Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1)

by Matt Howerter

  Princess Sloane’s last abductor had abandoned his fellows, scrambling into the bed of the wagon. He held a knife to the throat of the unconscious woman. “Keep your distance. Or I cut her!”

  Erik lowered his blood-stained swords, breathing heavily. So close, he thought.

  The masked rogue pounded the wagon driver’s seat, startling the man out of his gaping stare. “Get us outta here!”

  Yelling, the man cracked his whip above the horses’ heads, spurring them into motion. The wagon lurched violently against the hand brake that had been applied to the front wheel.

  Erik tensed, sensing a possible opening.

  The kidnapper pressed his knife into the princess’s exposed flesh, dimpling the skin. A bead of blood rose, black in the moonlight. “Back!” he cried, his breath fluttering the cloth of his mask.

  Erik held both hands before him and raised his fingers from the hilt of the weapons placatingly.

  The wagon driver cursed and released the brake. The wagon lurched violently and carried the wagon down the road in a loud rush of air and dirt.

  Erik’s heart seized in his breast as the lurch of the carriage almost caused the rogue’s knife to plunge into Sloane’s throat.

  The kidnapper just managed to pull the blade back enough to allow for the motion of the cart, only to hold it threateningly once more as they began to pull away.

  Erik took slow, deep breaths, preparing himself to follow. If he could keep within a few miles of the cart, he was certain he could track them. Hopefully, he could do so long enough for Rouke to catch up. He looked at the entrance of Rapid’s Rest. More than anything, he wanted to go into the tavern to see what had become of Kinsey and the others, but if he did so, the princess would be lost. Eos watch over you, my son. Once the wagon disappeared into the same distance that had claimed the first, he sheathed his swords and set off at a brisk pace.

  Reaching into one of his pouches as he ran, he pulled out a small handful of flush moss. Retrieved from the deep basin of the Tanglevine, the small, spongy vegetation would glow a bright green when wet. He popped a small piece into his mouth for moisture and resisted the urge to spit it out immediately. The moss was horribly bitter, so much so it brought tears to his eyes. Once it was soft enough to roll into a ball with his tongue, he spat the vile plant to the ground, where it landed and glittered brightly on the dark road. He popped another into his mouth and repeated the process, leaving a glowing beacon at every turn or cross street.

  The sound of a Pelosian horn echoed through the formerly still night as Erik sprinted past shops and cottages in pursuit of the wagon.

  Hope swelled in his chest. Perhaps he would have support more quickly than he had expected.

  Something was in the road ahead, to one side of the fresh muddy ruts that he followed. It was small, not more than a foot in length, and glinted in the moonlight. He didn’t slow as he approached the object, but focused on the item as he passed. A dagger. Actually, the dagger. At least, it was the same type of blade that had been held to Princess Sloane’s throat.

  He had no idea whether or not the lost dagger was a good sign or bad. All he knew was that he had to continue the chase. Despite his fear of what might happen should the kidnappers see him following, he ran faster.

  The road became darker as the number of buildings dwindled and the density of the trees grew thicker. The buildings he ran by seemed deserted, but Erik knew better. It was so late that most would be enjoying a deep sleep and probably didn’t even hear the creaking wagon as it raced through the streets. Just ahead, horses screamed and the sound of wagon wheels screeched. A cry of pain was followed by a gravely voice demanding, “Get the bitch off me, dammit!”

  Erik moved to one side of the road and drew his swords, holding them low in a reverse grip that kept the blades at his sides but ready.

  The wagon came into view. It was still moving but now careened wildly from side to side as three figures struggled near the driver’s bench. Voices and sounds of struggle floated back to Erik as the kidnappers cursed and attempted to wrestle the wakened princess back into submission. The wagon driver was attempting to keep his hands on the reins, but the wrestling pair crashed into his shoulders, forcing him to raise an arm protectively.

  “Cut this!” Princess Sloane screamed in response to something the brigand had said, and the two forms tumbled from the side of the wagon. They crashed to the ground in a rolling pile of arms and legs. The wagon driver pulled on the reins, regaining control and swinging the cart around in a shuddering, rock-spewing arc.

