“That’d be odd, for sure.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “You can ride with me back to the aviary—”
“I wouldn’t want to risk it, Rouke,” Sloane interrupted. “Not until the flock has been inspected.” She waved a hand at the falls looming out of the jungle canopy before them. “I can see the Cliffs of Judgment from here. I should be able make my way back up to the Citadel from there.”
Rouke nodded thoughtfully, then cupped his hands once more, emitting a piercing whistle. His mount perked its head up to look at them. Powerful wings flapped as the giant bird leapt from the ground. He floated across the river on the moist air and landed near them with a squawk, ruffling his feathers.
Rouke approached the bird and pulled his sword and a few other items from their places around the saddle. He turned back to Sloane, buckles clicking. “Well, let’s be off, then.”
They followed the riverbank back to the falls, leaving the eagles to their own devices. The great birds would fly back to the aviary when they had had enough of the tight-fitting harnesses.
Sloane looked up at the cliffs that had provided the means of execution for every criminal who had been sentenced to death in the grand courts of Waterfall Citadel. A jutting peninsula hung out from the falls, several hundred feet above the rocky basin. The stone platform had been worked to a smooth finish. Carved buttresses in the shape of the mighty Rohdaekhann supported the platform like the mermaids on the bow of a great galley. The ledge was wide enough to hold three men across at its narrowest point—occasionally, the condemned required encouragement to make the last step. A shiny emerald tabard dangled over the end. Even from here, she could see the embroidered tree of gold decorating the fabric that stirred gently in the wind.
A bed of sharp stone peeked out from the shallow waters that surrounded the base of the mighty cliffs. The standing law, passed down from old, pardoned any who dove from the cliff and lived. To Sloane’s knowledge, no one had ever survived.
A viewing area had been built near the jagged rocks for witnesses to the executions. An open circle of ancient stone provided the flooring of the viewing area and each stone was carved in such a way that the entire circle appeared to be spinning. Lush green moss covered the short stone wall that surrounded the viewing area, protecting spectators from the splashing water nearby.
Sloane hesitated as she and Rouke approached the massive dais under the falls. A group of people had gathered. She narrowed her eyes. Executions were performed in the morning. What were these people doing here as night began to fall?
She placed a hand on Rouke’s shoulder. “Be on your guard.”
Rouke placed his hand on the hilt of his short sword and nodded. Together, they began to make their way toward the viewing area. The rough trail turned into smooth cobblestone steps that the two climbed easily to reach the flat platform above.
Upon reaching the top, Sloane let out a small cry of shock.
In front of her stood three people. The first was an older man dressed in an ill-fitting robe. Something about the man tugged at her memory, but she couldn’t focus on him, for the next in line was Erik. He was wrapped in bandages and looked as if he himself had just fallen from the cliffs. Consternated as she was to find Erik here, the last person in line left her mouth hanging in shock. Sacha stood between the two men, looking ragged but determined.
Sloane crossed the platform at a dead run. “By Eos!” She crashed into her sister and embraced Sacha with such force that she lifted her twin from her feet. “I thought to never see you again!”
Sacha groaned under the pressure and laughed, tears running down her cheeks. “Me too.”
They stood and hugged each other for what seemed an eternity. Sloane sniffed and finally stepped back, holding her sister by the shoulders at arm’s length. “I have no words...”
Sacha’s mouth twitched with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Me neither.”
Sloane kept her hands on Sacha but looked at Erik. “So tell me, Sacha. Do I praise this elf or send him to the dungeons in chains?”
“What do you mean?” Sacha blinked in confusion. “He saved my life.”
Erik had been watching the two sisters with a small grin on his face. He had stepped away from the trio and sunk down to lean on the moss-covered, stone wall. At Sloane’s words, a frown tugged at his lips. “Well, you saved my life as much as I saved yours, Princess. Still, I’d wager neither would be worthy of the dungeons.”
“You and your companion, Kinsey, have been accused of being part of Sacha’s abduction,” Sloane stated, taking on her royal air.
