by T B Phillips
Robert felt himself lurch into the air as Max threw him over his shoulder, running toward the horses. Looking back, bouncing as the general ran, Robert’s eyes reflected the bright light that burst from the boy’s body, scorching the still body of his mother. In Robert’s eyes the fireball grew, and then exploded into thousands of smaller fires that shot out from his fingertips as he pointed toward the city. The Prince could hear screams of terror as men burned alive atop the wall.
The elder Esterling son felt his air leave his body in a single blow, as Maximus threw him across the back of his steed. Sitting and trying to right himself in the saddle, his head turned to face the city wall and gate. The wooden door was aflame as men ran and threw themselves from the rampart, screaming in terror as their clothes and bodies burned. General Maximus Reeves grabbed the reigns of Robert Esterling’s horse and led them full gallop into the forest and away from the city.
Chapter Fifteen
Braen lay on the soft grass, eyes closed with a gentle spring wind brushing against his face. He breathed in deeply, smiling wide as the breeze brought the soft scent of lilac to his nose. He held that breath in, praying to the gods that he would never forget both this moment and her scent.
Her body was pressed against his, her firm breasts exposed against his bare chest as they slipped from her half-unbuttoned blouse. His arms held her warm body and his mouth searched for hers, joy rising within him as her soft supple lips danced and teased with his own. His own body pulsed with blood as he felt her hips press into his, rubbing slightly with pressure.
After they had pulled away, she whispered, “I wish you were not leaving me, Braen.”
“I have to go, Hester. Father is taking us raiding in Loganshire at a place called Brentway. He said that we’re to become men.”
Smiling, she reached her hand down and grabbed ahold of his pulsing manhood through his breeches. “You are more than a man enough now, Braen.”
He laughed and kissed her again, rolling her over on her back as he did. She squeezed tighter and tighter, the pain radiating through his crotch and into his stomach as she bore down with all of her strength. He opened his mouth to breathe, feeling several of his ribs crack against the knife that she had plunged into his back.
Opening his eyes, he saw the stale floorboards of a ship’s hold, soaked and stinking metallic with his blood. Tears rolled down his face as he realized that he had again held and lost his love.
The door opened and footsteps approached. Braen resigned to lay on the floor, all his strength drained over several days of beatings. Although he knew that he was to be sold to his brother, he silently wished that he would die along the way to the exchange. He growled as rough hands grabbed his bound arms and heaved him from the floor.
Eusari’s voice could be heard directing her thugs. How could so much hate exist within one person? Why couldn’t she believe that he had nothing to do with the death of her family? Two of her brutes dragged him from the room, pausing briefly to allow someone to punch him in the nose.
He awoke a few moments later to muffled voices. Someone mentioned payment and he recognized Skander’s voice among the rest. Braen felt a small chuckle leave his mouth. He opened his left eye as much as he could, unable to open his right one at all. As he peered through the blood, Skander’s face came into focus and Braen struggled to lift his head. Any fury that he had previously held toward his brother momentarily faded as he glimpsed the face of his childhood playmate, confidant, friend and brother.
“Skander,” the name crawled as a whisper from his lips.
“The younger Braston brother stepped up to lean his ear closer to hear his plea, “Yes, Brother?”
“I…” Braen struggled to speak through the copper taste of blood in his mouth. “I love you, little brother.”
“Of course, you do, brother. You always were the sentimental type.” Skander laughed, and the other attendees joined in. Still leaning in, he said, “you never would’ve hurt a soul if you didn’t have to. Always the thinker, never mean enough.” He then brought up his steel gauntleted hand into Braen’s ribs, cracking some more. Braen again passed out.
Estowen’s landing was an abandoned port town with a functional pier that could accommodate smaller ships such as She Wolf. The empire had long abandoned the town and its small port when it adopted larger vessels. Its navy preferred the larger, more secure ports down the coast, farther from the Northern Kingdom. Although the town was devoid of human life, climbing vines had overtaken the crumbling buildings had no doubt become home to lesser four-, six-, or eight-legged lifeforms.
