Book of Sacha: Dark Fate (The Dark Fate Chronicles 3)

by Matt Howerter

  It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise that the final product was at least half a scandal. Marcella had begged to “help” with the design when she had discovered what the royal women of Basinia would wear to a battlefield. Sacha had resisted at first but then relented, ordering the tailors to follow her cousin’s lead. Now she found herself wishing she had perhaps given Marcella a touch less leeway. The dark-haired beauty had spent endless hours in the past two weeks badgering the tailors, Sacha, and even Alexander’s mother until the final product met her satisfaction. Amazingly, no one had ever questioned the young woman’s right to be involved or to lead the effort. She had simply started issuing orders in a manner that expected obedience, and people had leaped to obey. Alexander seemed to think the whole affair hilarious.

  At least I get to go, Sacha thought. Her attendance to this culmination of her plan had been by no means a foregone conclusion. It had taken a solid effort on her part to secure her place in the ranks. Quite surprisingly, it was the queen who provided the most robust objections. Since Sacha’s last visit to the king with Alexander, Rhian had become very protective of her. Rouke had been his reliable self, of course, advising her to take the safe path and remain at the Citadel. Alexander had been the simplest to sway.

  To Sacha, the budding romance with the prince was a sudden and crashing avalanche of emotion. To him, it was the continuation and affirmation of something precious he had lost. Since she had embraced her growing interest in him and her role as wife, Alexander had been going out of his way to be near her. He seemed to be reassuring himself that she was truly there and not just a tantalizing illusion. That idea brought a flash of guilt, but it was a tiny thing. Sloane was dead. Why shouldn’t Sacha have an opportunity to be happy? Did it truly matter who she was after all? His love was real even if it was a bit misplaced, and she found herself coming to love him back.

  When she had told him she wanted to be a part of the sortie, “So that I can verify my hunch,” she had said, Alexander had laughed and replied, “I don’t wish to be anywhere that you are not, my dear. The only thing I ask is that you swear to stay well clear of the fighting if it begins. It’s a rule of royalty, you see. We aren’t allowed to actually be in danger. When it comes to your safety, it’s one rule I don’t mind.”

  Sacha took a deep breath and said a quick prayer of thanks for the lining of the breastplate. If not for the plushly quilted cotton, this outfit would quickly become a misery.

  “You look striking, my lady,” said her assistant.

  “I believe the word you are looking for is ‘scandalous,’” Sacha replied, eyeing her décolletage and promising herself a few choice words with Marcella. Her cousin had never flown before. The wind in the heights could be cold. It wasn’t for nothing that the basic flight suits covered as much as they did. Sacha prepared herself for the stares she was certain to receive and stepped from the dressing room.

  The aviary floor was a madhouse filled with birds and people, ladders and equipment bustling to and fro. A few men did stop to gape briefly, but they were almost immediately chivvied along by others who had no time to gawk at her revealing finery. Sacha joined the flow and began walking to the point on the roost where she knew she could find Alexander.

  She caught the barest glimpse of his profile before he ducked around an unusual mounting bracket that held something on his Rohdaekhann’s saddle that was obviously a weapon.

  “Well,” Sacha said as she climbed onto the loading platform. “It looks as though the rules of royalty only apply to some.” She caught her breath when Alexander turned to face her.

  Had she ever thought this man was anything other than gorgeous? Like her, Alexander had an ornate breastplate that was closely fitted but with the addition of molded pauldrons that complemented his broad shoulders. The balance of his outfit drew her eye to each of his finest features, from the dazzling smile to the way the stamped and supple leather of his high boots hugged his well-muscled calves.

  The prince gestured at the lance. “All for show,” Alexander replied. “For the most part, at least.”

