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

by Matt Howerter

  Odd, thought Galen. “When was this?”

  “Over an hour ago, Milord.”

  “I see,” replied Galen. He hadn’t put any restrictions on Renee, except to make it clear that his presence was to be a surprise for Sacha and that they should wait for the right moment to reveal his arrival. Renee may have gone looking for her anyway—they had been here for several days, after all. Galen would have been impatient himself.

  “Thank you.” He turned from the soldier. Renee’s absence was a minor matter, really. Galen and his troops would have to leave soon; he could tell the musician then.

  AFTER Kinsey had realized what the bloody patch on the battlement meant, he hastened from the wall to start searching for some sign of his father. His hopes had risen unreasonably when no evidence of Erik’s death could be found. Those hopes had waned quickly, however, as the hours turned into days of meticulous searching of miles of riverbank.

  He was kneeling in a shallow pool, washing the mud from a tava root, when a finger of light-colored stones poking into the river caught his eye. He absently crammed the fibrous root into his mouth and began to chew as he slogged through the shallows toward the jetty.

  The tumbling rapids slowed here as the river deepened. Brilliantly colored fish flashed away from his feet into the gloomy depths. If Erik had managed to stay afloat, this deep spot might have given him a chance to exit the river.

  Water dripped from his bare legs as he stepped from the river onto the smooth and shifting stones of the bank. Kinsey spotted a dark patch on one of the rounded rocks almost immediately, and he knelt to examine it. Looks like blood, he thought with a grunt, but unlike the puddle on the wall, this was days old. Remembering the odd sensation that had overcome him at the Keep, he brought the bloody stone to his face and inhaled deeply.

  Erik!

  Kinsey quickly scanned the area around the rocky peninsula.

  Deeper within the trees and undergrowth were the remains of a campfire. To one side of the charred wood and blackened stones, the remnants of a massive reptile were under siege from an army of small, furry scavengers with prehensile tails and strangely ape-like hands.

  Mikeri, Kinsey thought, wrinkling his nose.

  Several of the less-bold vermin were watching him warily as the rest of their brethren tucked into the corpse. The reptile’s body had obviously been picked over by several others before the mikeri had come to claim the last tidbits.

  Kinsey stood, bouncing the bloody rock in his hand, and bent to scoop up several others as an afterthought. With a shout, he hurled the stones at the scavengers. The mikeri squeaked and chittered angrily but fled the giant serpent skull.

  The smell of rot and decay assaulted Kinsey’s nostrils as he drew near, but he didn’t have to get too close to find the reason for the snake’s death. An empty socket had been transfixed with the smooth length of an arrow’s shaft, and the remnants of fletching dyed gold and red still drooped from their bindings below the shattered nock.

  Pelosian, he mused. This could be good or bad.

  Kinsey had been slowly filling in the gaps of his memory during his search over the past couple of days. He remembered almost everything now, except for the night he, Erik, and Kesh had discovered the ruined Keep. Captain Bale’s anger was again fresh in Kinsey’s mind. The split from the caravan had not been a pleasant one and had made Kinsey concerned for Erik’s wellbeing if the Pelosians had indeed found him.

  He left the corpse to the mikeri and moved to inspect the burned-out campfire.

  The fire itself appeared to have been extinguished for several days. A small pile of dead wood and dried vegetation sat nearby. To one side of the circle of stones, large leaves had been spread out in a fashion that resembled a bed or pallet. A bit of bloodied cloth lay trapped amongst the flattened leaves.

  Kinsey pulled the stained cloth free to inspect it more closely. The fabric appeared to have been torn, and when he brought it to his nose, he once again felt the faint presence of Erik. As he breathed in the smell, he noticed there was something overlaying Erik’s scent. Something much stronger as well as familiar.

  His eyebrows drew together as he contemplated what the new scent might be. He couldn’t fathom what had changed to allow him to sense and understand so much from smell, but he was thankful for it. Concentrating, he pulled another deep breath through the cloth.

  Sacha! This was a piece of Sacha’s clothing! Her presence unfolded in his mind and he knew he was right. In retrospect, he realized she had been on top of the wall walk as well.

