“You believe we are honored to sneak out to a brothel in an effort to retrieve a drunken fool?” Cono shook his head with a laugh.
“Mark my word, Silas has plans for us,” Totus replied. “You, my friend, are the best swordsmen at the Citadel and you’re only a Fledgling. A smart man is known by the company he keeps. A commander by his men.”
Totus did not need to finish his thought. Cono had heard the same. Silas was strong where Axel was foolish. Unlike his brother, Silas had aligned himself with the most promising cadets, commanding their respect by his own actions.
“It’s time.” Cono looked upward. “The guards have gone.”
“I’d race you,” Totus joked. “But I fear I would be left in your wake.”
Cono’s wings curled out, his feathers flowing lightly in the wind. He gestured with his hand. “After you.”
* * * *
Cono landed outside a ramshackle building that served as a brothel that found favor with most of the Citadel’s cadets, including the prince. Axel was rumored to have many paramours.
Allowing Totus to enter first, Cono walked into the large vaulted common room. There were no stairs to the loft filled with engaging rooms. The whores serviced only Sordarins, who would fly their chosen escort to the loft.
This was not the first time he had come to retrieve Axel. More often than not, the Earl Marshal sent one of his Fledglings to find the wayward prince. Over time, Cono had learned that Axel would be found in a private suite he rented for himself.
Neither he nor Totus needed to be shown the way.
Traipsing through the crowded common outer-room, Cono ignored the young woman who slithered up to his side, running her hand up his armored chest. She was a pretty girl wrapped in wisps of translucent silk, laughing at the lack of attention Cono gave her.
Prancing over to Totus, she ran her fingers through his brown hair. He rounded her waist and kissed her on the lips.
“Ah, my pretty, not tonight.” Totus smiled. “But you will save yourself for me.”
“But of course, my warrior.”
Totus laughed, watching her maneuver toward her next prey. His eyes fixed on her swaying hips.
“Concentrate on the task at hand,” Cono warned. “I do not need to drag two out of this brothel.”
“You know what your problem is, my friend? You are too serious by half.”
“I’m not of your concern,” Cono countered. “Count yourself fortunate that I am the sensible one. Someone needs to be.”
“On that, I will not argue.”
In the far corner, a fire burned. By the hearth, girls sat upon their guests and pressed themselves against their soon-to-be lovers. From the corner of Cono’s eye, he noticed a shapely wench walking toward the doors of Axel’s suite. Two sentries stood on opposite sides of the entry.
One of the sentries reached over to the handle of the door, but hesitated when he caught sight of Cono and Totus. “Prince Axel is needed?”
“His unit is about to depart. Prince Silas sent us.” Cono gestured for him to open the door. In the same motion, he halted the whore’s progress. “Another day.”
Her eyes flared, but she made no protest. Cono moved passed the woman, slinging a coin in her direction. She huffed, no doubt a great deal less than a night with the prince, but a little was better than nothing.
Leaving the sounds of music and raucous laughter behind, Cono walked inside the special suite for the prince. An ornate oil lamp gave the only light to the room. Cono saw the prince on the sagging mattress.
The drunken prince lay naked across a buxom young wench. Pouring wine from his cup over her breast, he proceed to lick it up.
Giggling, the wench said, “Your Grace, we have company.”
“Come in, come in…,” Axel’s words faded into the air as he turned to face his guests. He drained his cup. Wine dribbling down his chin, he belched loudly. “Ah, my brother’s henchmen! Is my life chained to be my brother’s keeper…no…no…I’m not the keeper…he’s my keeper?”
Cono sighed at the drunken man. “Your Grace, your brother requests your immediate presence.”
Throwing his empty goblet across the room, Axel crawled over to the edge of the bed, flapping his wings against his whores. “Out of my way!” He pushed one of the girls out of the bed. “I have a message for my rash brother. He needs a reminder of who is…heir.”
Unabashed, the prince stood naked before the messengers. Not a handsome man, he was a head shorter than Cono, stout with pudgy jowls. Moreover, in a drunken fit, he had shaved his hair, the pride and glory of most Sordarins.
