Misanthropy (Born of the Phoenix Book 2)

by David Murray Forrester

“So, are you just going to let her kill our men and escape? What kind of cowardly act is that?” His words were bitter.

  “Truly, you are no tactician, Irons. Smart men know when to conserve their forces.” Stafford turned to one of his underlings. “Lieutenant Dans, have a rider sent to the Surangi outpost. Inform them of what has transpired here and ask them to hunt down the criminal in our stead as the task is beyond us.”

  “At once, My Lord.” After a stiff-backed salute, the lieutenant hurried away to fulfil his duty.

  “Since the Surangi are so eager to stamp out villainy, we will use them as tools to hunt this woman down. Why should we waste our own men and resources on a task we can delegate to another?”

  Irons grunted.

  “I’ll leave the rest of this to you, Sargent. If another incident occurs you are to do nothing until myself or another Commander arrives. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, I understand.” Irons skulked away, muttering harsh insults under his breath.

  Bodies of the fallen, covered in grey cloths were placed on stretches and carried into the city. Healers were not needed, for there were no wounded, only dead men. Civil workers poured buckets of sand onto the blood and brushed the refuse over the edge of the drawbridge with straw brooms. There was little talk amongst the weary, exchanging solemn glances as they laboured.

  “A right mess this is,” Warren said as he approached Irons, who nodded in response. “You sent for me?”

  “Aye, Warren. Get the boys together. We’re going hunting.”

  “What about the Commander?”

  “What about him?” Irons spat. “As far as anyone’s concerned, we’re just out for a bit o’ venison. If we should happen to cross paths with that woman, well, it’ll be sheer coincidence.”

  “I’ll collar the hounds.” With a cruel grin, Warren stepped away. Hunting people was far more satisfying than hunting animals.

  “We leave in an hour,” said Irons. Sure, the woman could defeat knights, but how well will she fare when pitted against ravenous hounds? Irons would see her pay dearly for the humiliation he suffered from the Commander. “Oh, Warren!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Have someone pay Colin Welhapp a visit. He has some silver for us, and a debt to be repaid.”

  “I know just the man.” A beating was in order, marvellous.

  Chapter 15

  Decorated in golden diamonds, the python paused in the reed grass. Its tongue flickered. Fur, the warmth of blood. Prey was close. As water, the snake flowed through the grass, gaining on its target. Gnawing on the thickest blades, the rabbit was oblivious to the oncoming peril. Patient, methodical, striking at the perfect moment, the python claimed its meal. The rabbit ensnared by fang and jaw. The trophy of a successful hunt.

  “Beat me to the punch,” Crystal lowered her throwing knife. Despite her hunger, she conceded defeat and left the snake to its prize, for she was but a guest in its homeland.

  The landscape was flat. Paltry clumps of trees grew scattered. A region for rodents and birds of prey. Lost, famished, Crystal wandered. Heading in whichever direction appeared most promising. Muttering as she walked, Crystal cursed mankind, blaming the town guards for her current predicament.

  Afflicted with soulful disruption, the innate patience of Crystal’s disposition was nowhere to be found. Fitful and tense, her hands trembled with rage as she walked. Crystal mused. She remembered those same hands being stoic. Now, they were mirrors. A deep breath. Slow exhale. Still, they shook. Brawls came to mind. Bloody fists. Broken bones. With Akella as a sister, growing up weak was not an option. Years of rivalry, victory, defeat, it was a game. A game which forged the pair into fearsome warriors. Champions. Crystal had lived for battle, waking up every morning hungry for competition and improvement until one day, desire for love became her fuel. Her strength was no longer her foundation, Johnathon was. His shoulders held both the world and the future. Arms unwavering. As memories arose, Crystal’s breathing came fast and shallow. Anger surfaced, her crazed scream echoed across the plains.

  Unabating hunger plagued Crystal as she rested against a tree, watching flames consume the wood in her small campfire. Earlier, she came upon a stream, yet water could not satisfy the grumbling of her stomach. Dusk was turning to night. Costal winds swept across the land.

  Hounds barked in the distance. Crystal stood up. There came the sounds of horses and men. Ominous silhouettes approaching in rapid succession. Following Crystal’s scent trail, the hounds lead their masters straight to their mark. Frenzied, excited, they surrounding Crystal, pacing ceaselessly. Heads low, they growled with pitiless eyes, waiting for the command to attack.