  Excited, he dropped the cloth and knelt where Erik must have lain. That was when he noticed something was very wrong.

  Other smells still occupied this clearing. As he focused and became more aware, he could tell there had been several men here, although they were not the cause of his chill. A miasma of cold and empty wrongness permeated the entire clearing like a mist surrounding his ankles. The alien scent was faint, so much so that he hadn’t noticed it until he was on his knees.

  Kinsey stood once more and cast his eyes about. Sacha’s and Erik’s trails led him away from the campfire’s remains and to the fringes of the jungle. The closer he drew, the stronger his sense of dread became. The scent of rotting meat came to him before he spotted the boot poking from a fern at the edge of the stones. Mason, he thought. Most of the body had been savaged already, but it didn’t matter. The man was dead, and it hadn’t been anything from the jungles that had killed him. Nothing that Kinsey knew of, anyway.

  Just beyond the body was a section of ruined undergrowth. More corpses littered the area. The cold stench was thickest here, in the center of a roughly circular area of jungle that had been pressed down and broken apart. The smell of whatever had been present here made his eyes water, but he knew Erik had been in this same spot. One of the Pelosian corpses lay half within the trampled circle. The mikeri were busily working on the parts of the body outside of the circle, but they had not touched the parts that lay within, almost as if there were a fence preventing them from intruding further.

  Kinsey retreated to the perimeter and began to work his way around it. A second circle with its own grisly attendants was yards away.

  Sacha had been there.

  Kinsey steeled his jaw and began combing the ground around the two circles, searching for signs of the direction his friends might have gone.

  He found nothing.

  Kinsey cursed and made his way back to the campfire. From there, he began examining every rock and stone. Hours passed in fruitless search. Erik and Sacha had come out of the river, spent some time at the bank, and at some point the soldiers had arrived. They had fended off the snake and then... He could not say.

  Kinsey shook his head in frustration. So close. All he could do now was continue west, toward Waterfall Citadel, and hope his strange new senses could find a sign.

  The day had bled away from him as he crossed and re-crossed the clearing. There was nothing left here for him but a decent spot for a night’s rest. He lay down in the same spot Erik had, but faced the twin spots of ruination in the jungle instead of the cold fire. Tomorrow would be soon enough to move on.

  Kinsey’s dreams were filled with dying men. The dream seemed just as real as the hallucinations that had plagued his waking hours. He could feel his nails digging into flesh as each man perished. In the midst of all the death and chaos, Chancellor Kesh stood sneering.

  Why are you here? Kinsey demanded of the nobleman, but the chancellor gave no reply. Kesh only curled his lip further while managing to look frightened at the same time. The nobleman lifted a hand that clutched something bloody.

  Sharp pain shot through Kinsey’s chest, while his scalp felt like it had been set ablaze. He sat up straight, gasping for breath. Ghost pains lingered from his dream, and he attempted to rub them away from his chest and scalp.

  The chittering of the mikeri was the only thing he heard beyond the rustle of the wind, until voices began to float toward him. They were distorted by
the dense jungle and distance, but they were coming closer.

  A violent rustle arose from the jungle between him and the voices. Kinsey rose to a crouch and hefted one of the larger stones, wishing he had thought to gather at least one of the fallen swords from the dead Pelosians.

  A brilliant blue glow was moving through the jungle, and it appeared to be heading his way. The glow trickled through the thick leaves and heavy trunks as it drew near, peppering light across the small clearing of the campsite. The rustling noise became more intense, as if something or someone was trying to run through the underbrush. Huge leaves at the edge of camp parted suddenly and light flooded the campsite. A stocky boy tumbled from the wilds, covered in various vines and foliage.

  Kinsey leapt to one side as the boy rolled across the ground, the blue light streaming from his tightly clenched fist.

  The figure came to a sitting stop in the middle of the old campfire. “Dagda’s damnation!” it grumbled.

  That doesn’t sound like a child, Kinsey thought. He shielded his eyes against the light and squinted to get a better look at the new arrival.

