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

by Matt Howerter

  Sacha seized the dress she had been looking for and hauled it out. “Was he okay?” She looked up at Rouke. “Did he seem...like himself?”

  “The prince?” the armsman asked, surprised at her interruption of his monologue. “Yes, though I’ve never seen anyone cram so much food in their mouth.”

  Relief flooded through her but removed none of her sense of urgency. “I still want to see him.”

  Rouke gave her and the wrinkled dress a skeptical look. He seemed on the verge of objecting, but before he could say anything, Sacha stated firmly, “Now.”

  Sir Gareth Wallner’s gravelly voice was distinctly audible as Sacha was being escorted into the tent. “No disrespect, Your Highness, but this is a waste of time. You can’t reason with hobgoblins!” the knight was saying as he spat and took a seat next to her prince.

  The spit landed at the feet of an enormous hobgoblin. The broad head practically brushed the sagging roof of the tent. Muscles bulged along its long arms and knotted shoulders as the creature subtly tested the manacles holding it fast. A bloodstained and torn animal pelt was draped over its chest and loins. The creature’s oily black hair had been tied back in an unusually long braid that draped along its twitching body all the way to its thick waist.

  Sacha hesitated just inside the tent flaps. Two more Wildmen stood a few feet behind the hobgoblin: a human male and a goblin, both in chains. The goblin was what most people in Pelos and Basinia thought the Wildmen to be: malnourished, filthy, and scarred from head to toe. The man was the same, but his steady gaze was not typical of the stereotype. He was watching the proceedings with both attention and calculation.

  Sacha leaned toward Rouke and whispered, “Why are there three?”

  Rouke shrugged. “Not sure. Translators, maybe?”

  The hobgoblin appeared to be the first to notice Sacha and Rouke’s entry. The dark-yellow eyes narrowed, and a rumbling growl hummed from its deep chest. The buzz of conversation in the room paused as they followed the hobgoblin’s stare to find Sacha and Rouke still at the tent’s entrance.

  “Sloane!” Prince Alexander said, sounding sincerely pleased. His smile was every bit as easy, soft, and true as it had always been. “I didn’t realize you were well enough to be out.”

  Sacha almost wept to see her husband so fit and well. Even her sister’s name was insufficient to curb her joy at Alexander’s apparently genuine happiness at seeing her. Her emotions made her fumble for a moment, and when she finally was able to speak, her voice came out thready and weak. “Pardon my intrusion. Please continue.”

  The prince got to his feet and was joined by the two knights at his side. He gestured back to where they had been seated. “Please, join us.”

  “Thank you,” Sacha replied, pleased that her voice had recovered.

  Rouke placed himself between her and the Wildmen as they made their way to the chairs. Both knights bowed and respectfully withdrew from the chairs, giving her her choice between them.

  Sacha ignored the offered seats and instead searched the prince’s hazel eyes for the broken man she had seen out in the woods. Nothing but love and respect shone back at her, and she almost wept as she gave silent thanks to Eos.

  Concern suddenly touched Alexander’s handsome features. “Is something wrong?”

  “I...I’m,” Sacha stammered. “I’m just so glad you survived. I mean, we survived. I’m so glad we survived.”

  “As am I,” he said. His radiant smile eased her heart like no tonic ever could. “Please, sit,” he said, “and we will continue.”

  “I would prefer to stand just now, my prince,” Sacha said as she moved to a position by Alexander’s side, even though her legs threatened to buckle. She needed a moment to gain control of herself, and she was afraid if she sat down, she wouldn’t be able to get up again.

  “As you wish,” he said, taking his seat. The two knights quickly followed suit.

  The prince turned to look at the three Wildmen. “As I was saying, we are not all about the sword here in Basinia. If you could lend us a bit of trust, you might find that partnering with us can be an acceptable alternative to death and war.”

  When the rugged human began to speak in the guttural language of the hobgoblins, Rouke’s guess as to why there were three was confirmed. This didn’t explain the presence of the goblin, but perhaps that too would become clear if she was patient.

  The hobgoblin growled out a response while his translator watched him closely.

  “We don’t trust no river dwellers,” the man spat. He then pointed to Sacha. “Especially when they keep witches.”