  A shout from the wagon driver told Erik he had been spotted. He redoubled his speed, attempting to close the distance before the opportunity Sloane had created vanished like smoke in the wind. The driver bent low, then stood on the cart’s bench seat with a bow in hands.

  Cursing, Erik was forced to dive to one side as a shaft buzzed by his head. He began dodging from side to side as he ran, but the process slowed him and he watched in vain as the bandit grappling with the princess smashed a fist into her face. The woman’s struggling form once again went limp.

  The thunder of hooves far behind drew Erik’s attention from the princess’s motionless body. He glanced over one shoulder with feelings of hope beginning to rise. Thank Eos.

  Bale, Rouke, and a dozen others riding bareback raced through the moonlight.

  The wagon driver also took note of the riders. Shouting and pointing, he urged his accomplice to hurry even as he whipped the reins of the horses, starting the wagon back into motion.

  Erik kept his frantic pace, but the kidnappers and Princess Sloane again slipped farther and farther away from him. He waved his allies onward as they thundered by in pursuit.

  Rouke was first to reach the wagon. He yelled wildly and leapt from the saddle of his horse. He landed on top of the bandit who hovered over the unconscious princess. The two crashed into the bed of the wagon. The motion of their fall had barely stopped before Rouke’s arm reared back then thrust forward, driving his fist like a hammer into the man’s face, effectively ending the struggle.

  Bale charged forward, spear in hand, and threw it at the driver. The missile struck the brigand in the back, knocking him forward to tumble off the bench and fall into the spinning wheels below. The wagon bounced violently as it rolled over the driver’s body. All three bodies sailed from the back of the wagon into the air.

  Erik felt his insides twist into knots as he watched the group.

  Rouke windmilled his arms desperately in an attempt to control his flight. The other two bodies drifted almost languidly through the air. Their arms and legs swung bonelessly in response to the violent toss. The princess landed flat on her back, head rebounding on the packed earth of the road.

  “No!” Erik screamed in frustration as he ran toward her motionless body.

  The remaining horsemen galloped up to the princess, several dismounting before they came to a complete stop. All of them assumed protective postures around their fallen charge. Rouke and the bandit had landed together in a heap.

  Rouke rolled off the brigand to lie on his back and stare into the blackened, wind-swept canopy above. The brigand himself was unconscious, his chest moving up and down in a slow, consistent rhythm.

  Erik pushed past the guardsmen and knelt beside the princess. Her eyes were closed, and her body was plastered with mud, leaves, and twigs. The moonlight cast a deathly pallor on her slackened features. He pressed his fingers to her neck and could feel the thump of a strong pulse. He sat back and let out a long breath. “We need a physician,” Erik said to the gathered group, “quickly!”

  Two of the Pelosians jumped on their horses and rode back into town. Rouke moaned and rolled on his side. “I hurt. Everywhere.”

  Erik looked at his friend and gestured to the two unconscious bodies. “You’re the lucky one.”

  Rouke winced as his head swiveled to follow Erik’s wave, then back to meet the elf’s eyes. “Aye, I see that now. Will she live?”

  “I
think so. There’s no blood, but inside there may be—”

  “Back away from her, elf,” said Bale. He had dismounted and stood amongst his men, sword drawn. The look in his eyes bordered on crazed.

  Erik felt his own anger rise but smothered it. No good could come from a confrontation with Bale, especially now, with the princess injured. He stood and stepped back slowly, palms out and hands empty. “She should not be moved.”

  The Pelosian bent down, his eyes on Erik, until he was over the princess. His hands, surprisingly deft, probed the back of her head and neck, then down her spine. Once satisfied, Bale looked at the remaining Pelosians. “Take that,” he gestured to the unconscious rogue, “and them,” he pointed to Erik and Rouke, “back to the tavern. There are questions that need answering.”