“I beg Your Grace’s pardon, I am only a lowly messenger.” Cono bowed his head.
“That I have no doubt, Cono the Lankan Warrior. Yes…I know well who you are…I have heard that you feel you have been wrongly treated by your own…that you are out to prove all wrong…”
“I want only to serve my king, Your Grace.”
Axel smirked. “But of course…and my brother.”
“And you, Your Grace,” Cono interjected, knowing well he was treading on dangerous waters. He had learned there was no reasoning with a drunk. “Prince Silas requests your presence. The King’s Wings are flying out on a mission within the hour.”
“What sort of mission does my brother believe I need to be a part of?”
“His exact message—tell my brother his reign is coming to an end before it begins.”
The words sobered the prince, silencing his irritation at being disturbed. He murmured to himself, “Gawds be, they have been found!”
* * * *
Cono waited to escort Prince Axel straightaway to his brother. The prince had not worn the proper attire to fly, but time was of the essence. Axel dressed as he had come with no belt to sheath a sword nor a sword to sheath. No mail to protect his chest, nor helm, his head.
It was not Cono’s worry.
Withdrawing from the brothel brought no attention. Such a common occurrence turned no eyes.
He held the door open until the prince’s entourage had exited into the dark, dank alley. Without waiting for formation, the guards secured His Grace under his arms and took to the air.
Cono, too, readied, but suddenly his blood ran cold as ice. His chest made not a breath. He felt a presence.
He turned to see an old hag.
Thin and frail, she wore a ragged cloak over a tattered dress. Her hood pulled across her wrinkled worn face. Her long nails raked over her weathered hands, but her eyes…her eyes shone a brilliant blue.
“Listen well, Cono, the mighty, for you have been blessed with counsel that will not come again— a bright light cometh that will not be seen. Take heed that the light does not go out. For it gives to us courage when the darkness falls…” She reached out and touched his arm.
A sharp pain shot through him.
He tried to jerk back his arm, but to no avail.
He couldn’t move.
“Take your hands from me, old woman!”
She gave no notice of his demand. “It is you who has been chosen. It is you who will answer if you falter.” Her words said, a silence fell.
As her eyes closed, she slowly withdrew her hand. Then, faded from sight.
Immediately, Cono could move again. He looked one way, then another. She had disappeared, but a pain still seared his arm.
He had no time for the prattling of an old woman. He flew into the night and landed in the middle of the bailey beside Totus. The King’s Wings set ready in formation.
“Silas is castigating Axel in front of all the company. I have never seen him do so publicly. This must be grave, indeed,” Totus said.
The order came to ready. Silas signaled for Totus and Cono to come to his side. Obeying, Cono walked in front of the King’s Wings to Silas’s side. Behind him, fleogans had been brought out for the mission. Strange indeed to include the flying horses.
“What is this?” Silas demanded, grabbing hold of Cono’s arm. He held it out. “By Hades!
You have been marked by the heavens.”
Shocked, Cono stared at his forearm. He had been branded—a figure of three spirals spinning had emerged. Shaking his head, he said, “I know nothing, only the foolish gibbering of an old woman, when I exited the brothel. I don’t know whence this came.”
“But there is no denying its existence,” Silas declared. “When we return, we will confer with the Elders. Until then, fly beside me.”
Glancing back, Cono wondered if the orders needed to be cleared by the Earl Marshall. He exchanged looks with Totus, who stood dazed at the events that had unfolded.
There was no time.
The King’s Wings took to the sky.
Not knowing the mission, nor whence they went, Cono flew into position beside Prince Silas.
Kela
The Euchoun
The night was brilliant, magnified by a cloudless sky lit with a full moon with stars sparkling in the heavens. The air was still filled with the sounds of the forest. Crickets chirped, distant wolves howled and water rushing from the Kampar, giving way to a semblance of a peaceful evening.
A façade.
Sareta had told Kela, “They come.”
