Baron of Blood (Dawning Era Saga)

by C. N. Faust

  The dragon pens loomed before him. He was admitted immediately through the heavy gate that was wrought of iron and forged in spellfire. Not even a dragon’s fire could bring it close to sweating. It was ideal for its purpose.

  A few riders were out with their dragons, attempting to saddle them and get as much training in as possible before the flight to battle. Aetius ignored them, unimpressed. The dragons were females, hens. They were about as tall as six men standing on each other’s shoulders, but they were more docile and easily trainable. Aetius had no use for them. No – he was here to harness a much greater power.

  He reached a part of the yard that was isolated from the rest of the pen. It was a box of iron and steel, also forged in spellfire. It was just a foot or two shy of being as tall as the castle. But Aetius knew it was only barely big enough to contain the monstrosity within.

  Amnas and Malachi waited for him outside its door, just as he ordered. They stood unmoving on either side like two divine sentinels. Amnas slouched, his arms folded over his chest, one leg out and crooked. Malachi, as always, stood ramrod straight, his shoulders thrown back and the hood of his cape pulled low over his face. They bowed as he approached them. They mocked him with the display. He knew it was only for the benefit of any onlookers. He despised their insolence. He hated even more the fact that he needed them, and they knew it.

  But it wouldn’t last, he would see to that. Sooner or later he would bring his justice down on their heads.

  Amnas was the only one to meet his gaze. Malachi never looked him in the eye.

  “Ivan isn’t dead,” Aetius spoke only when he was inches away from the pair. “Why is that?”

  “It is no fault of ours,” Amnas flashed.

  “Really, Amnas? You insult my intelligence and yours.” Aetius snorted. “I expected better from you – from both of you.”

  The iron box shook with the sound of something heavy and plated slamming into its side. From its bowels there came a low roar.

  “I did not hire you for your incompetence,” Aetius said with a ferocious smile.

  Amnas set his teeth.

  “Then what more would you have of us, master?” he spat the final word out as if it were a curse. “We gave the boy the means, the motives … but of course, we neglected to give him a brain.”

  “Apparently, it was the only thing he lacked.” Malachi muttered.

  Aetius took a deep breath. It burned in his chest. He could feel the beast inside the box, its scales hot as coals scraping against the iron walls as it struggled to break itself out. He could feel its chest heaving up and down with its labored breathing. The bond between them strengthened with every passing second. For a few moments, he could have sworn he was the beast.

  Amnas’ challenging eyes bore straight through him. His temper was getting shorter. He wanted nothing more than to rip out this insolent mage’s throat.

  The next step should be obvious, then.” Aetius said, his voice dropping to a dark, growling low.

  Amnas nodded curtly.

  “Kill Ivan ourselves.”

  “No,” Aetius hissed. “I grow weary of your antics! You may spoon-feed your tricks to Sitharus, but not to me. You have never tasted of true power, my power!”

  Amnas stiffened with the insult, but bowed curtly.

  “Then what will you have with us, my lord?” he demanded.

  Aetius glanced at the iron box.

  “Ride Barkkos into battle. Conquer Drakkian Province.”

  Amnas grimaced.

  “I am not a warrior,” the mage said. “And Barkkos hates me.”

  “Ride and conquer,” came Malachi’s rumbling voice. “At last, something I can do.”

  “And do you shall, like it or not.” Aetius looked from one to the other. “And mark this – failure for a second time will not be so easily … overlooked.”

  “Failure on the back of a dragon promises imminent death, no matter how you look at it. Your threats fall a little short, my lord.” Amnas bowed again. “When do we leave?”

  “Tomorrow the legion takes off. You will lead them.”

  Amnas smiled and gave a bird-like tilt of his head. “And if I do not know the way?”

  “For both your sakes,” Aetius said cuttingly. “You had better.”

  Chapter Five

  Claephus. Oh, his poet. Ezbon wanted to immerse himself in the dark world where things made sense. He wanted the world where love and war had cadence and definite outcomes, and where the heroes of battles emerged victorious and worshipped by the bards. He wanted the world where villains died a gruesome death and justice was served. If only life were anything like an epic.