  Horses amassed. Soldiers directed their spears towards Crystal while others took aim with their arbalests.

  “Didn’t get very far did you, Blondy!” Irons sneered. Surrounded, she could not escape. Eager for bloodshed, he imagined the hounds seizing her, tearing apart flesh, gnawing, biting. Victory, a word away.

  Paying no heed to the hounds, Crystal eyed the soldiers before turning her gaze to Irons. She remembered his face from the bridge. “Thank you for bringing me horses. Walking was getting quite tiresome.” She patted her empty stomach. “Did you happen to bring any food as well?”

  Apathy, whether warranted or delusional, Crystal exuded it. Piles of bodies. Sheets stained with blood. Envisioning the fallen at the gate, Warren tightened his grip on the spear shaft, hoping he had made the right choice in following Irons.

  “My-my, what a cheeky little bugger you are, aye.” Clearly, defeating the knights on the bridge made the wench arrogant. “This ain’t gonna go down the same as last time. You’re not facing the straight-laced town guard now. These are my lads. Real killers. A waif like you ain’t nothing. But, what am I saying? The hounds will have you, they will. Won’t be nothing left once they’re finished.”

  “You think so?” Veiled in shadow, there was no expression on Crystal’s face. Wind tussled her hair. Crystal’s tone haunting as she spoke. “Get on with it then. I want to get these hounds out of the way so I can get to the business of killing you.”

  ‘Eager to die, this one.’ Irons was happy to oblige. “Skitch’er!”

  Savagery Unleashed. Ferocious, lethal, the hounds were lost to the bloodlust of the command. Snarling, they lunged.

  “Heel!” An oppressing roar. Violent. Abrupt. The hounds quavered. Their onslaught halted. With lowered heads, they cowered at Crystal’s feet. “Home!” She took a step forwards with dominate authority, the hounds submitted. “Go on, get!” Crystal pointed. The hounds scattered.

  Pack animals, raised by cruelty obeyed not their master but the one whom commanded dominion over their will with unquestionable strength. The nature of submission.

  Irons’ disbelief, met with a glare of mocking and disdain. Crystal advanced on Irons’ force. After the fight on the bridge, Belos’ka felt homely, her movements fluid as she chained attacks together, reaping carnage throughout the band of hardened soldiers. Joyfully, she pursued the final coward who after falling from his horse, attempted to flee on foot.

  ****

  “Commander,” Lieutenant Dans entered Stafford’s office. “We have a report that Sergeant Irons took a detachment of men and is using hounds to pursue the woman from the bridge incident.”

  “I expected as much.” Putting down his paperwork, Stafford placed his quill in its silver stand. “Did he take his own men, or soldiers from the guard?”

  “Men from his own garrison, Ser.”

  “Good.” The hour was getting late. Time for a drink at the tavern before returning home to his beloved family. Rising from his chair, Stafford walked out into the hallway, Dans in tow. “That solves one problem, then.”

  “Ser?”

  “All this paperwork, Dans. I was preparing a tribunal to have Irons dismissed from duty. Those officials won’t give me a mandate without providing a dossier to satisfy their protocols. Damn bureaucrats.” It was frustrating, being a Commander but
still needing permission to govern his own regiment. “But, I don’t need to worry about it anymore. Irons won’t be returning.”

  A true statement. ‘Good riddance.’

  “You’re next in line for promotion, Dans. Congratulations. I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow and then command over the guards at the gatehouse will be yours.”

  “Thank you, Commander.” An early advancement, well deserved. “There was one more thing, Commander.”

  “Oh. What is it?”

  “I had a few soldiers discreetly follow Mr Welhapp as you ordered and just as you predicted, he was set upon by a group of thugs.”

  “I knew Irons wouldn’t leave the poor fellow alone.” Stubborn and brutish, Irons was an easy man to anticipate. Wounded pride demanded retaliation. “Was Mr Welhapp injured?”

  “No, Ser. The thugs were apprehended and taken into custody.”