  Sacha reluctantly moved her gaze away from the prince to look at the weapon that was now locked into place over the Rohdaekhann’s right shoulder. If this was for a show, it was a deadly serious one. The lance was constructed from a solid though slender winewood pole. Its cylindrical sides were engraved with decorative runes and floral latticework. One end sported a streamlined teardrop head that glinted wickedly in the dappled light. The other had a flaring shield that would give the rider cover from enemy fire. Hector, Alexander’s mount, appeared accustomed to the odd assembly. His motions might have been a little more burdened than usual, but not significantly.

  “Ah,” Sacha finally said. “And what of my show?”

  “I hope to see it soon.” Alexander grinned.

  Sacha gaped at him. Fulsome embarrassment warred with a gratified sense of pride that he obviously was as taken with her as she had become with him.

  Alexander winked and turned back to the lance as if he had meant to be speaking about it all along. “While I am not actually supposed to be in battle, I am still expected to know how to handle myself if the escorts fail to keep themselves between me and danger.” He glanced over his shoulder. “That means that I have trained with the lance. It can be more than just a hindrance to the Rohdaekhann if not handled correctly. Once you’ve mastered flight in the Batalla”—he patted the awkward-looking saddle—“then it will be safe to practice with the lance.”

  Sacha simply arched an eyebrow at him and waited.

  Alexander looked at her curiously, but then caught her look. He broke out in gales of laughter and shook his head ruefully. “I can’t believe I just said that,” he said almost too softly for her to hear.

  Sacha pursed her lips in satisfaction but said nothing.

  The prince recovered his composure. “Do you have any questions about the Rohdaekhann that I can answer?”

  Sacha waved at the saddle that supported the lance cradle. “What’s the purpose of this ridiculous-looking chair?”

  Alexander bowed playfully. “Allow me to explain, ‘Princess’ Sloane.” He then pointed at the lance. “This is only one of the weapons we use when it’s time for war. Another choice is a bow, but some riders prefer slings. Regardless, all weapons require the rider to be upright rather than prone. The greater field of vision is also of use.”

  Alexander scratched Hector’s huge head. One great eyelid slid half shut in pleasure. “They can see a lot more than we can, but that doesn’t mean they can see it all. The ability to look in all directions from the upright position is invaluable.”

  “You speak as if you’ve done more than just perform as a figurehead,” Sacha remarked pointedly. For some reason, his use of Sloane’s name irked her.

  “Well, not as such,” Alexander hedged. “But the training is thorough.”

  “I look forward to learning,” Sacha stated, letting her irritation go.

  Alexander met her eyes directly. “I’m sure you will be a quick study,” he said without hesitation or doubt and then motioned toward Bora. “Are you ready, my wife?”

  “I am,” she answered honestly.

  Bora scratched at the roosting pole with eagerness. She saw at a glance that he was also fitted with a Batalla, but she had no lance mounted nor any weapon that she could see. In spite of the slight annoyance she felt at being coddled, she felt her adrenaline begin to build. Any flying was good flying, she reasoned. Learning how to sit the new saddle and the guiding cues that would go with it would be a convenient excuse to feed her passion for being with the Rohdaekhann.

  The tall back on the saddle proved awkward at first. Sacha squirmed, looking for a position that was comfortable. She was thankful for the high-cut legs on her outfit as she did so. The odd position of her legs over Bora’s broad shoulders would have made the leather of her usual flight suit bind and pinch. She took a deep breath and stilled her restless legs so the handlers could apply t
he rigging. Many new things are uncomfortable at first.

  After two leather straps had been crossed over her shoulders and one around her waist, Sacha looked around, confused. The handlers were already packing their kit and moving along toward Hector.

  “That was quick,” Sacha said, looking down at Alexander.

  “One of the benefits,” he called back. “How does it feel?”

  “Wrong.”

  Alexander chuckled. “Good. You’ll do fine, then.” He touched her booted foot, patted Bora’s folded wing fondly, then moved down to join the waiting handlers.

