Warrior of the Void (Fantastica Book 4)

by M. R. Mathias

  "I didn't mean to startle you," he said. "I only made the noise so that you weren't completely taken by surprise."

  "I wish I didn't believe you," said Braxton. "You can move entirely too quiet in the forest."

  Cryelos just grinned and went about making a fire to cook his kill.

  "I wasn't sure before, but now I know." Braxton spoke to both the knight and the elf. "We must go to the Island of Skorch and find the Staff of Aevilin, especially if the King of Ormandin is going to give up this orb for his daughter's life. If the Drar is released, then the staff is our only weapon against it and its followers."

  "The magic tapestry?" Cryelos asked Braxton.

  "Yes, I think it's the Drar coming out of his crypt, and as strange as it sounds, Cryelos, I think it is you standing there holding the staff."

  "What tapestry?" Sir Jory asked before the astounded elf could respond.

  "There's a tapestry back at Grey Rock keep," Braxton answered. "They say it was made by a madwoman from some distant land and that it depicts a battle that happened thousands of years ago, but they are wrong. That tapestry was made by some sort of seer and it depicts a scene that has yet to happen. At least I think it does. The one thing that was repeated in all of the legends, prophecies, and stories that I read in your lord's library was that the Drar can only be resurrected on midsummer's day. And I suppose, only at night."

  “Or in the dark of a storm,” Cryelos offered.

  "That explains the hurry they are in to get the orb," said Sir Jory with a deep sigh. "Midsummer is less than a turn of the moon away."

  "Have you read the true prophecy?" Cryelos asked Braxton. "The one written in the same runes as your maps. It is written in the border of the tapestry."

  Braxton hadn't caught that, and he remembered the elf had been about to show him something about the symbols when Russen came to fetch them to the feast a few nights previous.

  "No, I have not, but it seems I should," Braxton replied.

  "What about the princess?" Sir Jory asked.

  "If we can get the staff before the orb gets into the hands of the darkons, then maybe we can foil the exchange and save her," Braxton suggested hopefully.

  Braxton had seen who he now thought was the princess lying dead, her heart cut from her body, behind the altar in the tapestry, but he held his tongue about it. Not only did he want to avoid disheartening or discouraging Sir Jory, but he was of the belief that any prophesy yet to happen could be changed. If they could keep the orb out of the hands of Drar's minions, then the scene in the tapestry wouldn't be possible.

  "If we could convince King Stronick to stall the exchange, that is if he will even give up this orb for her," Sir Jory said more to himself than the others. "No, with Prince Trovin dead, I don't think he would risk Trava." He looked up at Braxton intensely. "Personally, I would rather face this Drar than risk the princess's life."

  "The princess's life is already at risk," Cryelos said to the knight plainly. He held out half a charred rabbit to him. He offered the other half to Braxton. "More than likely, we will have to face the Drar anyway," he finished after they each took their food.

  The ogres came just before dawn. They crept to the edge of trees, and all three of them stood looking dumbfounded at the little human girl curled up on the sparkling moonlit rock. It looked like the rock was cradling her. One of them grew brave and took a few steps toward her. She is young and healthy and would make a good stew, he thought as he reached for her leg. He didn't notice the rock she was laying on slowly swelling in size, but one of his companions did.

  "Ook, Krol, ook, ook," the other ogre whispered the warning through clenched teeth, but it was already too late. The two ogres by the trees were blinded by the crackling yellow blast of Cobalt's breath. When the bright flash subsided, a large line of grass and a few trees were on fire and all that was left of the ogre that tried to grab Chureal was a smoldering foot and a chunk of flaming, unrecognizable char smaller than a man's torso. Cobalt's long, low growl filled the silent predawn and the two remaining ogre's charged, one with a club raised high, the other aiming a long iron-tipped spear at the dragon.

  They were too far apart to get with one breath, so Cobalt blasted the one carrying the spear. The club struck him in the head mid-spew, and he only partially scorched his target. Still, the arm and shoulder of the huge green creature was now only fleshless bone, and the ogre fell to the ground howling in pain.