  The sudden fear that spasmed through Sacha threatened to drop her on the dirt floor. She managed to keep her feet, almost entirely thanks to her white-knuckled grip on the back of Alexander’s chair. She glanced at the hobgoblin and saw something she had missed earlier. Char marks laced the skin on one side of his body. The scarred half had been facing away from where she had entered the tent, but it was glaringly obvious now. This hobgoblin had been in the glade.

  “There are no witches here,” Alexander professed. His tone was placating and confident. “And even if there were, they would do you no harm. We speak now in peace.”

  “Liar!” the man accused. “Kron seen her in the wood, callin’ the lightnin’.” He jabbed a calloused finger in Sacha’s direction. “Kron seen her killin’ many of our people.”

  “Preposterous!” Sir Wallner bellowed. “You’re out of your mind! Eos chose a victor in that glade, and he didn’t choose you.”

  The prince raised a hand, silencing Sir Wallner’s rage. “I have no doubt that you saw the pair of us in the woods.” He glanced up at Sacha. “But we were also struck by that bolt. My wife”—he paused with a concerned smile—“just now has recovered.”

  Sacha’s mind raced as the prisoner spat on the ground and Sir Wallner began yelling. She had been through so much in trying to protect Alexander from the truth, and here it was in cold accusation. She began to form a spike of power to tear down the mental walls of the captives before she realized what she was doing. She rejected the notion, even as the Wildman continued to rant about her. It struck her then that the man had not stopped to consult either of his companions but was campaigning of his own accord. Perhaps all was not as it seemed.

  Sacha leaned down to whisper in the prince’s ear. “How did you come by these three, my love? And which one is their leader?”

  Alexander tilted his head toward her but kept his eyes on the Wildmen. “After Sir Langston rounded up the remaining Wildmen, he let it be known that we wished to broker a deal with their leader. These are the ones who came forward to talk.”

  “So, no leader stands before us,” Sacha said, quietly voicing her suspicions.

  The prince nodded. “That would seem to be the case, yes.”

  Sacha straightened, suddenly furious. She had come too far and lost too much to let these three pretenders stand in her way now. The amber spike reformed in a heartbeat, and she flung it across the room at Kron. The last things she was fully aware of in the physical world before she entered his mind were the muddy-yellow eyes regarding her with hatred. There was no human-ness to him, and no fear either. Invading his thoughts would be both easy and just, or so she told herself.

  Sacha ignored the verdant landscape of the hobgoblin’s mind. She didn’t care about the structure of his thoughts. What she needed was to find his core self, and quickly. Fortunately, her instincts for this had sharpened in the past weeks, so she recognized the feel of his true signature almost instantly. Bubbling pits of oozing swamp mud flickered by as she broke into a run, homing in on the central focus of Kron’s mind.

  She found him standing alone at the edge of a cliff overlooking Long Lake. Gauntlets of amber fire formed around her hands as she approached him.

  He turned as she drew close. A snarl of recognition flickered to life, and he began to raise an arm as if he would point, but he was far too late to stop her.

  Sacha seized h
is wrist and jammed her glowing fingers into his sloped forehead.

  Seething hatred assaulted her instantly, but it was not alone. Just as powerful, a great sorrow swirled in Kron’s mind, adding a black depth to the jagged peaks of anger. It was the most powerful expression of emotion she had experienced from any of the Wildmen thus far. There had almost always been anger and fear. There had even occasionally been hope, but it was all general. This was much more focused—personal.

  Sacha pushed the feelings away with no small amount of effort and pressed on.

  Kron’s memories and thoughts opened to her. The taint of his enraged misery crept along the fringes of her awareness as she searched for the memory of the prison camp where the Wildmen were being held by the Basinians. It wasn’t hard to find. Recent events were always close to the surface of a subject’s mind. When she came upon the memory of the hobgoblin standing amongst a group of Wildmen, huddled in discussion, she sensed this might be what she was looking for.

  Sacha pushed her awareness into Kron, merging with his signature, so that she experienced everything through his eyes. Surprisingly, the first thing she noted was his deep but grudging respect for the human woman who stood before him. Tall and muscled but not pretty, the woman had dark tattoos covering virtually every part of her exposed skin, from the unblemished parts of her face down her arms and across what could be seen of her bosom. Words were being spoken that Kron did not understand.

