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

by Matt Howerter

  Banlor leaned back in his chair. “So true, Soren.” He would no longer use the man’s title, now that the nobleman was sufficiently cowed. “You needn’t worry yourselves,” he addressed the rest of the party. “Our visitor is expected.” Casually steepling his fingers before him, Banlor looked at the old soldier, who had returned to his spot under the archway. “Dammer. Receive our guest of honor.”

  Dammer looked at Banlor for a long moment before turning from his spot to cross the body-littered floor. Receiving guests had been the task of Lamberth, Banlor’s former guard. When the creatures that inhabited the skins of Dammer and Walina had moved in, Lamberth’s services—valuable though they may once have been—had become obsolete. All of the house staff had become extraneous, in fact. More importantly, the loose tongues of people, even dominated ones such as his servants, were liabilities he could ill afford. Even so, the doppelgangers were proving less than adept at the tasks left wanting after the removal of the staff. Banlor’s dissatisfaction with the service ebbed as the discomfort of his other guests grew. He allowed himself a small smile behind his fingers. The situation was not ideal, but he was in control and that suited him well.

  Footfalls from the corridor quelled the whispering nobles, and the assembly craned their necks expectantly. Dammer, Bale, and two men who were obviously bodyguards despite their lack of uniform entered the foyer. The three men responded identically to the dozen bodies scattered in front of them. Three hands went to the pommels of three swords. Bale took a half-step forward and thrust a belligerent chin in Banlor’s direction. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  Ah, such a lack of trust, Banlor thought. He rose from his chair and extended his arm toward the captain. “This, my friends, is Captain Bale Tigon. Head of the house guard to the royal family of Pelos. He is going to show us the way into Stone Mountain.” Banlor paused and smiled widely. “So we may burn it to the ground.”

  Bale erupted into motion. His blade left its sheath as he turned toward Dammer. Bale’s two-handed blow cut deeply into the doppelganger’s stocky torso, nearly severing the arm and shoulder entirely from its body. No blood or ichor spilled from the wound, but if the lack of such gore surprised the captain, it didn’t show. Bale reared back slightly and kicked Dammer in the chest, freeing his sword and flinging the body back into the entry hall.

  The creature that was Dammer opened its mouth as it flew backward, but no sound came forth. The body writhed on the floor as Bale commanded his men, “Finish it.”

  The two soldiers had drawn their swords as well, though Banlor had not seen it happen. They turned as a unit and set to hacking at the body while Bale turned back to face Banlor and his guests.

  Banlor was frozen in shock, mouth hanging agape, with his hand still extended to the Pelosian captain.

  Bale took a giant step forward and hurled his weapon across the foyer at the minister.

  Banlor stood with his feet unable to move, watching the blade tumble through the air, end over end. Far too late, his self-control returned, and he squeezed his eyes shut, dreading the impact of the weapon.

  Nothing happened.

  He cautiously opened one eye and found the point of the sword mere inches from his bulging eye. The cold steel was frozen in mid-air by the clawed arm of Walina. The chitinous covering had regrown, but blood still painted much of the surface.

  Banlor’s face beaded with sweat as his heart leapt back into motion. Fury replaced the terror he had briefly felt, and he dropped the arm that was still raised. “Pacify him,” he snarled.

  Walina lowered the sword and began to move around the table. The sound of sliding steel rang through the two rooms as Bale unsheathed another sword and a dagger from his belt. “Come, demon. I would send you back to the abyss.”

  Walina appeared to believe she had all the time in the world. She sauntered across the floor and lazily dropped the sword onto the pile of bodies as she stepped lightly over splayed arms, legs, and pooling blood. The tiny woman’s form looked almost ridiculous as she approached the massive captain, who watched her approach with weapons at the ready. Not a word was spoken by his guests, though, as they had already learned that her size had little to do with her ability to wreak mayhem. The Pelosian had spoken more accurately than he knew—Walina truly was a demon.