  Charon sat nearby, rubbing a polished rag over the hilt of the barons’ dagger. His head was down and his blonde hair curtained his sweet face. Ezbon wanted to take him and kiss him; anything, just to see him smile. His fingertips dragged over the worn leather cover his poetry book, longing to caress the well-loved vellum pages. But he didn’t dare look away, not yet.

  Ivan stood by the fireplace, though the fire was not lit. His knuckles gripped the mantelpiece so tightly that they turned white. His face was completely blank, a stone.

  Charon was afraid, but he wasn’t going to let it show. In light of the latest news they had received, his own incident had been dismissed. But he knew Ivan had not forgotten it. He kept waiting for the baron to turn around and condemn him, perhaps even order a hanging. His only comfort was that he knew Ezbon wouldn’t let it happen.

  Remphan sat on the edge of the bed a good distance away from the rest of them. One ankle rested on his knee as he tapped his boots with his fingernails, lost in is own thoughts. He hadn’t said a word for nearly an hour. That was unusual.

  Ivan was the first to break the silence.

  “He has broken away from us.” Of course he spoke of Nicholas.

  “He spoke in anger, I doubt he meant it.” Ezbon said quietly.

  “Surely he did,” Ivan scoffed sarcastically. “Not that I blame him – with the blow his purse has taken for this war.”

  “Maybe he knows something we didn’t, and he’s backing out before it’s too late.” Ezbon shrugged.

  “Coward,” Ivan spat. “Damned bloody-“

  “Maybe he’s doing it for his children,” Remphan cut in, speaking for the first time since they gathered. “I hear Arceia is due soon.”

  “That would be so foolish that it is beyond my comprehension.” Ivan snapped, resting two fingers on the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. “What kind of a man-“

  “A father,” Remphan glared at him. “Not that any of you fairies would understand that!”

  “I beg your pardon!” Ivan’s eyes flew open, and he snarled. “But just because I am not attached at the moment doesn’t mean I can’t tell ass from quim!”

  “Really?” Ezbon snorted. “You had me utterly fooled.”

  “You are a fine one to talk!” Ivan rounded on him. “Why are you so eager to defend him, Cavalla? Are you going to break with me, too? This is all beginning to look a bit funny to me. Nicholas breaks off with me after a failed assassination attempt by your boy…”

  Ezbon threw his head back, and grasped the arms of his chair.

  “I told you I was not involved in that,” he said evenly.

  “So you told me. But you also said that you and Nicholas were not involved anymore. But I see the way you look at him.” Ivan advanced threateningly.

  “And how does it look to you, Ivan?” Ezbon pushed himself to his feet. He and the opposing baron were within dangerous distance of each other. “Does it seem to you that I am a man in love? Possessed, perhaps, or utterly mad? I am all of those things, I can assure you.”

  “Oh, spare me the poetic diatribe!” Ivan snapped.

  “I placed my heart at Nicholas’ feet and he crushed it under his heel. What the hells makes you think I would have any conspiracy with him?” Ezbon shot back. “You are my friend, Ivan! And before this hells-accursed war I respected you!”
>
  “Before this ‘hells-accursed’ war, I trusted you!” Ivan retaliated. “Now I think I was a fool.”

  “Talk of the scales falling from your eyes! Before this war I never realized how great of a hot-headed idiot you were! How impetuous! How cowardly-“

  It happened so quickly, and in such a blur of motion. Ivan’s hand flew on its own, ready to strike his fellow across the cheek. But Ezbon grabbed his wrist and wrenched his arm behind his back until his shoulder arched painfully. Ivan’s face went white with pain and his legs crumpled under him as Ezbon forced him to his knees. Charon screamed in surprise and jumped up.

  “Ezbon!” The boy cried. “Ezbon, what are you doing-?”

  “Never,” Ezbon growled, pressing down on Ivan’s back, “never, never hit me.”

  Ivan wasn’t going to take it. The muscles in his shoulders tensed, but by the time Ezbon realized, it was too late. Ivan rose to his feet, throwing Ezbon off his back and sending the baron flying. Ezbon landed hard on the wooden floor with a dull thud and lie, unmoving. Ivan rubbed his wrist.

  “You forget yourself, Cavalla.” He said darkly.