“That’s ridiculous!” Sacha pulled away from her. “Who made such an outrageous claim?”
“He did,” said Rouke, pointing up the cliff face to the narrow passage that led to the Citadel above.
Everyone but the older man in the robe turned to see where Rouke’s finger pointed. Their gaze settled on Chancellor Kesh Tomelen. He led a large group of dwarves and Basinian guardsmen down into the opening. Several of the dwarves carried the body of Kinsey, who appeared to be unconscious.
“Kinsey!” Erik shouted. He came up from the wall and hobbled toward the newly arrived group as quickly as he was able.
“Seize him!” Kesh demanded. “Traitorous elf!”
The sound of Rouke’s sword coming free of its scabbard rang through the air as two of Kesh’s guards stepped forward. “Don’t ya be layin’ hands on him. Unless, of course, you’ll not be needin’ them any longer.”
All of the human guards drew their weapons, but Erik did not stop his crippled lumbering toward the limp form of his adopted son. As he came closer to the guards, one of them reached out to take hold of him.
Rouke’s eye twitched and he tsked. “That’s a damn shame.” He started forward.
“Stop!” Sloane’s voice boomed as only the scion of Hathorn could. “By my right as your future queen, I command you all, stop!” She had had enough of rash actions. She would take control of this situation if she had to take Rouke’s sword and start stabbing people herself.
Everyone froze in place, even the elf. Erik looked over his shoulder at her. “I would see to my son.”
Sloane nodded to the injured man. Then she straightened to her full height and took a sweeping gaze at everyone. “I want to get to the bottom of this. Now.” She turned to her sister. “Who is responsible for your abduction?”
Sacha’s wide eyes were filled with pride as she looked back at her sister. “He... His name is Jagger DeBoucher. He’s the man who was most directly responsible, I mean. Who his master is, the one truly responsible, I do not know. But I can say that Erik and Kinsey had nothing to do with it. Erik pulled me from where I was held, and I know that Kinsey at least helped.” Sacha’s eyes lingered on Kesh, confused.
Sloane turned her stone-cold eyes on Kesh. “Chancellor, have you been lying?”
The skinny man gulped. “Of course not, Princess.” He bowed at the waist, almost scraping his knuckles on the stone floor. “Perhaps it’s all just a horrible misunderstanding.”
Sloane frowned. “You are hiding something, Chancellor. You are going to tell me what it is, or I’ll drag you up to the top of these cliffs and throw you off the edge myself.”
Rouke choked back a chuckle but kept his focus on the half-dozen men Kesh had brought with him.
“Well, speak, man!” she demanded.
Kesh stammered, “I... all I know is that it seemed as though Erik and Kinsey were helping the brigands.”
Sloane shook her head. The man was lying. “You seemed much more sure of yourself when making your accusations to the court. I think we should speak in more detail about what you saw during—”
“That will not be necessary,” a deep, calming voice echoed from the recesses of the cliff wall.
All eyes turned to behold a deathly pale man with long black hair. He stepped from one of the dark crevices within the stone. His form was shrouded in dusky, tattered robes that blended with the shadows. The effect
was disconcerting.
Sloane transferred her anger smoothly to the stranger. “I will decide what is necessary. Who are you to question?”
Kesh fell to one knee as the pale stranger came closer. “Master.”
The dark-robed man stopped where everyone could see him and contemplated the chancellor for a moment. “Yes, I think that name should suffice.” He looked at Sloane with eyes black as coal. “You may call me ‘Master.’”
Sloane narrowed her eyes. “I take it you are the architect of this”—she waved one hand—“meeting.”
He smiled, almost approvingly. “Yes.”
“So, are you also the one responsible for my sister’s abduction?” Through clenched teeth, she spit out the question that had haunted her every day and night.
His black eyes appeared to scrutinize Sloane more intently. “On the contrary, I initiated her rescue.” He turned to Sacha. “Isn’t that right, my dear.”
Sloane followed the stranger’s gaze to her sister.