  The broad “boy” was actually an old dwarf. Long hair, which looked grey in the blue light, had been tied back in a thick braid and draped over a well-used backpack. Stout leathers and heavy fabrics provided the rest of the dwarf’s outfit and they looked just as worn. A well-crafted mace hung from his belt and swung back and forth as the old dwarf got to his feet. He looked around with his back facing Kinsey, then looked down at the glimmering light in his hand. “That be odd. He should be right here.” The dwarf scratched his head. “No. Wait.” Still focused on the light in his hand, the old dwarf turned slowly until he faced Kinsey properly.

  The dwarf’s nose was long and wide, with several distinct creases where it was joined to his face. Below the flared nostrils of that grand appendage, a grey mustache and beard had grown to a length sufficient to reach his knees. Gold and silver rings had been tied into the steely hairs, separating the beard into locks of various sizes along his chest.

  Beneath his bushy brows, eyes that looked like charcoal in the blue glow rose to take in Kinsey for the first time. Those eyes blinked in confusion. “Ya aren’t a dwarf,” he said.

  Kinsey frowned at the odd statement and shook his head. “No. Not exactly,” he replied. As his eyes adjusted to the glowing blue light in the dwarf’s hand, he could see it was a polished stone.

  The old dwarf’s eyes went to the glowing rock and back to Kinsey several times. He shook the blue orb in frustration. “What trickery be this?!”

  Kinsey was no less confused than the dwarf. “Umm... What is it you’re looking for?” he asked.

  The old dwarf stared sullenly at the stone. “Ma friend’s last hope.”

  Kinsey sank down onto the log he had been sleeping beside, sensing the old dwarf wished him no harm. “In the jungle? During the middle of the night? Do you mind if I ask what exactly that might be?”

  The gold and silver hoops in the old dwarf’s beard jingled as he looked up. “A boy. A lost dwarven boy.” The deep-set eyes studied Kinsey more intently and the heavy brows lowered as he squinted. “The red hair be wrong, but...” The dwarf came closer, holding the glowing rock up to Kinsey’s face and peering at him intently.

  Kinsey smiled, strangely comforted by this odd, old dwarf. “Well, I’m not exactly a ‘boy,’ either.”

  “Sargon!” a rough voice yelled in the distance. “Where be ya, ya stubborn fool!” Several other voices became more distinct as they drew closer. If this dwarf was “Sargon,” he failed to reply. He just stood there, squinting at Kinsey.

  Kinsey had a sudden thought. He was alone, and the people attached to the voices might not be as nonthreatening as his intent friend. He began to edge slowly away from the light.

  “Don’t ya be movin’ a muscle, ma naked friend, or I’ll be pennin’ yer head to a tree,” said a low, soft voice to his right.

  Kinsey froze in place and turned his head slowly to take a look at this newcomer.

  A dwarven woman stood just outside the cover of the jungle with her feet spread wide and a crossbow leveled in his direction. She was half a head taller than the old dwarf, but easily a foot shorter than Kinsey himself. The crossbow she pointed at him was almost as long as she was tall. Soft amber light pulsed from runes that had been laid into the lath of the crossbow. She was clad in the same fashion as “Sargon,” but while he was elderly, her form was lithe and strong. Her thick, light-colored hair had been pulled into many braids, such as Kinsey himself typically wore. Circlets of gold and silver were worked through the lengths, dividing and redividing the threads into an intricate pattern that was finished in loose caps of more silver and gold at the ends.

  “Step away from ’im, Sargon,” she directed the old dwarf.

  Kinsey held up both hands placatingly. “I mean no harm,” he said. “I just want to leave in peace.”

  The woman said nothing and refused to lower her weapon. Her eyes flicked to the jungle as the same thicket Sargon had entered from shook again. This time, several dwarves covered in chainmail, shields, weapons, and plenty of jungle vegetation spilled forth.

  One of the dwarves, thick even by dwarf standards, stepped forward, yanking vines and foliage from his armor. “Dammit, Sargon. Ya can’t be runnin’ off like that!” he grumbled. “Ya’ll get yerself killed—” He stopped cold after catching sight of Kinsey and quickly placed his hand on the haft of a vicious-looking axe.