  Kinsey’s vision started to return and he tried to call out, but only incoherent noise escaped his throat. A fuzzy droning buzzed in his ears. Someone was speaking. Someone was speaking to him. He began to raise his head from the floorboards, but an impact to his face drove it back to thump hollowly on the ground. His vision partially cleared for a moment with the pain in his cheek to reveal a woman. No. It was a man, sitting on top of him. Kesh. Kesh sat on him, screaming.

  Another blow.

  This time his ears cleared.

  “—bastard. They took her, you bastard!” Kesh reared his hand back for another strike. “I’ll see you burn for this, Kinsey. I’ll see you burn!”

  The slap caught Kinsey just above one eye and broke the last of his blurry haze.

  “Enough!” Kinsey thrust his hands forward, shoving Kesh off with enough force to knock the wind from the scrawny man. “I know. Someone took her!” That was about all he did know. Everything else was a cloudy memory of pain.

  “You’re to blame for this.” Kesh coughed as air returned to his lungs. He struggled to both elbows. “I’ll see you hanged!”

  “So, which is it?” Kinsey sat up and wiped his mouth. “Am I to be burned, or hanged?”

  Kesh blinked. Or blinked one eye, at least. The other was swollen shut. His nose leaked blood from one nostril and his lower lip was cracked and bleeding as well.

  “Both!” He sneered through blood-smeared teeth. “We will burn your stinking corpse with the rest of the trash, after you have danced your last jig in the hempen rope.”

  Strangely, the remarks did not spur Kinsey to his usual fury at the idiot nobleman. He looked more closely at the chancellor. “What happened to you?”

  “In an attempt to do your job, I was assaulted!” Kesh winced and put a hand to his split lip.

  Kinsey frowned; that didn’t make sense. If Kesh had come down to help the princess, he would have ended up in the pile of bodies behind the bar. “Did you come back down before the abductors left?”

  The chancellor stared at Kinsey as if he were stupid. “What are you talking about?” He held both hands up in confusion. “I just came down the stairs to find you lying on the floor in a drunken stupor!” One hand stabbed at Kinsey, pointing. “The abductors, as you put it, were waiting in Princess Sacha’s room. When I tried to stop them I was... outnumbered.”

  Realization crashed down on Kinsey. Both of the sisters had been taken. He groaned and shook his head. Kesh wasn’t wrong about him being a dead man. Lord Graves would have his head for this, and no placation or politicking by Erik could stop it. He had to find them. He got to his feet and stumbled to the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Kesh screeched. He attempted to get to his feet as well, but became entangled in fallen barstools and crashed back to the floor with a curse.

  Kinsey walked out of the tavern, ignoring the chancellor, and went into the street to look for signs of the princess. They couldn’t have gotten too far. He still had a chance to find them. He only needed a trail to follow. A trail Erik could follow.

  Two dead men lay in the street just in front of the inn, surrounded by many Pelosian soldiers. When Kinsey looked around, it appeared the entire tavern was surrounded by Pelosian soldiers.

  He made his way to the two bodies. “The princesses have been taken. We need to rally and go after them!”

  One of the soldiers turned to address him. Mason was the man’s name, if Kinsey remembered correctly. “The captain has already done so. We are to remain here until we hear word from him.”

  Kinsey prevented his mouth from dropping open. How long had he been blacked out? Too long, apparently. “Well, I’m not going to stand here like a useless stump.” He started to go back into the inn to get his things.

  Mason moved to block him. “I was ordered to make sure that you, specifically, stayed put.”

  Kinsey’s brows came together. “Is that so?” The familiar heat of anger finally began to stoke in his belly.

  The door to the tavern crashed open, revealing a spitting and wild-eyed Kesh. “Don’t walk away from me, you drunken fool. You’re not getting out of my sight until I see you taken to the gallows!”

  Kinsey cracked his knuckles. He ignored the ranting chancellor but looked past Mason to observe the soldiers around them.

  Every one of them returned his gaze. Several had their hands resting casually on their sword hilts. The ones closest had bent their knees slightly.

  “We don’t have to do it this way, Master Kinsey,” Mason said, a forced casual tone masking his obvious stress. “My orders were just that you stay within the tavern. You don’t have to be in chains.”