A fortnight had passed since their encounter with the royal hunting party. The make-shift family had not been idle…they had prepared…at least the best they could.
Now was the wait.
Fire blazed in the hearth at the far end of the chamber, filling the air with its warmth. But the heat had done little to vanquish the chill that had settled in Kela’s chest.
Turstan, the once mighty warrior, paced restlessly before the shuttered windows. More than once, he checked his sword’s edge, the steel sharp and piercing. His pitted, scarred face concealed by a long, heavy beard was softened most times by kind eyes. Now his eyes remained grave and attentive. His body rigid with tension.
Falco seemed prepared, confident. Kela expected little else from her brother. He seemed certain the time had come to make a stand. To fight for his birthright, giving little thought to the danger ahead.
Guilda fed the fire and boiled water for Sareta’s tea. Her hands trembling so badly that Falco had to take the pot from the fire and pour the water himself. He gave her a reassuring smile. To Kela’s amazement, Guilda returned Falco’s heartening gesture with a slight nod as if she too believed there could be no more running.
Kela sat in the shadows, contemplating the unknown. For days, she had endured Turstan’s wrath, which had cut her deep. Turstan, who until now, had always defended Falco and herself from Guilda. On the news of the encounter, he had become so angry that at first he had not trusted himself to speak. Though, it hadn’t taken long for him to find his voice.
“King Gregorius de Flour, King of Brixtone! There is none worse to have knowledge of your existence!” Turstan said hotly.
Falco had warned Kela not to say a word. Just let the burly warrior unleash his fury.
She had not listened.
“I don’t think it’s as bad as you make it out to be,” she protested. “Even if they made the connection, they…”
Turstan cut her short. His temper unbridled. “They will act. Mark my words! None will ignore the power seen…with a young Sordarin. We can do nothing but make a stand!” He stood over Sareta’s bed, who lay listless. “You both know well the cost of being discovered. Have we not instilled within you the need for care?”
“In truth, Turstan, it was not our fault. Falco had not intended to run into the hunting party. I had no choice but to react…and the prince…how could he have known who we are? I had to be mistaken. No one knows we live.”
“Rumors exist. This we know, Kela. Prophecies foretold are not forgotten!” Turstan shouted so loud the walls shook.
Guilda sat on the edge of Sareta’s bed, wringing her old, wrinkled hands together. “Kela, how naive you are! Once suspected, they will use the Hallow Minions to smell out the magic! Sareta is in danger! We have to protect her. She is our only hope.” Guilda looked over at her with ire flaming from her eyes. “Sordarins!”
“I won’t let anyone harm my sister, Guilda,” Kela protested. “I am a protector.”
“You are a child!” she shrieked. Turning her back on Kela, she leaned back over Sareta.
Kela quieted. Love for her family swelled deep within Kela. If I have done anything to do harm! Trying to rationalize her actions, she told herself Sareta had only produced a simple fog. Had Sareta not been called upon to do much more?
Yet, she lay so still.
In the past, Turstan would have defended her when Guilda ranted about the vices of Sordarins. This time, Kela saw only worry in his eyes. He looked to the heavens.
Guilt emerged.
Kela loved her guardian as the father she had lost that fateful night. For well over seven years, Turstan kept to his oath he had given their mother. To be true, Turstan had often lamented his fate with overseeing the care of three needy children.
“This is no job for a warrior! By all in heavin! I have been saddled with a weight that would bring down a lesser man!”
There would also be times he disappeared for days…weeks, but he always returned. Sometimes worse for wear. Giving way for Guilda to harp upon the lack of morals of a Sordarin warrior.
“A real man has needs, by Gotty!” Turstan refuted, and then drank down a flagon of ale.
Guilda ranted at him, but Falco and Kela realized they all had a great need for the aged warrior.
Falco had told Kela that Sordarin warriors would have taken this task as an insult, but Turstan stood by them.
Kela’s thoughts turned to the fate that awaited them. Falco was certain of his…which had been their father’s, Prince Mithelk Calledwdele of Sordarin. He had been first in line to the throne. So, now, it would be Falco’s crown.