Standing at the hatch that led below deck, Eusari motioned for two men to retrieve the Northman. At some point Braen had passed out from the pain, and they had little difficulty picking him up from the floor after unlocking his chains. As they dragged him toward the hatch, she watched him with satisfaction, knowing that he would soon fully pay for the crimes against her and her family. She wanted to kill him, but she had been made to promise an intact, live delivery. Instead, she motioned for the men to pause at the doorway. In a quick motion, she punched his nose, breaking it cleanly. His body went limp as blood stained his blonde beard orange. Eusari smiled and motioned for them to move him along.
She followed behind as her men dragged Braen’s limp body across the brow of She Wolf and down the gangplank. Marcus Esterling and Artema Horn emerged from the quarterdeck a few minutes later. Eusari could not help but notice that the Esterling whelp bore a smug and knowing expression. The look bothered Eusari. Everything about that man disgusted her. From the moment Artema had made her release him, she had regretted allowing him to survive the kidnapping.
The two crewmen dragged the northern prince onto the pier and down a muddy path that led to what had once been the town square. The crewmen tossed Braen in a heap on the ground before three hooded figures. One, she knew would be Skander Braston, younger brother of Braen and the current ruler of Fjorik. The others would be his guard. Behind him was a large wooden chest. Eusari scowled at the thought of trading this rapist and murderer for gold. Sa’Mond took his place beside Eusari and placed a calming hand on her shoulder. She reached up and touched his hand, ever thankful for her eunuch friend.
“Skander!” Marcus pushed by Eusari, shoving her into Sa’Mond. His big hand tightened on her shoulder, as if to warn her not to act rashly. She regained her footing and settled back to watch the exchange. The two men grasped forearms in the northern custom. Obviously, they had met in the past. Also, it was equally obvious to Eusari that the Esterling pup was currying the northern king’s favor. “Did you bring my payment?”
The younger Braston pointed to the chest, “Count it if you like, but it’s all there. Let me see what you brought for me.”
“Skander.” Braen’s voice barely squeezed past his lips.
The northern king walked toward his older brother and leaned in with a smile, “Yes, brother?”
Eusari strained to listen to their exchange.
“I… I love you, little brother.” Blood spilled from his lips as he sputtered out the words.
“Of course you do, brother. You always were the sentimental type.” Skander laughed and the other attendees joined in. Except for Eusari. If she could, she would feel sorry for the big man about to be sold and slaughtered. But then again, justice is justice. Still leaning in, Skander said, “you never would have hurt a soul if you didn’t have to. Always the thinker, never mean enough.” Eusari watched as he cracked Braen’s ribs with a steel gauntleted hand. He again passed out.
Skander laughed, his hood falling back from his face as he did. Eusari stared at his features aghast. “This is the Braen who I remember. Weak and defeated, crying and preaching love and forgiveness. Did you know,” he said to Esterling, “that this great big ‘warrior’ never took part in the raping and pillaging during raids? No. He was so self-righteous that he would slink back to the ship after the
fighting and pray for their souls. He always hated the spoils part of war.” The two men exchanged a laugh before switching to talk business. Eusari could not divert her eyes from Skander Braston.
Eusari felt a pit of despair hit her stomach. Although the men looked so much alike, the crumpled heap of a man on the ground was not the rapist and sodomizer who had killed her mother and sold her into slavery. No, Skander Braston’s face was unmistakably memorable and opened an uncontrollable flood of both memories and emotions. She absently stepped forward and started to draw a knife, when four more cloaked figures approached the pier. Two of whom carried another large chest. Three of the figures were clad in Imperial armor and trailed by a woman in flowing white robes emblazoned with an eagle holding a rose in its talons.
“What kind of unholy alliance is this?” Crestal Esterling, Lady Regent of the Empire, stepped out from behind her guards and addressed the men standing over Braen’s body. She looked down at the unconscious prince and then at her son and the ruler of Fjorik. “You’ve been busy, son.”
