“We request access to the Circle, nothing else,” Ahna said. Thamias looked at her like she had done something foolish.
The woman laughed. She did not seem to have recognized the two siblings. How could she? It has been centuries, and that woman was young, younger than Thamias. Her soldiers followed her mood. “And you think we’ll let stranded dryae in, just like that? We might as well just kill you here. You are entirely useless to us, and we couldn’t care less about your needs.”
Her men slowly brandished their swords and pointed them at the two siblings. Ahna dropped her sword, wishing to avoid any dispute, but Thamias remained unmoved. To her surprise, he was smiling, and a vicious flare caught itself in his amber eyes. He readied his stance, and when one dokkalfar soldier attacked him from behind, Thamias shifted his weight forward, dodging the blow. He swung his sword back, turning around with the weapon’s momentum. The blade cut through the attacker’s neck. The poor soldier barely had time to use his frantic hands to stop the blood before falling to the ground in a graceless thump.
Guards were no match for someone whose life was about battles and blood. The rest charged, clashing swords with Ahna and Thamias, until three darted away, back through the gate. Thamias ran after them, leaving Ahna with the red-eyed woman.
Gods damn this, Thamias! Ahna shouted in her mind. Her brother chased the guards, howling a blood-curdling war cry that shook the ground. His rage was not going to let them get away. He looked to Ahna one last time before passing the threshold. The expression on his face truly frightened her, seizing her spine and dragging it deep into the ground.
Ahna had to go after him. She disarmed the woman in an instant, who fell on her back, immobilized, her eyes fuming with anger. Ahna took hold of the spear and planted it right next to her face, then she ran through the gates, after Thamias.
In the darkness of the Dwellunder frontier, a bright explosion drenched the entire cavern in golden light, followed by shattering roars of a beast. Ahna knew precisely what it was.
The entire frontier was set ablaze by the light of golden scales. Thamias howled a savage roar again. He was quickly surrounded by dark elf soldiers who dared not approach him but were forced to. The temperature instantly rose, and the holy dragon disgorged a wave of adamant flames in a circle around him.
Once Ahna finally reached him, she dashed between him and the mass of terrified soldiers. She flicked her hands, letting a flash of pure crystalline light engulf both her arms. It felt good to finally release it after all this time repressing it.
“Thamias! Stop!” she shouted. Then she turned to the soldiers. Her purple eyes gleamed, and she stood ready to strike whoever would strike first, Thamias or Mal soldiers.
“I am Meriel Ahn Sharr, and I demand access to the Circle. Now!”
Everyone, all shocked, dazzled, and aghast by the arrival of a mighty beast and some sort of magical lightbringer, scattered away into the Mal city of Ahnunak. They did not even respond to her mentioning the sacred name of Sharr. The words she had just said left Ahna with a disgusting taste in her mouth.
12
Mal
Thamias adjusted the armor he had casually discarded around Frontier grounds. He slipped into his breeches, strapped back his cuirass, and tapped on his sleeves to make sure everything was back the way it should be. He knew Ahna had watched him transform and get dressed up again as if everything was normal. She stared at him with round, incredulous eyes, like she waited for him to say something. Thamias hooked his scabbard to his belt and finally decided to turn to his sister.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he commented, hiding a subtle smirk within his voice.
Ahna slowly shook her head, asking herself a thousand questions. What kind of display had this been? A little over the top, was it not? Thamias’s behavior both scared and worried her. He was so careless, so aggressive, as if this place drew the worst out of him. As if he had little care for what happened to anyone living here.
“Did you really have to do that?” Ahna asked, in a condescending tone Thamias had no time for. “Was it not a little too...dramatic?”
Thamias grunted a wry chuckle. “Did you have to cry Sharr like it means nothing?”
Ahna brought her hands to her hips. “The Sharr name means everything here.”
“Don’t we all love dramatics here, in the Dwellunder?” He pushed her to the side and started walking.