  Charon went to Ezbon’s side immediately, feeling foolish for praying that he wasn’t dead. Ezbon opened his eyes, and relief washed over the boy. But it was only temporary.

  “War has made you effeminate, Ivan. You hit like a woman.” Ezbon sat up.

  “I haven’t hit you yet, Cavalla. You don’t want to feel my fist across your face.” Ivan spat.

  “Try me,” Ezbon lifted his knotted fists. “See if you can get close enough.”

  “So, so!” Ivan laughed humorlessly. “The poet thinks he can touch me, with his delicate fingers and his soft white hands! He must be careful not to get blood on his gloves.”

  “Ezbon,” Charon pleaded. “Calm down, please-“

  “The dog bites at the air but makes no move to attack!” Ezbon began to circle Ivan.

  “Don’t waste your rhymes on me, poet.”

  “All bark but no lungs, bitch.”

  “You will taste blood!” Ivan lunged forward. Ezbon sidestepped him easily enough and swung his gloved fist around, just missing Ivan’s jaw.

  “I will,” Ezbon agreed. “Yours!” he grabbed Ivan’s braid and slammed his fist into the side of Ivan’s face. Ivan spat out blood and twisted around, grabbing at Ezbon’s wrist. Ezbon hoped he at least knocked a few teeth loose.

  They locked together, grappling with each other. They fell to the floor, a tangle of arms and legs, with Ezbon dominating. He loomed over Ivan, barraging him mercilessly with blows until he bled.

  The world around him was beginning to fade. He couldn’t hear Charon anymore, he couldn’t really hear anything. He could only see Ivan, and the blood. That was what he wanted to see. It was like in battle, when nothing else existed but him and his prey. He didn’t notice it when Ivan ceased to resist. He only saw the blood, and knew he wanted more.

  He wasn’t even aware of Remphan grabbing his shoulders, hauling him off the baron. He felt himself hit the floor, but then the world was still a daze. The roof above his head swam with black and white specks that floated across his vision. There was a dull ache in the back of his head. He must have hit it hard.

  He was brought back to earth when Remphan smacked him across the face.

  “Idiot!” he shouted, but his voice still sounded distant. “Snap out of it!” his voice was suddenly loud again.

  Ezbon winced. He could see, now. Remphan’s face was flushed red with rage, and his bottom lip was split open – bleeding and red. Ezbon figured either he or Ivan must have hit him by mistake.

  He felt Charon’s cool hand slide into his, and the knot eased in his stomach. He just stared blankly up at Remphan. He had nothing to say.

  Ivan sat up on the other side of the room. His face was a mess of blood. Ezbon felt a pang of regret as he thought of how much damage he might have inflicted.

  “You will have plenty of time to kill each other after this war is over.” Remphan admonished both of them. “Let’s win it first. I want to live to see my children grow old.”

  Neither of the barons said anything. Ezbon only longed for Charon’s cold, sweet kisses and his warm, pliant body. He wished Remphan and Ivan would both just go away and leave him alone forever.

  “I agree,” Charon said, as if it mattered. “I agree.” He stroked Ezbon’s hair.

  Remphan snorted in disgust and turned away. Ivan stood on his feet and walked over to the washbasin to rinse the blood off his face.

  “Don’t bother giving your opinion, Ezbon’s boy. It’s not like it makes a jot of difference.” Remphan muttered.

  Charon glared at him mutinously. “It matters to Ezbon.”

  “Hiding behind your baron – I hear that is how you managed to get past execution.” Remphan glared at him over his shoulder. “You’re damned lucky, and Ivan is a damned fool.”

  “Leave Charon to his business, Remphan, and he’ll leave you to yours.” Ezbon said, ending the discussion right there.

  In a moment of triumph, Charon looked up and stuck his tongue out at the Lord of State. Remphan bit his thumb – hard – at the boy before turning back to the door and stalking out of the room.

  Elise paced. Arceia screamed. The maids clucked, water sloshed, and the nurse bickered with the physician. Nothing could be agreed upon except the fact that the babies were being born. Arceia’s porcelain skin was shiny with sweat, and her palms so slick that she could barely keep her grip on the arms of the birthing chair. Her legs were splayed apart, the inside of her thighs glistening with moisture. Her hair was plastered against her neck as she kept her head down, her eyes closed. Elise hovered over her, telling her to breathe, just breathe. Nicholas had been sent for, but he had not yet arrived.