  Bale began to circle as Walina approached. He moved with poise, weapons forward, and his weight balanced on his toes so he would be ready to spring. Walina, for her part, still walked casually.

  Banlor felt his poise return as Walina toyed with the captain. His heartbeat slowed to its stolid pace and the sweat began to dry on his brow. He seated himself once more and watched the scene unfold. He wondered what his guests might make of this development. They had already seen their entire contingent be vanquished by this creature. Did they harbor hopes of Bale’s success? Banlor felt his smile return and he raised his goblet to toast the performance.

  Bale charged toward Walina, dispensing with battle cries. His blades moved so quickly they were hard to see. Walina dodged every thrust and slash, except for one. The captain’s dagger cut a thin line down the side of her delicate cheek as he danced away from her. Several around the table took in a breath at the feat. This one man had already done more damage than the dozen who had been laid out earlier. Not one of that group had so much as laid a finger on her.

  Walina twitched her head in an annoyed gesture, but otherwise, the amused twist to her lips never wavered.

  The two came together again. Bale’s blades whirled and the tiny woman dodged. Another hit was scored on her shoulder, but this time, Walina did not allow the large man to disengage. Her transformed arm snapped forward and caught the wrist of Bale’s sword arm. He winced in pain but brought his dagger up in an attempt to stab her exposed throat. Walina’s still-human hand seized the sharp steel inches away from her neck. She hissed in fury at the armored man as the sharp edges cut deeply into her flesh.

  Banlor leaned forward in his seat. He had not seen the doppelganger show so much anger before. A frown made its way across his face and worry began to edge into his happily entertained mind—not for his creature, but for the Pelosian.

  With both arms entangled, Bale employed his legs. He brought his knee up into Walina’s midsection with such force, she was lifted off the ground. When her feet left the floor, the captain rushed forward and slammed Walina into the marble wall. Keeping her pinned, Bale released the trapped dagger and began to rain elbow smashes repeatedly into her skull.

  Walina’s body began to wilt under the punishment. Her feet had already landed on the ground and she began to fold her body as the blows continued relentlessly. Soren’s condescending voice floated across the table. “Looks as if your monsters aren’t as invincible as you thought, Banlor.” Rumbles of agreement came from the others and the beginnings of mutiny formed in the soft whispers.

  Fools, thought Banlor. Still they refuse to believe.

  Walina had curled into a ball, but the clawed arm still maintained its grip on the captain’s sword arm. Bale was shouting wordlessly as he attempted to break her bones. The claw suddenly released its grip on his arm and the big man stumbled. Two slim legs shot out, catching Bale squarely in the chest. He was flung violently into the air and he sailed across the room to slam into the opposite wall. Walina was on her feet in an eyeblink, and she was already crossing the intervening space before Bale struck the stone floor. Walina leapt onto Bale in a fury of pummeling fists, swinging chestnut hair, and hissing rage. The captain’s body quaked under the punishment; blow followed blow almost faster than the eye could follow.

  “Stop!” Banlor commanded, rising to his feet. His concern for the Pelosian intensified. Walina had never displayed this lack of control.

  Her blows continued unabated.

  “Stop! Stop, I say!” he yelled once more. He needed this man alive, but he knew that to lay a hand on her might mean his death. His hands clenched into fists as blood began to stain Bale’s lips.

  A bl
ur of motion came from the hall, and Walina was knocked off of Bale’s limp form. For a moment, the girl still raged, transferring her fury to the body of Dammer, who knelt above her, pinning the struggling woman to the floor. The second doppelganger no longer suffered from the ghastly injury that Bale had inflicted upon it, but the finely made clothes it wore would never be recovered. The old knight’s forearms were drenched in blood. His shirt and coat had been cut into rags.

  Banlor quickly made his way around the table. “Nirha.” He pointed to the noblewoman closest to him. “Make sure he still lives.”

  Nirha pursed her mouth in distaste, deepening the lines that already plagued her aged features. She hesitated for only a moment before getting to her feet and stepping over to Bale. She knelt and pressed her hand to the battered man’s throat.