  Sacha examined the new bits of tack in front of her as the prince prepared. She could see that they functioned in the same fashion she had become accustomed to; they were just modified to accommodate her upright position. Another huge difference was the addition of stirrups. Lying prone along the bird’s back, her legs usually rested in molded channels, making her as close to one with Bora as possible. When she flexed her legs, the straps prevented her from getting to a full standing position, but the action did take pressure off her backside. She decided that she was already thankful for the stirrups. She leaned left and right to get a feel for the new position as a whole, earning an annoyed chirrup from Bora.

  “Easy, boy,” she coaxed, reaching down to touch his flank. “We’ll be off shortly.”

  The Rhadoken had been leaving the aviary in a steady stream while she and the prince had talked. More than two dozen birds and riders had taken to the air, Captain Aria and Rouke among them. They circled Terrandal in a variety of shifting formations as they waited for the royal couple.

  As Sacha promised, the prince was quickly prepared, and the pair launched themselves out to join the waiting formations of Rohdaekhann.

  The rising sun highlighted the sea of green treetops and washed the pale mists that rose above the canopy in golden light. Sacha could see the paths of the forking Tanglevine as it ran its course through the Winewood. Snaking chasms in the thick jungle branched off in every direction.

  The path of flight this morning was a good deal lower than typical, but even so, the morning air was brisk enough to pebble Sacha’s skin. This outfit would surely be miserable at higher elevations. Sacha breathed deeply, savoring the scents of dew and winewood as they blended with the dusty musk of the Rohdaekhann.

  Magnificent, she thought. Even with Bora’s aid, Sacha felt as if she were master of the skies. As much as she treasured the flights with the Rohdaekhann, she longed to fly without them. Teacher had mentioned on more than one occasion that flight with the Shamonrae was possible, but time had not allowed for that lesson—yet. She couldn’t wait to learn.

  They spent the better part of the day traveling south as they followed the winding paths of the Tanglevine. The winewoods had been left behind before midday, leaving open fields dotted with thick stands of oaks to dominate the landscape. By evening’s arrival, columns of smoke marred the southern horizon. Prince Alexander turned Hector toward the columns, and the rest of the flights followed him to the Basinian encampment. The soldiers had founded their camp next to a branch of the river in a semicircle formation. Their cooking fires glowed brightly against the cool shadows of the failing light. The camp was a welcome sight. Sacha was not fond of the new saddle. Maybe she would forgo those lessons after all.

  Hector screeched as they circled down into the camp. Men scattered from the descending Rohdaekhann as they landed with flurries of dust and wind.

  Once the giant birds were settled on the packed earth, two sentries garbed in brilliant green plate mail hurried up to Sacha. Bora squawked at them, and the men slowed their pace to approach with caution.

  Sacha could get out of the straps without help, though it was difficult. She slid off Bora’s back into the arms of a waiting soldier. “Thank you,” she said as the armored man gently set her down. The solidity of the earth felt comforting under her feet.

  The guardsman nodded. “A tent has been prepared for your arrival, Princess.” He gestured to a large marquee, where the Ventus family crest was snapping in the breeze.

  “Again, thank you.” Sacha looked for Alexander as she walked toward the camp. The prince was headed in the same direction but was surrounded by a dozen men, all of whom appeared to be talking at the same time.

  Rouke strolled up beside her before she had made it to the first row of tents. “Princess,” he drawled. “Wonderful flight, if I do say so myself.”

  Sacha chuckled. “Yes, except that my whole body aches.” She knuckled her back.

  “The price of flyin’,” he replied. “Worth it, though.”

  “That it is,” she agreed.

  The camp was set up in defensible rows around a central pavilion near the riverbank. Large banners that flowed in the wind marked it as the command tent. Throughout the camp, the troops were taking their ease. Groups of men loitered around steaming pots of stew, joking and gaming with one another. One and all, the soldiers stopped what they were doing as Sacha passed by.

