above, grabbing the little girl’s hair. Amoran looked up to see another pair of creatures climbing over the roof, reaching in through the seaside window. Surrounded, he flailed his arms, cursing the mutants. “You can’t have her! To the Hells with you!”
The ghostly white hand pulled Camille upward by her hair while another hand reached around and grabbed the necklace. Her body hung limply beneath her as the jewelry was snapped away from her neck. With a look of utter exaltation, the pale-skinned creature raised the golden symbol over his head in victory. Amoran recoiled as the creature’s crusted, scarred lips twisted into a malevolent smile. Pointed and blackened, its teeth looked as though they could saw through steel. Amoran winced at the sight—and the smell—of the overjoyed albino creature, celebrating its personal victory.
With reckless abandon, Amoran swung his fist and caught the creature in the mouth, sending it backwards against the carriage wall. He snatched at Camille’s necklace, but the creature continued to hold tight. Amoran felt another set of arms climb over his back, clawing at the jewelry. Chaos ensued as all three battled for possession of the golden necklace.
More creatures clawed through the windows, their eyes widened at the treasure before them. Amoran glanced back to see Camille’s body, still rising toward the window, suspended by her hair and the mutant fist still attached. “No!” he shouted. “Damn you!”
A deafening SNAP echoed through the carriage and all those inside tumbled end over end. Amoran’s world looped and his eyes lost focus. Over and over they turned, throwing several creatures back through the windows. The lost wheel bounded down the rocky embankment toward the sea while the hapless carriage, filled with rich men and ragged creatures, tumbled after it.
Amoran braced against the wall of the carriage as it plunged down the rocks and boulders lining the Abyssal Sea. He reached for Camille’s blue dress, but the wall snapped away, followed by a brilliant light that erupted through the open side of the carriage. He strained through the spinning whirlwind of debris and saw a large, bent oak tree half way up the slope, now decorated with a dozen pale creatures and several chunks of colorful wooden beams.
Amoran’s body thrust forward and the remains of the carriage folded around him. The ice-cold, black water of the sea rose around him, engulfing the carriage, himself, and the few creatures trapped within.
As his robes, bloodstained and splintered, floated over his head, Amoran felt rocky ground beneath his feet. He bent his knees, then thrust upward while debris rained all around. Within seconds, he burst through the water, back into the early morning sun. He reached for the shore and grabbed hold of the rocks, stained with the eerie blackness of the sea.
As he clutched the rocks of the bay, Amoran surveyed his surroundings. To the left and right stood once proud structures of civilization, now crumbling under their own weight. Behind him loomed an ever-widening expanse of black water, the Abyssal Sea. Up the slope, a battle raged as sick, pale creatures climbed into
carriages and jumped onto the blue-cloaked guards that defended them.
Pale bodies littered the rocky slope, along with colored fragments of his carriage. He looked at the gangly bodies and wondered which had taken Camille’s necklace.
Oh no, he thought. His eyes widened in horror while his head darted from side to side, then into the blackened water.
“Camille!!”
| Chapter X
Pillar of Flame
Taryn’s brother was no stranger to tough spots. Cooper Quinn had built a name for himself in similar situations, but his skills in wordplay and misdirection were not going to help him this time. A dozen Cyrean soldiers boarded the demolished deck of the Promenade, their crimson cloaks whipping behind them. A dozen more boarded the pirate ship, its defenders in a losing battle against the surprise invaders. Taryn leaned against the side rail as the soldiers advanced, some had their eyes set on Cooper; others locked onto him.
Taryn glanced back to the cabin, hoping majestic purple bolts of lightning would once again turn the tide; yet as his eyes followed the giant timber into the darkened cabin, it had split the deck of the Promenade, leaving silence in its wake.
The trio of ships was locked in a deadly embrace, with masts stretching across all of them and a mesh of cables, ropes, and ripped sails locking them together. Taryn looked across to Cooper, backing away from the advancing soldiers. His older brother met his gaze, then shook his head and mumbled, “Damned fool. How’d you find yourself out here, anyway?”
“Foo—you’re calling me a fool?” Taryn replied with indignation. He scanned the deck, recalling the pirates that swooped down and attacked the once joyous vessel. “You’re one of them?” Taryn looked down to Jorel. While a small trickle of blood dripped from his forehead, Taryn let out a sarcastic laugh. “Now him, I can believe…but you?”