Ahna rolled her eyes. She scanned their surroundings to check for any living souls. She spotted the massive basalt bridge in the distance, the one supposedly guarded by tens of Mal guards to prevent anyone, even dokkalfar, from crossing. Everyone was gone now, scared off by Thamias’s flames, which still burned here and there on the cold dark ground.
Ahna and Thamias crossed the bridge, alert, expecting something to come their way. Ahnunak was known as the Darklight City of Mal. The northern gates at the Frontier connected to Den Grotto, the tunnel going up the earth to the surface. The Frontier was a no man’s land where only guards were posted to watch over the gates. Past the bridge and a few yards further formed the outskirts of the city. Houses were made of basalt and cobalt rock and had a similar architectural structure as old elven dwellings—coiled roofs in the shape of dragon claws. There were lampposts of flickering blue flames lighting the area and large flaring braziers at each street corner. Now, there was civilization. Dark elves wandering the streets of the northern district. The siblings walked the main pass that led to the central plaza, where the infamous Bank of Mal building almost touched the cavern’s ceiling. They could find anyone ranging from warlord to mercenary master there, but not their father. Not Karlus Von Sharr, the Duke of Mal.
Karlus was not in Ahnunak. Karlus actually never traveled to Ahnunak himself, not in the distant past, and probably not even now. He was in Mal’s capital, the Soulless City of Daranak, and so was the Circle’s Tower. And to get to Daranak, the siblings needed to travel down the Molten Stream through the southern gates.
Most people had begun casting glances by now. It was unusual for dark elves to suddenly appear from the Frontier, and it was even more unusual to see silver-haired dark elves in these streets, for the silver hair had always been a distinguished sign of royalty. Ahna heard muffled voices speaking of their return. So the Sharr name had been heard, and perhaps the arrival of a golden dragon! And news of it was already spreading like cancer into the streets of the Darklight City.
Those red and yellow glares became an encumbrance, especially when they came from armed guards of silversteel armor. They amassed at the central plaza, waiting for the siblings to arrive. A sudden thought passed through Ahna’s mind. For her, Mal’s memories were relatively recent, on the elven scale, but they were almost three hundred years further now. What had become of Karlus Sharr? Did he still reign, or had one of his wretched siblings or cousins taken power?
Her question was swiftly answered, for the flag erected on the central plaza was none other than the old red and black coat of arms of Karlus Von Sharr—two crossed glaives facing the ground. That symbol had never left her memory, no matter how many times she had tried to burn it.
Thamias unsheathing his sword brought Ahna’s attention back to the plaza. One of the guards removed his crow-feathered helmet and took a few steps forward, his rapier ready in his hand. His eyes gleamed redder than blood. His pointy ears extended further than the crown of his head, and his sharp teeth were definitely showing. A pulsing vein adorned his bald skull, and he seemed to stare at Ahna like he wanted to devour her.
Thamias stepped in between the two, making the guard halt his march.
“Nobody enters this place without my knowing,” the guard said and scowled. “Especially not you, Drekabarn.” He looked straight at Thamias. “The bridge is my web, and your vibrations were most definitely loud.”
Ahna readied her sword again. Thamias was already marching forth.
“Ah ah.” The guard held out his hand as a sign for him to stop. “Engin vopn leyfdth
her.”
“Lower yours, and I’ll lower mine,” Thamias roared.
The guard did not budge.
“It’s not like we were trying to hide,” Ahna said from behind her brother. She came at a standstill beside him, her sword back in its sheath and her hands held open. “We just want access to the Circle, nothing else.”
“How entitled!” the guard laughed. He twirled on his heels and turned back to sneer at Ahna. “Hvernig dirfistu, dryaa, wave around the Sharr name like you did. You think that will get you anywhere?”
Ahna held her stance. “Well, it has gotten me far enough.” There was both arrogance and resentment embedded in her tone. She needed to sound confident to deal with this guard.
He was a typical Mal commander. His eyes said it all. His scorn and teeth showed it. The only way to reason with these war machines was with strict and severe orders.