  She cursed Marcella under her breath, feeling the full weight of the camp’s attention upon her and the scant outfit she wore. I will pay you back, dear cousin. Sacha quickened her pace, eager to get to the privacy of her quarters. Sentries at the entrance pulled the tent flaps apart so Sacha could enter. Rouke ducked in after her, leaving their escorts behind.

  The interior of the large pavilion had been subdivided with hanging drapes and tapestries to create several smaller rooms. The largest space was dominated by a massive winewood table and its accompanying stools and chairs. A strategy map, upon which the surrounding area had been represented with painstaking detail, lay across the table, covering its entire surface. Little wooden miniatures stood atop the map in various locations.

  “You’re still plannin’ to just watch the battle tomorrow, right?” Rouke asked as she stepped to the table to examine the placement of the legions. His brows came up in that worried expression he sometimes gave her.

  “Of course,” she lied, stepping away from the table. “It’s not as if I have been given any choice in the matter or a weapon with which to fight.”

  “You know what I mean, Princess,” Rouke said with a pained expression. He was on the verge of saying something else when Alexander and his entourage burst into the tent, conveniently shattering the exchange.

  Rouke’s face brightened as servants laden with platters and tankards swept in after the gaggle of military bureaucrats. He shrugged at her and then followed the servants to help them set up trays for the food.

  Sacha breathed a sigh of relief and turned from him to find her husband standing right in front of her. A thoughtful smile was playing about his lips. She blinked in surprise.

  “In case I haven’t mentioned it, I am amazed at your flying skills. Not many people could transition to a completely different style and survive such a long flight.”

  “I am just that amazing, my love,” she said with a coy twist to her lips. He didn’t need to know just how stiff she had become or how grateful she had been to see the encampment.

  Alexander gestured to the table. “Let us see what our Wildmen are up to.” He led her around the table to two large chairs. His entourage filed in around the table as well, taking seats and cups of wine.

  Before Alexander sat, he addressed the men. “Gentlemen, my thanks for your endeavors thus far.” He raised his own flagon of wine. “To Basinia!”

  “Basinia!” the group boomed.

  “Now,” Alexander said, raising his hands to settle the din. “What word from our emissaries? Have the Wildmen responded to our offer of peace?”

  The remnants of the celebratory air disappeared. No one appeared to want to answer the question. Finally, a grizzled old bear of a man sighed and stood. “Aye, we’ve heard from ’em, my prince.” He pressed scarred knuckles into the surface of the map and leaned forward as if his news were bearing him down. “They sent back our emissaries’ heads as answer.”

  The prince frowned. “I see. That is not what I h
ad hoped for, Sir Wallner.”

  Sacha felt a little sick. That people died in war was a fact she was well acquainted with, but this was her plan those men had died for. If they had died in war, it would have been one thing, but they had lost their lives following her ideas for a peaceful resolution. She had never been the one making decisions men might die for, and she found she did not care for the experience. “Forgive me, gentlemen, but I feel responsible for those men. When we return to Waterfall Citadel I will personally see to their families—”

  Sir Wallner raised his hand to interrupt. “No need, Princess. Men die in war; it’s just how it is. Basinia will take care of their families.” He nodded to the prince.

  “Most certainly,” Alexander agreed. He then glanced at Sacha. “We do our best to ease the pain for those who have sacrificed most. Your sentiment is appreciated and well received.”

  The others around the table nodded somberly.

  Sacha was relieved they didn’t blame her for the deaths, but the guilt still gnawed within her.

  “So,” Alexander said, proceeding. “How stands our alternative plan?”

  “We’re well in hand, my prince,” Sir Wallner answered, obviously warming to a subject he felt confident in. One of his calloused fingers pointed to a large group of figurines on the map in an area inscribed with representations of trees and large deviations of topography. “The Wildmen encampment is down in a gully, surrounded by this stand of oaks. Should make it easy for us to get close to ’em without bein’ seen.”

  Alexander studied the map with a slight frown. Since the Wildmen had refused the proposal for peace, that left no option but the use of force. If there was a leader, he would need to be captured.