  Wonderful, thought Kinsey, just wonderful. He eyed the woman who still had the crossbow trained unwaveringly on his chest. She seemed more than willing to pull the trigger, but if her eyes left him to regard her companions again, he might be able to make a jump to the dense foliage just a few feet behind him. Kinsey began focusing his mind to make the attempt, but his eyes drifted back to the old dwarf who still stood bemused before him. Something he saw in those old, dark eyes made him pause.

  The expression on the dwarf’s worn, wrinkled face was one of wonder and possibly disbelief. The eyes though, they gazed on him with familiarity and... recognition?

  “Yer name be ‘Kinsey,’ I’ll bet me life on it,” Sargon said.

  Thunderstruck, Kinsey took an involuntary step backward.

  Sargon’s hands came up slowly as if to calm a spooked animal. “It be okay, boy, I understand it now. Ya be half-dwarven, don’t ya?”

  Kinsey stared at the old dwarf. “How do you know my name?”

  Sargon sighed. “That be a long tale, lad.” He looked up at the sky; the first touches of orange could be seen through the canopy. “Might be we could discuss it over breakfast?” Both of his brows lifted so his forehead disappeared behind them, and a welcoming smile made its way across his leathery face.

  Kinsey looked over the old dwarf at the others.

  The woman had moved closer to the axe-bearer, the sharp bolt still trained steadily upon Kinsey. The other half-dozen had spread out in a large semicircle, and their large hands lay lightly upon their weapons.

  Sargon kept his eyes on Kinsey as he spoke. “Jocelyn, ya can lower yer crossbow. He means us no harm.” He reached up and untied his cloak. “The rest of ya, get a fire goin’. I be starvin’.” The old dwarf offered Kinsey the cloak and nodded. “We can’t be havin’ yer weapons hangin’ out durin’ breakfast, now, can we?”

  Kinsey’s cheeks reddened. He had become so accustomed to his nudity in the past few days, he hadn’t even considered looking for suitable clothes amongst the dead Pelosian soldiers. He took the cloak and wrapped it around his waist with a nod of thanks.

  The dwarves were obviously accustomed to their roles and moved with great efficiency. Within minutes, the dead campfire was roaring once again. Pots of water had begun to simmer on a metal contraption one of the men had produced from a pack and unfolded. Two of the other dwarves were plying the water of the deep pool with makeshift poles in search of fish. Jocelyn had unrolled a leather scrip and was stropping a slender knife with a curiously peac
eful look for someone who had, just moments ago, been threatening Kinsey’s life. The axe-bearing dwarf and one other set themselves to watching the forest and Kinsey in equal measure.

  The orange glow in the sky that Sargon had noted earlier had barely brightened when the old dwarf motioned for Kinsey to sit around the fire with those who were not keeping watch. Amazing aromas were rising from the iron skillet, and Kinsey’s stomach growled loud enough to draw a laugh from the elderly dwarf.

  Kinsey shrugged sheepishly and squeezed in beside two of the armored dwarves.

  One of them handed him a small tin plate as he sat.

  “My thanks,” said Kinsey.

  The dwarf gave a grunt of acknowledgement and proceeded to serve up the meal.

  It was the best meal Kinsey had had in a long time. Granted, it could just be that roots for the better part of a week had stained his palette, but even so, it was remarkable what Jocelyn and the others had produced in so little time.

  As he ate, he watched his hosts carefully. There was a tension in the group Kinsey did not understand. Sargon and the burly dwarf with the axe in particular kept looking at him, and each other, only to look quickly away when their attention was noticed. The axe-wielder seemed agitated, and his glances obviously made Sargon uncomfortable.

  “Where do ya hail from, lad?” Sargon finally asked after finishing his plate.

  “Waterfall Citadel,” replied Kinsey. “And you?”

  The old dwarf grunted contentedly as he passed his tin plate to a younger dwarf, who took it with a respectful nod. He then pulled out his pipe. “Mozil.”

  “The dwarven capital,” said Kinsey.

  “Mm-hmm.” Sargon nodded while pulling a twig from the fire to light his pipe.

  “That’s quite a long journey. Do your lost boys generally wander so far?”

  Sargon chuckled. “That be quite a clip, indeed.” He lit the pipe and drew deeply, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “I believe I’ll be needin’ a word alone with the lad,” he said to the air as he settled back on his log.