“What is in the box, Mommy?” Marcus laughed hysterically at his own joke.
“I think you know. Apparently, you manipulated this ransom. What did you do, bribe Artema Horn to sell your captor to his brother for an extra bonus? That is Braen Braston, is it not?”
“What’s left of him.” Marcus laughed, barely containing his merriment at the joke he had played on the most powerful people in the world.
Eusari’s head spun. She felt Sa’Mond’s hand on her shoulder, but she was quickly losing feeling in her entire body. She looked at Artema, who laughed along with Marcus.
She shrugged off the hand and moved up to the younger Braston. Her knife flashed from her furs and sliced at the man who destroyed her family. Unfortunately, his guard saw the movement, and shoved him just enough that she missed. Her weak attack barely sliced his fur cape. Reacting, Braston’s gauntleted fist came up into her face, and she fell to the ground beside Braen.
Marcus laughed harder and his maniacal tone convulsed above her as a leather boot connected with her ribcage. She rolled and tried to stand but pain stopped her. From her hands and knees Eusari looked up at the Esterling prince. Through her thin gloves she felt the ground, wet and sticky from the blood of Braen. Her anger raged and Eusari yearned to lunge and rip out the throats of the men looming above. Her eyes met those of the prince, and she growled low and menacing.
The surrounding air fell as cold as a frozen winter night and the ground shook. Eusari could sense everything around her, the earth, the vines and even the insects crawling in the undergrowth. The earth shook more violently, and the men staggered, several leaning on a nearby wall for support. From the edge of the forest a wolf howled into the night.
The vines closest to Skander and his guards began to twist and seemingly come to life. They coiled around the Northmen like pythons, constricting and squeezing out their breath. Hundreds of spiders crawled from their cover, and up the legs of the men, biting the most tender parts of their exposed skin. The younger Braston screamed alongside his men, trapped in the vines as if they were a web.
A large bird dove from the sky, screeching as it used strong talons to tear at the flesh of Eusari’s back. Sa’Mond grabbed the falcon under its wings and ripped it from her skin, taking a chunk of leather that had once been her armor. Blood poured from her wound and she screamed. All at once, the earth stopped shaking. The vines fell limp and lost all animation as the men brushed the spiders from their faces, coughing and sputtering little black objects from their mouths.
Regaining his balance, Marcus turned to the soldier behind Lady Esterling and ordered, “Matteas, kill her.” The soldier took a step forward, drew back his hood and drew his sword.
Of course, Eusari thought, this was the famed Captain-General Matteas Brohn, chief lackey of the Esterling empire. At least I’ll die at the hands of a legend. Grasping another knife in her left hand, she rose to meet her attacker with her right arm limp at her side.
Brohn turned and swung his sword at Lady Esterling. Marcus laughed at the shocked expression on her face as her head rolled between him and Artema. Skander Braston, free from the spiders and vines, laughed nearly as maniacally as the boy. Eusari stood dumbfounded and frozen in her stance. Sa’mond and the others formed up around her. Moving together, they started shuffling her toward She Wolf.
She screamed, “Wait!” The man she had broken during the voyage lay on the ground and Skander’s men moved toward him. “Get Braen too!”
Sa’Mond bent to grab Braston, but the Esterling guards also advanced. The two small forces clashed before him. He shouted to the crew on the ship to make ready, then tried again to grab the unconscious man. Finally finding an opportunity to step in, he grabbed him by the tunic and began to run toward Eusari.
She felt drunk. Her shoulder ached, and warm blood oozed underneath her leathers. Staggering, she turned and tried to run toward the gangplank. She looked over her shoulder to see Sa’Mond dragging the fallen prince behind him. Safely aboard She Wolf, she scanned the pier and spotted a grinning Artema Horn waving farewell. He blew her a kiss and laughed.