Sacha stood, stiff as a freshly cut plank of wood, and nodded her head. “He did bring us here.”
“What kind of answer is that?!” Sloane’s patience was running thin. “Did this man save you or not?”
Her sister’s eyes never left the stranger. “Yes, he did.”
This was wrong. Sacha was terrified. Sloane had seen the expression on her sister’s face before. “Enough of this charade. Guards, I charge you, in the name of your prince, Alexander, to take this man and Chancellor Tomelen to the dungeons for questioning!”
Not a single person moved.
“No ill will shall be harbored against the chancellor,” said the pale man. “He did what was necessary to survive. Doing what is necessary will be required of us all in the trying times to come.” He then raised his voice to address all those in attendance. “You are here so I may ask for your assistance in the events that will soon unfold and will affect us all.”
“Guards, seize that man!” Sloane repeated, pointing. She wasn’t sure which angered her more, the lack of action from the guards or the utter confidence with which this “master” conducted himself. He seemed to take it as a given that they were here to do his bidding.
Once again, the armored men did nothing but stand in place.
“They cannot help you, my child. As much as they might want to, they cannot.” He looked at Sloane and placed his index finger to his lips. For a split second, his eyes glowed brilliant red.
She tried to speak, but her vocal cords refused to make the movements necessary for sound. She put her hands to her throat and tried again. The only noise to escape her lips was a deep sigh. Her eyes widened. What is happening to me? she thought. Her breath came more quickly and the world began to spin.
“Calm yourself, child.” The pale man’s eyes flashed again.
Sloane’s breathing immediately slowed to a peaceful rhythm. Tension that had been building in her neck and shoulders subsided, and her hands dropped docilely to her sides. Sleepy curiosity replaced the anger, frustration, and suspicion that had been boiling through her. She listened raptly, but in a languid pose as their host turned from her.
The master addressed the group of dwarves. “You know who I am, priest?” he asked of one who stood apart.
Sloane had never actually seen dwarves in person before. Her previous reflections on the relationship between the architecture of Stone Mountain and those who had built it were not far from the truth. The group before her was made of solid, proud-looking people, hardened by the earth and stone they were reported to cherish. One of their number, the eldest, it appeared, stepped forward.
“I’ve heard yer description enough times ta know who ya be, and I’ve been warned against ya,” said the grey-bearded dwarf. “We’ll be havin’ no part in yer schemes.”
“I suppose I have not conveyed the severity of the danger we all share. If you would allow—”
“It don’t matter much what ya say. We be goin’ back to Mozil, and that be that.” The old dwarf planted his feet and placed his fists on his hips. The whole assembly of dwarves planted their feet in imitation of the speaker and stared at the pale stranger.
“Is there no reasoning with dwarves?” The pale man spread his hands and looked to the darkening sky.
The old dwarf shook his head. “Not when it be comin’ ta our prophecies, or the safety of our people.”
The pale stranger bowed his head to them. “So be it. I bid you safe journey back to your kingdom.” He gestured to the Southwest. “Your mounts and supplies await you on the southern banks of the great river.”
“That’s it?” a younger, scarred dwarf barked. “Yer just goin’ ta let us go. Without a fight?”
A disturbing smile touched the pale man’s lips. “I mean no harm to you or your people. Nor have I ever. Leave in peace.”
The chancellor made a soft choking sound and looked at the dwarves. The nobleman was still kneeling and made no attempt to rise, even though his rigid posture betrayed his yearning to do so.
Sloane still felt utterly relaxed, but she could tell Kesh wasn’t actually staring at the dwarves. He was staring at Kinsey’s limp form, and the look in his eyes could only be hate. She didn’t like the idea of hating anything. Hate was the opposite of calm, and she was calm. Why would he feel that way, she wondered. Kinsey was abrasive, but he seemed a nice enough fellow. He just needed to learn to relax.
The elf got to his feet when the dwarves began to shuffle out and made to follow them.