“Either you let us through, or we simply burn everything to the ground,” Thamias threatened with a ferocious glare.
Ahna cast a quick and warning glance at him. “Don’t.”
He ignored her. He cared less about these people than anything else. They could all burn if it were up to him. His eyes flared, and Ahna could feel his blood rush and heat up like a nearing solar flare. “You don’t want to face a dragon, but neither do you want to face me right now,” Thamias warned.
He had changed. Ahna had realized it before, but this was proof. There was a light in his eyes, a dangerous and frightening glimmer that gnawed her bones when she looked at it. His glare and allure were so familiar, more familiar than she would have ever wanted them to be.
The guard held Thamias’s gaze, but the tiny spasms down his lips and chin revealed how afraid he was. He lowered his rapier and looked at Ahna again. There was no scowl stretching across his face this time.
“Tame your beast, and maybe we can talk,” he said, tremors hidden in his voice. He wanted to stand his ground but also obviously wished for the situation not to implode.
Ahna laid a hand on Thamias’s shoulder. “Róadthru sig,” she whispered, asking him to calm down. She used their mother’s words for it.
Those words sang in Thamias’s mind. A strange sense of calm emanated from them, one that he did his best not to let in. Still, they penetrated his walls, which he did not appreciate at all. His posture reluctantly relaxed. He still held his weapon like he was about to strike. “I want to cut this kisahofuth’s head off,” he growled softly.
“Stop!” Ahna whispered harder. “No more.”
Thamias responded with a grunt. He sheathed his weapon and gave the guard a single nod. “Alright. Let’s talk.”
The guard did the same. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, then. Your names have not been forgotten, Ahn Sharr and...Kun—”
“Son Sharr,” Thamias cut him off and corrected him, spitting the words like he rejected a piece of rotten meat. He was not going to hear that guard say a name he had buried six feet deep in his mind for not long enough. Sharr was already bad. Kun Sharr was so much worse.
That the guard had almost said Xandor’s name confirmed Ahna’s fears. She saw the effect of that near error reflected in Thamias’s glare, which lit again.
“So the eldest is dead,” the guard inferred and grinned. “And now you two are back here, two centuries later.”
“What do you even know?” Thamias howled. “You’re barely one.”
“Some of us were told the tale of the tainted Sharr bloodline and the Duke’s runaway kin.”
The guard snickered. He turned around and dismissed his forces. He motioned for the two siblings to come his way, calm and controlled, expecting them to follow.
“You want access to the Circle,” he began. “We need to take you to Daranak then. We should hurry. The barge is leaving soon.” The twisted smile on his face revealed nothing good.
Ahna and Thamias did not really have any other option but to follow.
“Thamias,” Ahna called with a murmur. She needed to appease her brother like she used to. It was painful for the both of them to be back here, in this place of nightmares, but they needed to keep it together. They had each other. He needed to be reminded of that. “I know how you must feel being here, but you have to control your anger. I’m with you.”
But Thamias snapped. “You have no idea what it feels like for me.” He still controlled his whispers, but there was so much rage in them.
How dare she patronize him like that, after being gone for over a hundred and something years? She had no idea what he had dealt with all these years. She had no idea what she had left him with. What he had done when Bravoure completely lost it. What he had done to survive. All the choices he had made, his reasons, they could all be traced back here, in the bowels of Mal.
More stares and glares were cast upon them, but most people dared not approach. The guard led them to the docks of the Molten Stream, the river that ran down the veins of Mal. He boarded the barge with them, silent, just with that vile smile howling louder than a laugh.
* * *
A few hours down the Molten Stream and they reached the gates of Daranak. This subterranean river shimmered like stars in the Dwellunder caverns, where the lights of pyres along the riverbed reflected into the waters. During their short journey, Ahna only had eyes for the river, or so it seemed. In reality, she was engrossed in thoughts, picturing every possibility of how the next few hours would go. They would reach the Soulless City, and then what? Ahna knew they were not headed to the Circle directly. They had a pitstop to make, and it was one she dreaded with all her being.