  The same man who stood next to Kron in the tent out in the physical world was here as well. He translated the tattooed woman’s words so they could be understood and then did the same in a different language for the goblin that was also present in both realms. The three of them were to provide a diversion for this woman, Lauren, and the other tribal leaders so that they might escape.

  Sacha smiled. I have you.

  Satisfied with her findings, she withdrew her awareness from the memory until once again she stood on the high cliff with Kron. Sacha would need to move quickly to ensure this “Lauren” remained a captive. Sacha hoped the tattooed woman had not already escaped. She released her hold on the hobgoblin and began to exit his mind.

  Kron’s meaty hand slammed down on Sacha’s shoulder with the force of falling rocks. She was horrified to see his fingers sinking into her flesh as hers had done in Waren months ago. Her body convulsed with the same pain she had felt when her fingers had plunged into him without the gauntlet, but this time she could do nothing about it.

  Panic seized her as she realized he was trying to take control. She summoned her amber blade and began slashing blindly at him.

  A night-black shield, malformed and horrible to look at, materialized on Kron’s forearm, deflecting the blows. His noxious, hot breath rolled over her face as he leaned close and spoke in barely recognizable words. “You die.” His other monstrous hand closed around Sacha’s throat and began to squeeze.

  Sacha struggled and flailed at Kron, but she could not break free. His pain and hatred were too strong. His will towered far beyond any she had faced before save for Teacher alone.

  Helpless, Sacha fell into flashing scenes of memories. They flickered by until they came to a jarring halt in a burning glade. Sacha recognized it immediately. It was the same glade where she had altered Alexander’s mind. The same glade where she had called the lightning.

  Kron snarled, forcing her to see through his eyes as he looked on the remnant of his dead son. The lightning had savagely burned the young hobgoblin’s face, neck, and body. The proud tusks had cracked and shattered as the marrow and blood within them had boiled and exploded to steam, leaving only shattered, ragged stumps. Bradag had been the last of Kron’s line, a brave warrior amongst their tribe, and the only one Kron had ever trusted.

  Sacha could feel bleak satisfaction in her bond with Kron when he recognized the same pain and sorrow he had felt settling in her soul. There was a wrenching snap, and she was back on the cliff with his hand on her throat.

  Sacha struggled for breath, clawing at the gnarled hands that gripped her. I’m going to die, she thought as her vision began to blur and the bones in her neck creaked.

  Teacher’s lecturing voice came to her from the encroaching darkness: “Do not become lost in the dreams and images of your subject’s mind. They will define reality if you let them, but you must distance yourself if you are to survive the storms you will surely face.”

  In that moment, Sacha realized Kron had taken control because she had let him. Her guilt about the deaths she had caused was as much to blame for her failure as the power lent him by his rage. She had allowed herself to be swept up in Kron’s reality and had made it her own.

  No more.

  The hammering desperation to breathe faded almost instantly as she forced Kron’s will aside. Her virtual body needed no air. Kron snarled desperately as she began to pluck his fingers from her as if they were those of a needy child. Once free, she stepped away and left him howling his rage into the world of his mind.

  When Sacha came to herself, Alexander was holding her by the shoulders and peering with concern into her eyes. “Sloane! Sloane, are you okay?”

  Sacha blinked and looked around. The entire room was focused on her except for Kron. The hobgoblin shook his head, swaying unsteadily but not falling.

  She gave her best effort of a smile. “Yes, I’m fine. I was just a little woozy.”

  Alexander did not look convinced. “I think perhaps you should go lie down a little longer, my dear.”

  Before she could respond to reassure him that she was well enough, there was a disturbance outside. Shouts of alarm and cries of a small pitched battle sounded.

  Sir Wallner looked up from where he had been shouting at the human. “What in Mot’s fire?!”

  Far from looking worried, Alexander appeared satisfied. “It seems as if our little ruse has paid off.”

  Sir Wallner glanced at the prince questioningly. The human Wildman paled as he seemed to understand something Sir Wallner had not.