Hawkmen ruled Scarladin, country of prosperity, fertile lands and mighty rivers. Turstan boasted of their legacy. “When you look up and see the regiment soar in the skies, all is well. No one dare threaten a Sordarin!”
But they had! Someone had ambushed her father, killing him and her mother! Oh, how I miss her.
When Kela smelled the fragrance of the first spring flowers, her mother’s beautiful face appeared in her mind: her smile, her eyes, the love her mother held for all of her children. She herself was the descendant from the great line of Flandigana within the boundary of Witheleghe, a place most in the Siochanta Realm thought only legend.
Kela had been born strongly Sordarin. In that, she couldn’t deny.
“Your destiny is easiest to define,” Turstan told Kela. “Ah, the princess warrior born to protect. Protect the young prince. Protect your sister. Caught within the middle for the others to fulfill their destiny.”
Previously when danger had to be faced, they had woken in a new place, a new home. But the magic from the box was no more. Moreover, Sareta had neither the strength nor the will to help transport them again.
Kela must have slept for when she looked up, she saw Sareta standing by the fire. Her sister looked so lovely with her dark hair flowing down her back. Her aura glowed as did her eyes.
Sareta said simply, “They are here.”
Running had ceased.
* * * *
A piercing cry broke the silence. For a moment, Kela was too frightened to move. Then the cry became a chorus of unhinging screeches.
“Sordarins!” Turstan yelled. “By Hades! It is the war cry!”
“Sordarins…war cry…against us! Not Sordarins!” Falco shook his head in disbelief. Yet, his instincts unsheathed his sword and readied it forward.
Sordarins? Friend or foe? What of the Brixtones?
Prepare for the worse, Sister. We have no friends.”
Kela’s heart ached for her brother. His dream of a happy reunion faded with a resonating clamor around them. Falco showed no fear. Turstan had trained him well in the ways of the Sordarins.
Sordarins were an aggressive race when it came to protecting their territory. They held no hesita
tion in challenging a threat. That she had learned alongside of Falco. Despite having been born female, Turstan taught her as well.
“Legend holds the Great One sends Euchouns when the need arises. This I hold too, Kela. You must train for the time will come when you will have to fight, no matter you are female. Everyone is born with a purpose. Do not turn away from the gift of the Great One. Embrace your destiny.”
Guilda persistently stated that Kela should relinquish her ability for Guilda feared Kela would never be accepted.
Turstan, though, had given to Kela the courage to face her calling. The most powerful Euchouns, protectors for the warriors of Sordarins, were called upon only in the most pressing of times. Turstan had faith in Kela’s abilities.
A heartbeat later, the warriors attacked the wanderers. The roof shook as it was ripped apart. Dried mud and straw fell upon their heads. The walls swayed. There had been no warning, no call to surrender, only the marauding warriors invading their home. Outside, commands resonated in Scarladin.
There was no doubt who are the attackers were. Then came smoke.
Kela, the roof.
I’ll hold it until all of you are out. Go…but know you face our attackers with only Turstan until I can let go.
Turstan and I will take care of what we must…
From the corner of her eye, Kela watched her family race out the door. Turstan, first, with Sareta behind him. Guilda rushed to comfort her young charge. Giving Kela a last glance, Falco followed the others.
Kela wasted no time. Her hands outstretched until she reached the door. Only then did she release her hold and race into the night, far away from the burning flame. Turning, she stood confused, not knowing where her family had run. Her eyes blinked rapidly, adjusting to the night’s air, smoke and darkness. Behind her a resounding crash as the roof fell through. In front of her, armored winged warriors—true Sordarins.
Lean, muscular Sordarins with gloved hands clutching swords rushed toward her. However, Kela instantly reacted to the frightened screams of Sareta. She saw a kicking Sareta held in the arms of a brawny soldier. At their side, a tall, fierce warrior with dark yellow hair raised his sword at Turstan.
Past of Shadows Page 5