  “I still live, you old haggard crone.” Bale croaked.

  Nirah stood up straight with a look of indignity. “Manners, young man, manners.”

  “I have none for you, nor for any other in this room,” the captain groaned, ignoring her admonition. Bale tried to rise but then lay back once more, breathing deeply.

  Relief washed over Banlor. Had the man died, his own life would most likely have been forfeit. “Are you ready to talk now?” He squatted down to peer into Bale’s eyes, but mindful of the man’s sudden violence, he was careful not to get too close.

  Hatred still burned in Bale’s eyes, but he spoke nonetheless. “I cannot help you.”

  Banlor tsked. “That would be a shame.” He stood and began to pace slowly in front of the prone captain. “You have no price, I take it. And nothing to live for?” He kept his eyes intently on Bale. This was his moment to find weakness.

  The Pelosian narrowed his eyes but then looked away.

  Ah! Banlor smiled openly. He knew the look of a man who did have a price, but one that was unlikely, if not impossible, to meet. Better, it might be one he felt guilt about wanting. “You have something I want, and it appears I have something you want.” He clapped his hands once and rubbed them together. “This is the part I love most. Tell me, Captain, why is it I should spare your life?”

  “You should not,” Bale growled, refusing to meet Banlor’s eye.

  “Well.” Banlor put a finger to his lips. “That just won’t do. You see, I have gone to some lengths to see you here alive. I hate wasted effort, and you do have something you want to live for. If you want to leave here alive, you’re going to have to share.”

  Bale’s gaze came back to settle on Banlor. “It was you. You had us attacked in Riverwood.”

  Banlor frowned. He didn’t think the brute capable of such deductive reasoning. He cocked his head. “Are you trying to change the subject?”

  Bale persisted. “Is she dead? Is Sacha dead?”

  Banlor stopped pacing to focus on Bale, his other guests forgotten. “Let us make a deal, Captain. If you impart some knowledge to me, I will do the same for you.” He opened his arms. “As an act of good faith, I will answer your question. Yes, Sacha is dead.” Kesh’s battered face surfaced briefly in Banlor’s mind, repeating the same words. At least, she better be, he thought with a sour twist to his mouth.

  Bale made a choking sound in his throat and struggled to breathe for a moment. Once in control of himself, he asked another question through clenched teeth, “Do you intend harm to her sister?”

  Banlor shook a finger in the air. “Ah, no. According to the deal, you must answer something for me now.” He took a deep, satisfying breath. “Tell me how to get past City Wall, so that we may enter Stone Mountain.”

  The large man coughed. “That will never happen, there’s no way to get past the wall. The old runes make even the gates impervious to harm.”

  Banlor straightened with a sigh. He had expected this reply. It was the one thing everyone knew. Banlor turned from his study of Bale to look at Dammer. “Let her up.”

  The knight released Walina immediately and she rose smoothly from the floor, straightening herself in silence. Whatever it was that had caused the creature to snap had apparently passed. She was no longer an immediate threat to his prisoner.

  Banlor returned his attention back to the captain. “You can do better than that. I want in, and you are going to tell me how.” He looked about and regarded his dinner guests with mock surprise. “My apologies. I seem to have forgotten propriety. We were engaged before the interruption.” His let the expression of chagrin bleed away and said coldly, “You have your duties, now get to them.”

  The sound of heavy winewood chairs sliding across polished marble filled the two chambers. The six nobles filed out without a word and were seen to the door by Dammer. Walina came to stand beside Banlor and looked down at the wounded captain with a blank expression.

  Banlor’s smile returned in earnest as he looked back at Captain Tigon. “Now, let’s find out what you really know.”

  Galen lunged forward, twisting into his father to force the older man’s sword arm outward. The flat of Galen’s blade came down hard on his father’s wrist, causing the blade to fall from the giant man’s hand.

  Galen was able to bark a laugh of triumph before something crashed into the back of his head with such force that his vision swam. He stumbled sideways, lifting his arm in an attempt to protect himself, but another blow smashed into his jaw, sending him sprawling.