  “Sir Langston,” the prince continued. He gestured to the Wildman. “Would you care to explain to Sir Wallner and this fine gentleman what we’ve been about?”

  Sacha was too shaky from her ordeal to think. She looked quizzically at her husband, who slipped an arm around her waist to support her.

  Sir Langston was a great contrast to Wallner, lanky where Wallner was bluff, graceful where the other man was ponderous. A pleased smile crept across his face as his long arms gracefully crossed over his chest. “Of course, my prince.”

  Langston nodded to a soldier at the door flap, and the young man disappeared into the camp after a quick thump of fist to chest. When he had gone, Sir Langston continued. “We expected some kind of trickery from you lot. The prince didn’t think you Wildmen would just hand over your leader so easily. Sir Wallner here and myself thought otherwise, but the prince had me double the guards around the wargs and grahl to make sure whoever tried to run off had to do so on foot or by horse.” His grin deepened. “And if you’ve ever tried to steal a trained warhorse… Well, the fact that you are standing there listening to me pretty well tells me you haven’t.”

  “Other precautions were put into place as well,” the prince followed up. “But the point is this: Even if someone has managed to get out of the camp, it won’t be long before they are captured. And I suspect the leader we’re looking for is amongst them.”

  Sir Wallner’s puzzled look broke into a smile. “Well, that’ll teach me.”

  The Wildman was visibly shaken, but his voice still held contempt. “Don’t matter none. There ain’t no ‘leader’ of us. We’ve always been free, never had cause for someone tellin’ us what to do.”

  Unbidden, an echo of the misery from Kron’s memory washed through Sacha’s mind. She could not shake the hobgoblin’s fear, sadness, and rage. Alexander had anticipated the Wildmen’s attempt at duplicity and acted, without invading their minds. Guilt washed over her, leaving a residue of filth in its wake. What am I becoming? she th
ought. How many days had it been since last she had even thought of Teacher’s warnings about the use of this power? It had been necessary to use it, hadn’t it? Every time she opened herself to the mental magics, she had known there had been no choice but to use them. The lie of that thought was apparent, though. Alexander had no such resource but had also suspected he was being lied to and developed a plan to deal with it.

  The tent flaps parted as the guard returned. “Milords, we’ve captured a half dozen prisoners attempting to escape.”

  Sir Wallner barked a laugh. “Well, let’s have a look at these crafty devils, shall we?” He motioned toward the three Wildmen. “Bring them.”

  The trio were prodded out of the tent by the handful of soldiers on guard. When the hobgoblin passed her, his hate-filled glare held something else. Was it a hint of pride she had missed before? Maybe it was loss. The brutal features of the humanoid face were too foreign for her to truly read at a glance, but there was certainly more there than she had first realized.

  Rouke’s steady eye followed the hobgoblin until he was beyond the tent flaps. His hand that had come to rest on the hilt of his sword relaxed and dropped away. “I’ll be watchin’ that one, to be sure.”

  “Your constant vigilance is always appreciated, Rouke,” Alexander said. He stood and looked around at the others. “Let us see if we have finally found the fruit in this expedition.” With that, they all filed out of the tent into the late-morning sun.

  The freshly caught prisoners were a ragged bunch, to be certain, but that was to be expected. Wildmen, whether man or woman, goblinoid or other race, survived day by day in the Savage Lands, an untamed area to the south that made the Winewood look like a well-maintained garden by comparison.

  The six freshly caught prisoners were surrounded by twice as many soldiers. The whining and barking of a group of hounds filled the air as they were dragged away from the captured Wildmen. One of the prince’s “other precautions,” no doubt.

  Sacha searched the ragged lineup for the woman she had seen in the hobgoblin’s memories. She wasn’t hard to find. She was taller than anyone else in her party save one hobgoblin. There were two other women in her troupe, but there was no mistaking Lauren. Even if Sacha had not had the memory from Kron to lean on, this was the woman she would have believed to be in charge. The braid that trailed down her back was shot through with silver, but it was as thick at the nape of the woman’s neck as Sacha’s forearm. The tattoos were bold, angular, and so rough at the edges that it was obvious that the work had been done around a campfire and by the nervous tapping of a tribesman. Small trinkets were interlaced in the braid and had been sewn into the fabric of her cloak.