  The other ogre's second swing was coming for the dragon's tender snout hard and true, and Cobalt could clearly see the sharp metal spikes sticking out of the huge piece of oak. All he could do was close his eyes and take the blow. When he clenched them and waited, he found the impact never came. He opened his eyes again, and Chureal stood there, pointing at the wide-eyed ogre who was hovering helplessly a dozen feet off the ground and slowly moving toward the edge of the cliff. As soon as he was over nothing but a few hundred feet of air, she let him fall, and then ran to Cobalt and hugged his neck.

  The ogre's first blow had busted one of Cobalt's stubby black horns. It was hanging by a piece of scaly flesh. After Chureal let go, he raised his head and shook it like a dog shedding water until the broken horn tore free and went sailing into the woods.

  "Climb onto me little one," he said to her.

  She did as she was told, and though it hurt him greatly, Cobalt leapt off the cliff and glided down into the open bailey yard of Grey Rock Keep.

  They were promptly surrounded by startled archers and torch bearers, but luckily no one loosed at them. Sammani was summoned to tend to Chureal, and Sir Lyken of the night watch was kind enough to feed Cobalt while Lord Amicuss, who woke due to the sound of the alarm horns blowing moments before, when an ogre crashed from the sky into the Wood Haven, was made aware of her and the dragon's return.

  His eagerness to hear about his niece wouldn't allow him the patience to wait until morning, but the lord was gracious and gentle when questioning Chureal.

  She told him of the darkons that snatched them and hauled them up a wall, and of Cobalt's attempt to save them both, and how Braxton, Sir Jory, and Cryelos were out tracking them.

  Lord Amicuss ate his morning meal with little hope for Trava's hasty return. The changed ones were faster and stronger than normal men. He had tremendous faith in Sir Jory's ability with a sword, but the knight was no tracker, and no match for one of those things. He had held off sending a bird to his brother, the king, but now felt compelled to do so. If Sir Jory, Braxton, and the strange elf happened to get lucky and save her, then another bird could always be dispatched. With tear-filled eyes, Lord Amicuss dictated to Master Gilbert the sorrowful tale of Prince Trovan's death and the taking of Princess Trava. After three identical copies were penned to assure that at least one would make it all the way through to war-ravaged Ormandin, the birds were sent. Three with Lord Amicuss's message, and another with an entirely different one.

  Later that afternoon, when Braxton, Cryelos, and Sir Jory returned to the cliff where they had left Chureal and Cobalt, they happened upon the half-charred body of the ogre and inspected it. The loin cloth it wore was made from wolf skin, and in its belt pouch there were several small carved bones and a necklace made of dried animal parts on a gut string.

  It was Cryelos who saw the mark on the thing's tree trunk thick green-skinned neck.

  "What is it?" Braxton asked.

  "A tattoo," Sir Jory replied. "Or the likes of one. Many of our sailors get them to show what ship or company they belong to."

  "This is no sailor," Cryelos half-joked. "The mark is a circle with lines coming out of it in all directions."

  "The mark of the sun," Braxton said, and instantly wondered how he had known that.

  "There's another one over here," Sir Jory pointed. "Well, what's left of one. A foot and an arm maybe."

  Braxton walked toward the edge of the trees and picked up the piece of Cobalt's broken horn. It was as big as his forearm and its tip deathly sharp. Its presence alarmed him, f
or if the dragon was hurt, Chureal might be, too. "Cobalt took wounds," he said and threw the piece of black horn to Cryelos. "Chureal might be hurt, too, so I'm going down."

  "We will lower you," said Sir Jory.

  "There's no need," Braxton replied. He closed his eyes and sought out the void. Suddenly, he was the white falcon, but unlike before, his soul wasn't split. He was wholly the bird and his human body was nowhere to be seen.

  "I hope you can climb down that rope," Cryelos said with a worried look on his face. "I think I can manage to, but I know I can't lower you down.

  "I'll lower you down elf," Sir Jory said proudly. "I could scale the cliff without the rope."

  "Well, either way, use the rope," said Cryelos. "I have a strong feeling we will need your sword on the Island of Skorch."