A loud thud tore her eyes from her former friend and leader, and Braen Braston fell in a heap beside her. She looked first at him then up at Sa’Mond. Her two other guards had fallen in battle on the pier, and Sa’Mond fought two men at once on the other side of the gangplank. She started to run toward him, but he shook his head at her, and with a single kick he shoved the plank into the water, cutting off both his and the attacker’s path to the ship. He shouted to the crew to shove off and they did, wind catching the sails as they pulled away. He killed both of his attackers, then turned toward his mistress with a sweeping bow.
As he raised up, the falcon returned with a screech, diving and ripping its talons into the back of his neck. He screamed as the giant bird ripped out his right eye with its sharp beak. Eusari screamed and then fell to the deck in tears, wailing as she watched Skander Braston drive his sword into the back of her comrade, the only man whom she could trust after Artema’s betrayal. No, not a man. Sa’Mond was a eunuch, a former man, she realized, as the loving and tender giant died on the pier. Will I ever trust a man again?
Stricken with grief she stared at her friend, bloodied and being ripped to pieces on the pier that grew smaller as She Wolf departed. A groan finally pulled her eyes away and she watched Braen Braston’s tattered body convulse at he tried to lift himself from the planks. Kneeling, she reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Tears of remorse overcame her. “I am so, so sorry, Braen.”
He turned his face, blackened from the week-long beatings that he had received, and smiled softly with his magnificent icy blue eyes. “I… I forgive you.”
Eusari wept.
Fatwana Nakala walked with long strides into the council chamber. Her black hair was neatly pulled back and wound into a tight bun revealing her almond shaped eyes. Her fair skin sharply contrasted her hair, and her silk robes clung to her form as she walked with confidence and authority. She held her stern mouth in a tight line that narrowed the look in her eyes.
As usual, the chamber was full of chatter and debate when she arrived, as the ruling body of Astia argued the catastrophe that unfolded in Andalon. The panic had grown, and Fatwana was the bearer of their anxiety. She strode directly to her chair beside the other oracles and sat down with an air of authority. The room immediately noticed her arrival, and the chatter died down as a wave of silence followed her entrance. She knew that their eyes were on her and she waited.
Chancellor Jakata slowly stood and gestured toward the oracles. “Does the Winter Oracle have information for the council?”
Fatwana stood and addressed the entire room. “It has been confirmed that the recent volcanic eruption has affected the ionic atmosphere, thereby intensifying the emotional latency of powers in certain Andalonians.” She did not fli
nch as she spoke and paused to allow the eruption of dissent and discontent to fill the room. The chancellor tried for several minutes to calm them down until she could finally continue. “This is not a worst-case scenario, rather we have agents in the field working to minimize the impact.”
A voice shouted from the gallery, “What powers have awakened?”
Fatwana answered honestly, “So far, we have witnessed two of the four powers with Da’ash’mael.” The room erupted with greater anger than before. The chancellor banged his gavel repeatedly to regain order from the delegates and she continued, “The culling process has been largely successful, and the emergence seems isolated at least for now. Unfortunately, we have an outlier. Although we earlier witnessed one of the Latents control sea creatures, we have not been able to view him or his abilities since. Our endeavors have resulted in the death of some of our coven members.”
This time the chancellor spoke. “How many is some?”
Fatwana finally blanched at the question that she had hoped would not come. “Nine, your excellency.”
“Nine? Did I hear you clearly? Or did you hopefully say, ‘none’?”
Fatwana’s calm composure broke, and she finally started to sweat under the pressure of the day, “Nine.”
The room exploded in shouts of condemnation. Chancellor Jakata had no choice but to recess the council session.
Part II
Wolf of Night
On land the monster roars and walks,
Death surrounds in light and shadow.
Destroy the seed before it roots.
– The Oracle of Astian, 805th year of order
Chapter Sixteen
Chancellor Jakata wasted no time summoning Fatwana Nakala to his chambers after her report. She rapped three times on the door and was surprised when he immediately opened it himself. Soft orchestral music played in the background.