The loud iron barrier opened as the barge arrived. Harbormen shouted instructions in Dokkalfari, where to go and where to dock. It did not take long before Ahna and Thamias got off the barge. The guard, whose name remained unknown to them, still held his wicked grin as if it was eternally stuck to his face. He led them into the streets, past people who had begun looking...again. He marched ahead of them like he was their escort. When Ahna peered over her shoulder, she noticed a squad of ten more guards joining them. Houses here were like those in Ahnunak, except that they were taller, wider, and most of all, swarming with armed soldiers. Daranak was not only the capital. It was a military center, the main base of Mal’s army.
The name Sharr was not one to take lightly. The story went as all stories go: misshaped into inaccuracies and slowly evaporated into urban legends. Meriel Ahn Sharr and Thamias Son Sharr were the two heirs who had been taken away by a crazed mother, away from their father. The Duke of Mal had been betrayed by his wife. She had taken two thirds of their progeniture with her evil deed. Karlus had lost credibility and power that one fateful day from a past distant. But everybody obviously still answered to him. Mal was still bowing to his name. How he had regained his thousands of followers was still a mystery that eluded Ahna in the present.
And here they were, at the door of the Alcazar, the Fortress of Mal. Imperial guards in long red cloaks and cobalt spears stepped aside as the two siblings entered the fortress. For a short moment, they were alone, unaccompanied in the entrance hall adorned with decorative murals and lit by a hundred torches of Dwellunder flames.
Ahna only heard Thamias’s accelerated breath, short and paced. She put a delicate hand on his arm as a sign that she was there. And that she was not going to leave him again.
“You know I’m just here for whatever mission you’re on, right?” he asked softly, rhetorically, his amber gaze suddenly laid on her.
Ahna gave him a shy nod. “I know,” she whispered. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“It’s been over two hundred years for me, but I still remember these halls like they’ve been etched into my mind.” Thamias touched the mural of entwined silver and cobalt beside them. “Don’t ever ask me to come back here again.”
Two imperial guards appeared in the entrance hall before Ahna could answer. She and Thamias were led again into the large hallway past the foyer. They did not look around. They did not want to. Because ahead of th
em was the throne room, and they knew exactly who they were about to meet.
Maybe some things had changed, but the throne room itself looked the same. The Sharr throne was definitely a rival of Bravoure’s golden throne, even though it was just made of raw basalt. It stood on a circular, elevated platform at the edge of the hall, and upon it sat a figure they barely recognized. Ahna and Thamias approached, walking the white and blue carpet that felt rigid and cold. The figure motioned for them to come closer.
Ahna felt dread. Thamias felt rage. Entering these halls was like stepping straight into the past that chased them even in their dreams. Ahna forced her mind to stay on track, focusing on the mission instead of the rush in her blood. But her rapid breath was hauling her away. Her heart beat like a savage drum. The pain in her arms, because it had now spread to both her arms, was harrowing. She had to contain it but was unsure how long she could, how much more she could take. Thamias could better deal with this pinnacle of emotions by turning everything he felt into pure blunt wrath.
The figure stood, and the man who had sired them sauntered down the steps, his thin silver hair gathered at the nape of his neck with a single thread. He was tall, even taller than most elves on the surface. The man wore a tunic of boiled nightmare stallion leather under the long red imperial mantle. His dark blue skin did not shimmer from the fires surrounding him. His amber eyes had lost their undying glow.
Karlus Von Sharr was different. He looked old, but something in his appearance inspired the greatest of fears. Perhaps it was the dark veins that spread across his face like poison. Ahna only noticed them when Karlus was close enough. He smiled at her like he was both appalled and awed.
His brittle hand came to meet her face. Ahna’s bones quaked, but she could not let it show. She wanted to scream, to step away, but she was paralyzed. So she mustered all her courage and prepared for the contact.
Tempest of Bravoure Page 16