  Chapter Eleven

  The darkons hadn't needed to use the rope lift, Princess Trava remembered. They climbed straight up the wall like four legged spiders. Their wild, reptilian eyes glowed yellow, amber, and red, even in the cloudy daylight, as they went. They wore loose fitting grey garments the same color as the rocky cliff, at least she had thought so at first. Later, once they were above the stronghold, they beat their clothing, which turned out to be black smeared with grey ash. Even their naturally pale skin and hair had been colored.

  Chureal tried to do something, and one of them yelped in pain, but the big one, with the one black and red eye and the dark scars running over his head, had knocked her out of the horse's saddle with a savage blow to the side of her little head.

  She hoped Chureal was all right. Later, up on the cliff in the wagon, she gave a cheer when the dragon came swooping in to save them, but her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach when the dragon crashed into the forest while carrying Chureal in his claw. She had prayed for the little girl and the dragon's souls because the crash was so loud and violent, one if not both of them had surely been killed.

  She remembered the look on the big darkon's normal eye when he saw her face. She knew who he was, and that he just realized that he'd never captured the real princess out on the plains. He'd been tricked then, and that only fueled his anger. The long shiny dagger he held in his hand when he bolted over the edge and down the cliff was covered in blood when he returned. More frightening than the blood was the look of satisfaction on his evil, fanged face. Princess Trava could see the hatred in his good eye, but the other one only reflected black death with a pinpoint of blood colored rage. The female in the group held her in some magical grip, as icy as winter steel. She could only watch as Chureal's limp body was drug up the cliff on the rope, her pretty young face bumping and scraping as she went. She was thankful that the little girl was unconscious. It was a small consolation to be sure, but Trava didn't think she could have held up if she had to see the fear in Chureal's eyes as well as feel the fear within her.

  She tried to ask what was happening, but her mouth wouldn't move.

  Hold your tongue, the darka's voice whisked through her head like a cold gust of wind. She wanted to scream and kick out or run, but all she could do was watch.

  When her turn had come, they strapped her into the harness, and she wasn't even able to put her hands up to block the jagged rocks from banging and scraping at her body as they hauled her up. Close, on either side of her, darkons scaled up the wall as if their hands and feet needed no steps or hand holds to climb. They didn't hesitate or scrabble. They didn't have to. One of them even turned himself head down to check on those coming up behind them. That one looked at her hungrily and growled, and Princess Trava had been so unnerved in the moment that she squeezed her eyes shut until she felt the rough wood of the wagon under her body. The soft warm flesh of Chureal was leaned against her before she could open them again, but the little girl was still unconscious.

  They'd been carried a long way from the cliff before the darka let loose her icy grasp so that she could move herself about. Her mind was reeling, and she was confused. Instinctually, she screamed for help. Her calls only served to startle the birds from the trees and incite laughter among the changed ones, for no one was there to hear her. Then the dragon came and scattered them with his sizzling breath. After snatching Chureal, he'd taken a spear, then the darka howled furiously and made a clapping motion. Trava didn't hear it, but she felt a wave sweep past her, causing the trees to lean in a ripple away from where she stood. Trava hadn't seen all of Cobalt's crash, but she heard the trees cracking and snapping. The wagon was on fire, though, so they abandoned it.

  They put her on a horse riding in front of the female darka, and they rode as fast as the horses could go. She remembered that two or three of the darkons had been on foot, but had kept up with them, running on all fours like beasts, sometimes swinging from limb to limb like the hairy, long-armed monkels that lived in the wood haven in her father's castle back in Ormandin. Those thoughts made her sad, and she started to cry in the saddle. She hoped her father could save her. He had hundreds of brave knights under his command. She knew Sir Jory would come, but he was only one. With the dragon and Chureal possibly dead, Lord Braxton and the elf would surely be on their way. They seemed to have an agenda that was greater than rescuing princesses over and over again. She hoped they would come to avenge their friends and save her again in the process, though. She had to hope for something.