  “Splendid.” Glad to hear the assault was foiled and Welhapp unharmed, Stafford allowed himself a smile. There was nothing for it. With the head removed, it was time to dispose of the corpse. “Dans, have the prisoners sent to the gallows. I want them executed tonight.”

  “As you command, Ser.”

  “That will be all then. See you on the morrow, Sergeant.”

  Chapter 16

  The lantern bathed Kasbin in a sphere of light as he walked mindfully through the dark passages of the tower. Clutching at the collar of his robe, the soft material gave his mind comfort, for the nightmares which had awoken him still plagued his mind, bringing great unease. Horrible visions of death. Visions he, as a clairvoyant, knew would come to pass. The extremity of his vision urged him into action. The dream was a precursor. Terrifying. Absolute. Rising from bed, his first action was to consult his tarot cards, hoping beyond hope that death was merely a change, rebirth, a cycle. Anxiety grew within him as each card he overturned foretold doom. This horror could not wait till morning, it needed to be addressed with all haste and so, in this late hour, he made his way to the Chamber of Queens.

  “My Lady?” Kasbin knocked gently at the door. Being the middle of the night, he was considerate in his way of waking her. His knock and pitch rising ever so slightly as he continued his attempts to gain a response.

  Roused by the tapping and muffled voice, Zoe awoke. Drowning in the opulence of her bed, she was reluctant to arise. Whose voice is that? Kasbin’s? Star light flooded the room. Naked, she sat up, yawning.

  “Come in, Kasbin,” she said, reaching for her night gown.

  The door creaked open. “Sorry to disturb you at such an hour, My Lady.”

  “It’s fine, my friend. Come, sit beside me on the bed and tell me what’s on your mind.” Zoe knew Kasbin wouldn’t have awoken her unless the need was dire. The fearful greyness shadowing his face concerned her.

  Meeting her eyes, Kasbin saw her thoughts mirrored in them. He nodded. “You’re right in your assumptions, Zoe. Unfortunately, I must be the bearer of ill omens.”

  “What have you foreseen?”

  “Terrible things. The death of us all, I’m afraid.”

  Great unease was in his voice. Zoe empathised, a clairvoyant’s curse to bear witness to horrors yet to pass was a heavy and taxing burden. Countless of his ilk descended into madness. Only those with true fortitude had the resilience to remain unbroken, yet their minds remained forever scarred.

  “Just our deaths? That’s nothing to be concerned about.” Rising, Zoe crossed the room and stood by a table lined with bottles and elegant glasses. Kasbin smiled, appreciating her sarcastic humour. After filling two cups with a pungent green liquid, she returned. “Here, dark times require strong drink.”

  Fruity, tart, with an aftertaste which warmed his throat. “Partane, aged fifty years.” Kasbin took another sip, the rare liquor soothing his unease.

  “It’s quite nice, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” Kasbin lowered his cup and taking a deep breath, prepared himself to tell the tale. “I dreamt of fire, death and blood. The whole valley was razed. The Larrosan flag was torn and laying under the mangled bodies of our warriors. Analetta, a broken ruin. The feathers of your wings were scattered and your corpse...” the word was bitter in his mouth. Painful to speak aloud. “Desecrated.”

  The destruction of Lorewell, the Larrosan slaughtered and the unleashing of her divinity. Truly, a horrible force was coming their way. Zoe had resisted the urge to embrace her angel form for centuries, what foe could push her to such limits?

  “I awoke terrified, hoping beyond hope that the death meant a new beginning. Dreams are oft misleading. Death is life and life is death.” From his pocket, Kasbin withdrew his tarot cards. “So, I consulted the cards.” His faced was downturned as he revealed the first card.

  The Scorned Woman. Tears of blood streamed down a face contorted in violent rage. A card of wrath and brutality.

  “I found this to be the hardest card to both place and read. I don’t fully understand its meaning and fear it has deeper implications than it lets on. The second card however, I knew straight away.”

  The Moon Spear. A righteous blade. The bane of evil. A hero card of hope and strength which protects men in their hour of darkness.

  “I have drawn this card many times in my readings. The Moon Spear, I associate this card with one woman, Tairrie, The Ruiner. Now, at first, I was relieved to have drawn this card. A powerful ally to help us, so I thought, until I drew the next card.”