  Mason’s face was blank as Kinsey turned back to look at him. He was caught. There were too many for him to overbear. He and Mason both knew it. Kinsey spread his hands in acceptance, and realized as he did so that he didn’t even have his weapon.

  Giddy laughter came from the chancellor as Kinsey turned and began to ascend the entry stairs once more. “Looks like my work is partially done already.” He stepped aside and motioned to the door that still hung open. “I’m going to spit on your corpse when this is finished, Kinsey.”

  “Take him as well.” Mason motioned toward Kesh. “Make sure they stay in sight.”

  Kesh’s smile dropped in shock. “I, eh... what?!”

  Kinsey began to chuckle as he grabbed a handful of Kesh’s shirt and drew him close to pat the wide-eyed man on the cheek. “Guess you’re gonna have to wait on that spittle. Maybe even save some for yourself.” He shoved the chancellor to stumble through the doorway into the common room.

  Once inside, Kesh steadied himself on a chair and straightened to his full height, puffing his chest out. “This is outrageous!”

  Kinsey took a chair near the door while the chancellor carried on in his indignation.

  Several soldiers joined them but stood at posts around the room. Two men were working to sift the bodies behind the bar, carrying each through a door that lead to a rear courtyard.

  An unspoken understanding had passed between Mason and himself back in the street. There was a traitor in their midst. Captain Bale was simply trying to sniff him out.

  Unfortunately, Kinsey was a prime suspect. Erik would be too, no doubt, and the captain’s enmity for Kinsey’s stepfather would not serve his cause well. Rapid’s Rest had been their choice. If Kinsey were in Bale’s position, he would have acted the same.

  Kesh’s ranting stopped suddenly, and Kinsey looked up to see the slim man peering out of one of the windows. Calls from the Pelosians in the street heralded the sounds of horses and wagon wheels outside. The door flew open and Pelosian soldiers flowed in, Mason at their head. Erik, Rouke, and Bale followed, but Bale stopped and stepped to one side just as he came in. “Put her on the table, quickly!” he said, waving and pointing to someone outside. Two soldiers carried one of the princesses into the common room on a makeshift litter and placed her on the table. She was wrapped in several cloaks and appeared to be unconscious. Riverwood’s physician, Sabian, trailed in after. His grey hair was in disarray and clutched a blanket around his shoulders as he shuffled across the floor with a small limp.

  Kinsey stood and
looked at Erik. “How bad?”

  Erik shook his head slightly and murmured softly as he watched Sabian begin to examine the princess’s pale, dirty face. “She’s still breathing.”

  “Set him over there.” Bale directed two soldiers with a bound man dragging between them to a corner near the hearth. “Mason. Search this place from top to bottom.”

  Mason nodded and took a handful of guards to the foot of the stairs. He ordered a pair to search the kitchen and another pair to the back. Mason himself, followed by two more soldiers, went upstairs.

  “Both sisters were taken; we don’t have time for this, Bale,” Kinsey said.

  Kesh came away from the window. “Which one is that?” He moved toward the table where the princess laid.

  “The four of you,” Bale said, waving his hand to encompass Kinsey and the other Basinians, “to the corner.” He took hold of Kesh as the politician tried to get past and pushed him toward the hearth. “It’s time to find out what happened here tonight.”

  “You’re not actually thinking of torturing me, are you?” Chancellor Tomelen’s eyes were wide with fright.

  Bale smiled coldly. “That depends on how well you repeat your story.” He jabbed an iron poker at the heavy logs burning in the open hearth.

  He had listened to the quartet’s stories three times already, independently. Each of the four men he held in highest suspicion had been bound, ears stopped, but eyes left open so they could see his work with the bandit. After this telling, he would listen to them once more—as they were being burned by hot iron. He had already taken the liberty of branding the captured kidnapper into unconsciousness. The fellow had held up well, for his kind, but had agreed, eventually, to lead them to Princess Sacha. Now he need only find the traitor. The scum had proved useless in that.

  “This is pointless, Bale. They haven’t done anything wrong!” Marcella pleaded. “They tried to help, for Eos’ sake!”