  She wondered what it was about High Wizard Jorvan's orb that made Prince Venom want it so badly. She also wondered why her father hadn't waged war on Perdun as well as on Pelonia, but then something that was missing struck her like a blow from a hammer. That place inside her where she always felt the comforting presence of her twin was hollow. She felt nothing there. The place was empty, and her silent crying turned quickly into racking sobs.

  The idea that he was gone from her for good wouldn't leave her. The big darkon with the scarred head had gone into the keep for something and came back out covered in blood. It had to have been her brother’s blood.

  Suddenly, she leaned over the saddle and vomited. The reality of what had taken place was clear. They killed her brother, the Prince of Ormandin, the little girl, and the dragon, all without a thought. Even if her father and the old wizard gave up the orb, she was probably dead, as well. She heaved again and noticed that the darka slowed the lathered horses to a trot.

  It was almost full dark, and they had been riding hard for most of the day. The darkon men around her were looking at her with hungry eyes. She was more afraid than she'd ever been in her life. She would've thought that it couldn't be possible to be any more afraid, but when the darka led their horse up into a rocky cave, and she saw two ogres sitting there feeding on a freshly killed human woman, she realized the fear had only just begun.

  She was led past the bloody faced ogres deep into the cavern. There was no light for her to see by, but she occasionally caught a glimpse of red or amber flashing eyes. The presence of a cold, clammy hand on her upper arm never left, guiding her through the blackness. It was the darka, she knew. The female's eyes were more orange than the rest, and she had a smell about her like spring flowers with the rot of an autumn forest mixed in.

  They eventually came to a chamber. It was large and square, carved from the very rock around them. Torches flickered and sputtered against the walls, but their light wasn't really necessary, for in the center of the room was an archway of twisted silver hands. Alive and writhing, the hands reached, rubbed, and squeezed at each other up the column's they formed, and in arm's reach overhead, they came together forming an open archway. Inside the arch was a sheen of icy blue translucence that hummed and crackled and filled the room with its pale blue light. Occasionally, a sizzling pop of yellow would burst on its surface and ripple away like a calm pond does when a pebble breaks its surface.

  Princess Trava didn't have time to take in much else, only the intricate carvings on the walls and the stone statues in each of the four corners of the room. Whether they were of men or darkons, she couldn't tell, for the darka led her up and through the blue glo
wing field in the archway.

  The icy blue stuff felt more like raw summer sunlight on her skin when she stepped through into blackness. For a long while, all she felt was a cool wind blowing over her and the darka’s hand gripping her bicep. Her eyes were open, but there was nothing to see, only vast deep blackness that seemed to have no end. Then she felt the light on her again, and everything flashed blue, then her eyes were shocked by the deep dancing reds and yellows of another torchlit room. Only in this chamber, sitting on top of dais in a throne of iron and wood was the someone, or something, she now knew as Prince Venom.

  "Everything went well, I hope," he growled to the darka at Trava's side. His eyes never met hers, nor did she want them to.

  "Hush my pet," another woman's voice came from behind the prince. "Darka-Zon and Captain Skallin, you've done well." Trava heard a grunt behind her and turned to see the scar-headed darkon with the one black eye. Slobber was dripping from his chin and landed on her shoulder.

  "Leave her to me," Darka-Xera continued. "Return to oversee the destruction of Grey Rock."

  She reached out with her mind and gripped Princess Trava by her spine with her icy magic. "I do not trust the ogres and their rock crusher to finish the job unsupervised."

  She was different than the darka who had brought her. She had orange eyes and radiated power as she gracefully walked forward and stopped before Skallin. She trailed a black painted fingernail down his chest. "Go finish your vengeance, Skallin. The dragon still lives, as does the white bird and the elf." Then she turned to Darka-Zon. "A message must be sent so that none will oppose us at Mount Preal."

  "Yes, Darka-Xera." The lesser darka nodded obediently, then took Skallin by the arm and led him back through the arch of silver hands behind them.

  Princess Trava tried to voice her terror and plead mercy for the innocent people of Ormandin housed at Grey Rock Keep, but words failed her. All she could do was cry and worry, and even that was difficult, for she was nearly out of tears.