  The Breaking Wheel. Horrific pain and cruelty. Unbiased. The wheel punishes both the wicked and virtuous by the will of its master.

  “This is to be Tairrie’s death, at the hands of the Scorned Woman.”

  “Tairrie’s going to die?” A valiant hero. Tairrie is hated by many nefarious circles. Countless enemies wish to see her dead. “What has her death got to do with us and the ruin of the valley? How are they connected?”

  Kasbin drew the next card.

  Twilight Fog. An unforeseen force harbouring malice and ill will. A veil concealing those who wish you harm.

  “This is the shadow which blocks my vision. I am denied clarity and must rely on conjecture, which in readings leads to many mistakes. I may not be able to see who our enemy is, or fully understand the cards, but I can tell you what is coming.”

  The Marching Army. An unrelenting force of destruction. Reapers of death. Those who trample the land crushing all underfoot.

  “An army? An army of men is going to march on Lorewell?” Zoe frowned. Many Larrosan had returned to Lorewell after having heard news of Valomere’s destruction and the ending of the king’s reign. Their lives were now at risk. There weren’t enough fighting men to defend the valley from onslaught.

  Kasbin placed the final card.

  The Fountain of Sorrow. A heavenly fountain, tainted and putrid with blight water. A crestfallen hero knelt at its base. A card of defeat and regret.

  Moving to the window, Zoe stared out across the valley. The ruined colosseum was surrounded by scaffolding. For weeks, Larrosan men had been hard at labour, breaking apart the stone to forge bricks which were to be used in the rebuilding of their city. In time, the Valley of the Fallen would return to its former glory. Zoe could not stand to see their efforts be undone. Entrusted with the responsibility of leadership, it was Zoe’s duty to protect the Larrosan people.

  “What do I do, Kasbin?”

  “Although the omens are dark, there is still hope. That hope lies in the falling of the cards.”

  “The falling of the cards?”

  Tapping the Moon Spear card, he looked to Zoe. “Tairrie appears before the Marching Army, which is a big deal. Somehow, for reasons I still don’t truly understand, her death is linked with our destruction, which means, if we prevent her from dying, we might be able to save the valley.”

  “But we have no idea where she is or when she’s going to die? It could take weeks to search Sapphiron for her. How long do we have before this unknown army moves against us?”

  “I don’t know?” he shr
ugged. “But, there is a way to find her quickly, with magic. It will take me a day or so to prepare the spell.”

  “Alright, so after we find Tairrie, then what?”

  “Good question.” Kasbin, studied the cards. Willing the answer to appear before him. It did not. “I would suggest bringing her here. But that could lead to her death? It could be the catalyst which leads to our downfall. I don’t know how we should proceed.” Picking up the Twilight Fog card, Kasbin scowled. It was preventing him from seeing and making him second guess his decisions.

  “Don’t think about it for now. Hopefully, it will come to you later.” Zoe was confident they could change the fate of Lorewell. They just had to take it one step at a time. “Let’s concentrate on this army for a moment.” She scratched at her chin. “What enemy would seek to destroy us?”

  “What about the Surangi? Recently, they seized control of Engalia.”

  “No, we don’t have to worry about the Surangi, they have no interest in conquest. It was King Balester who sealed Engalia’s fate.” Zoe tapped the side of her glass as she pondered. “The only real enemy I can think of, are the remnants of King Pradosse’s legion, but I can’t see them mustering the courage to march against us? Or, having a large enough army to defeat us.”

  “It could be them? It is possible they found new allies. I did hear that the Scarlet Blades have abandoned their garrisons and have been seen heading east to regroup.”

  “Lorewell would be a good starting place for the Scarlet Blades to rebuild their forces. We’re in a strategic position and we have plenty of resources,” said Zoe.

  “Well, nothing’s certain,” began Kasbin. “But if we are dealing with the Scarlet Blades, we have a starting point to begin mounting our defences.”

  The Scarlet Blades are a ruthless and tactful horde. Zoe would need a formidable army to stand against their might. Her eyes glistened. She knew the perfect men for the job. “At first light, I’ll ride to Howlstone and seek aid from the Men of Dawn. They’re an expensive mercenary company, but well worth every piece of gold.”