  “When will he be here?” Elise demanded of the physician.

  “As soon as deigns to,” was the short reply.

  Arceia screamed. “He better damned well be here! Tell him if he wants any heirs at all he better go to!”

  “We’re doing all we can, mistress,” the nurse said calmly, kneeling before her. “He will not leave Arodi’s side, not even to eat. We’ve been trying to get him to do so for hours.”

  Arceia set her jaw, but another scream of pain forced it apart. Elise grabbed up a wet rag and mopped her mistress’ brow.

  “My mistress must have her husband here,” Elise said. “She won’t deliver her baby without him.”

  “The baby will come when he comes, whether or not his lordship is here.” The nurse said. Elise shot her a challenging glare and opened her mouth to argue, but the nurse interrupted again. “I’ve delivered countless babies in my lifetime, including this lady here. I think I know what I’m doing.”

  “I know you are,” Elise muttered. She turned back to Arceia, who was digging her nails into the arms of the chair. “Here,” she offered her hand. “Take it.”

  Arceia didn’t waste time. She grabbed Elise’s hand, her fingernails digging into tan flesh. “Remind me to kill him, Elise.”

  She meant Remphan. Elise nodded, and kissed her mistress’ temple.

  “Just deliver the baby, first.” She whispered. “Give him a healthy push.”

  Arceia screamed, and did as she was bidden.

  “My lord,”

  Nicholas was sick of people coming to him unbidden. He swore the next servant to do so, he would behead. “Yes, what is it?”

  “My lord, it’s your wife,” the servant said. “She’s having her baby, sir. Your son is on his way!”

  “So?” Nicholas snapped. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

  The servant fell back, abashed.

  “W-Well, my lord, we thought – we hoped – well, we wondered if you might wish to be present, sir.”

  “I never put anything in between her legs; I have no desire to watch anything come out. Blood, tears, and a woman’s screams are not my idea of an afternoon.” The baron’s tone was cold and clipped with no room for argument. “If
you will leave, and close the door. Give word to everyone that I am not to be disturbed again.”

  The servant, still stunned, bowed and backed out. Nicholas turned back to Arodi, who was curled up in his arms, asleep.

  Only Arodi wasn’t asleep anymore. His eyes were wide and glassy, his stare was blank.

  “Arodi?” Nicholas whispered fearfully. Arodi didn’t reply. His stomach clenched and he felt as though he might vomit. Please, Arodi, please…!

  “Nicholas,” the barest of whispers made their way past Arodi’s barely parted chapped lips. Nicholas gathered his love in his arms and cradled him, rocking him back and forth.

  “It hurts, Nicholas,” Arodi whispered. “It hurts…everywhere.”

  “Do you need a doctor?” Nicholas asked him. “Shall I call a physician?”

  “No, no…” with some effort, Arodi reached up and grabbed Nicholas’ hair. “Stay.”

  He had ceased to shake. In fact, his whole body was eerily still.

  “Are you all right?” Nicholas asked, realizing that he himself was shaking violently. He kissed his love. There was blood on Arodi’s lips.

  “Fine, fine, just stay.” Arodi lied. His hand dropped to Nicholas’ cheek. “Nicholas, I… I love you, with all my heart.”

  “And I you,” Nicholas’ throat felt tight. “I adore you more than anything in the world. I would die for you.”

  Arodi granted him a weak smile.

  His hand dropped from Nicholas’ cheek, and then the convulsions began. He doubled over, as if in pain, and he was shaking uncontrollably. Nicholas tried to hold on to him, as if that could help. Arodi screamed, and ripped away from Nicholas’ arms, falling to the pillows and writhing as if in agonizing pain. Nicholas’ own screams for a physician were drowned out.

  Blood gushed out of Arodi’s mouth, and he vomited it up. It spurted forth as if his mouth were a fountainhead, and it poured all over the front of his chest and chin. He screamed again, and his nails tore at his stomach, creating bloody runs. Nicholas grabbed his wrists and pinned him to the covers, tears flowing freely down his cheeks now.