“I would ask that you stay, son of Asynia,” said the master. “There are some who search for you. People you may find to be of interest.”
“Speak plainly,” Erik replied, wary of the stranger.
“Your elven family has come in search of you.”
Sacha squeaked at this for some reason. She was looking at Erik with wide eyes. Sacha probably needed help calming down too.
Erik frowned. “I have no elven family...”
“Ah, but you do. I would only ask that you stay long enough to meet with them.” The dark-robed man parted his hands once more. “If you don’t like what you see, then by all means, rejoin your adopted son.”
This stranger appeared to know a lot about Erik, and the dwarves for that matter. Sloane wondered how much he knew about Sacha and herself.
The frown did not leave Erik’s face. “... I would see my son to safety.”
He definitely needs to relax, Sloane thought.
“Of course. I only ask for a few days of your time,” the master replied.
Erik considered and looked at the departing dwarves.
“Help them to their supplies.” The pale stranger gestured to the stout group. “Say your farewells, although it will not be long before you are reunited.”
The elf nodded and made his leave with the dwarves.
Sloane tested her voice and was still unable to speak.
“Not yet, my child.” The pale man’s soft voice whispered in her ears, even though he was several feet away, and she knew it was just to her he spoke. “There are some things we must discuss, without interruption.” The pale man motioned for Sacha to come closer.
Sacha’s steps were stiff and almost involuntary as she moved away from the complacent robed man standing next to her. Sacha came to a halt beside Sloane, her expression a mixture of anger and fear.
“What do you wish of us, monster?” spat Sacha.
Sloane frowned but found herself unsurprised by her sister’s demeanor. Sloane recalled that she herself had been livid. Perhaps she should be, and yet, she could not bring her emotions to bear. Instead, she stood calmly watching the scene play out before her.
“Identical twins. How fortunate.” The master took a step closer to the pair. “My plans haven’t turned out quite as I had expected, but we will make do.”
“Where is my daughter?” Sacha screamed suddenly, all pretense of calm cast to the wind. She pointed her hands at the pale man and shook them, as if something were supposed to come forth
and harm him. But nothing happened. Sacha looked at her hands with wide eyes. “No, no, no, no, no!” she cried.
Sloane remained motionless, devoid of emotion. Somewhere deep within, she had a sense of something tickling. She thought it might be anger. She felt as if she were on the other side of a wall from an angry mob. The anger was there, and it was building, but it did not touch her.
“She is safe, my dear, and she will remain so. Unless, of course, you disobey me.” He shook his head. “Then you would have much to worry about indeed.”
Sacha sank to her knees and wept.
“Come now.” The pale creature took another step closer. “You are to take your sister’s place as queen. Surely there is some joy to be found in that.”
“What was that?” Rouke asked in a stunned voice.
The creature considered the soldier who had turned to face him. Rouke’s normally stolid face was now wide-eyed.
“Be still,” the master commanded, then turned back to Sacha.
Rouke froze in place next to Sloane.
Shock smashed against Sloane’s wall of calm but did not penetrate. Take my place as queen? But I’m not queen yet.
“I will not!” Sacha screamed.
“Oh, yes, I think you will.” The creature stepped closer again. “You will bring the human kingdoms together as one. You can do this. You will do this. Or I shall allow my minions to drain your child’s soul, and afterward, I will devour her flesh before your very eyes.” The last syllable drew out into a hiss that trailed from the creature’s lips.
Horror and rage blasted the calm surrounding Sloane. Hairline cracks formed along the wall, allowing her emotions to seep in. Her voice finally responded to her will in the form of a low growl.
The pale man’s head twitched her way and he smiled deeply, moving so he was face-to-face with Sloane. “I have chosen wisely. It is truly a shame what must happen next. You would have made a glorious queen.”
The wall between her and her anger collapsed like a shoddy dike before a flood. Sloane screamed in rage. She jerked the short sword from Rouke’s unmoving hand and spun in place, bringing the edge of the blade down on the pale monster’s face with all of her might.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 50