  “Dammit, boy, it’s not just about the steel!” Hathorn yelled. “You have to use your mind to survive in battle!”

  Bright spots floated across Galen’s vision and his limbs flailed about uselessly, refusing to obey his wishes. He could hear his father’s footsteps approaching.

  Large hands took hold of his chestplate and yanked him from the ground. “A man’s body is his weapon,” his father growled. “Not the trinkets he carries. If this were a real fight, you’d be dead.”

  Galen felt his feet leave the solid paving stones of the practice yard. His father heaved him with a loud grunt, and Galen went sailing through the air to crash into one of the stone walls that surrounded the yard. Pain shot through his shoulder, back, and head. The taste of blood filled his mouth from a freshly bitten tongue.

  “Husband!” Arece yelled. “He is still a child!”

  Galen lifted his head with effort, forcing his eyes to focus. The image of his mother standing between him and his father swayed before him. She looked tiny compared to his giant father. A tiny angel. Only the force of her presence held back the raging mountain that would surely crush him.

  “He possesses the body of a grown man! By Eos, he will train as one,” Hathorn boomed. Then his voice became dangerously calm. “The day I need guidance from a woman on how to train my son will be the day I fall on my own sword. Step aside.”

  Galen gritted his teeth and got to his feet.

  “I will not stand idly by while you beat our son to death,” said his mother, refusing to move.

  “Perhaps he isn’t the only one in need of training.” Hathorn raised his arm with an open hand.

  “Father!” Galen yelled. He straightened to his full height as the king’s angry eyes fell on him. “I am ready to finish our lesson.”

  Galen shook his head at the memory. He had only been ten years old at the time but had already attained a height of six feet and weighed just under fifteen stone. By rights, he had been a full grown man—physically. Mentally, however, he had still been an idealistic boy, looking for approval from a father who viewed his son only as another tool to manipulate.

  That day he had vowed he would not raise hand to those in his service or his family. He had broken that rule for the first time the night of Sloane’s wedding. To his shame, not only had he broken the vow, but he had berated his sister in front of those who would look to her for leadership. Verbally assaulting his sister in public would have been bad enough, but he had also struck a loyal man who had no other choice but to do what he was told. Damn my anger, and damn you, Father, for passing it on to me.

  Guilt washed over him as he walked through
the palace grounds toward the barracks. Sacha’s abduction had, and would, affect more than just his own feelings. His childish reaction to the news had caused Sloane more suffering. He would not make that mistake again.

  His first opportunity to uphold that vow would happen now. He was on his way to inform another person of the grim news surrounding his sisters’ misfortune. Renee was a charming enough fellow. He had made many friends amongst the soldiers at Haden’s Rock. It was true he was hopeless as a soldier, although he did try, but he had strengths that made him valuable. Renee had an undeniable skill with a mandolin and a strong voice that helped keep morale high. He was definitely the type of man Sacha would fall for: sharp of wit and easy on the eyes.

  Galen had brought Renee in hopes of surprising his youngest sister. Sacha’s abduction had made the perilous trek with the singer a mistake, in hindsight. The latest on a growing list. Eos save me from myself, he thought as he opened the heavy door to the barracks. The structure was as eloquent as the other buildings around the palace but with an added empowerment of functionality. Weapons were readily at hand, and the open space of the sleeping quarters made for easy movement for the soldiers living within.

  The giant prince strode past the many bunks and various groups of the Basinian soldiers dicing or resting during their downtime. He acknowledged each man who looked his way with a nod. None stood at attention in his presence, for Galen was not their prince, but he found a respect in their eyes, an unspoken understanding between fighting men.

  He approached the quarter that housed the men he had brought from Haden’s Rock. In contrast to the Basinians, the soldiers of Pelos snapped to attention at the sight of Galen. “My Prince,” said the closest man.

  “I’m looking for Renee.”

  The soldier blinked with a frown. “He tol’ us he was off to meet ya, Milord.”