Knights and Dragons of Avondale

by Kai Kazi

  “I want my father.” Avondale whispered, “I want my mother. Where is Aiden?” She covered her face and sobbed at his name; in the cold, isolated position that labour afforded she could see that their childhood love affair was over. Whatever it had been, the Vlad ruined it when he ruined her, and whatever it might have been Aiden threw away with his blame. “There’s no going back, is there?” She asked,

  “No.” Eramys said,

  “You knew.”

  “I did.”

  “You saw?” Avondale gritted her teeth against a spasm,

  “No, I have lived.” Eramys said, “Prince Aiden is too young to understand, and the pain is too great to forgive or forget. He will come to understand in time, but the relationship will be changed, Avondale,” she smiled, “that is not a bad thing, always.”

  “I can forgive,” Avondale said weakly,

  “Can you?” Eramys rubbed her hands gently, Carlotte tilted her head,

  “No.” Avondale said and dissolved into tears, “How could he blame me, Eramys? I deserved better. I needed him.” Eramys sighed and rubbed her shoulders, “He is a good man.”

  “Yes, he is,” Eramys said,

  “Then how could he-” Avondale covered her mouth, and Eramys hushed her,

  “Because he is a young man, a privileged man. He has never faced something he could not control, nor someone he could not best. Helplessness is not in his repertoire, Avondale, but it is a condition with which women must settle quickly.” When she said that, she placed her hand on Avondale stomach. Avondale nodded miserably. Carlotte seemed to feel this was unfair and chimed in,

  “He is dealing with more than we know.” She said, “He lost his confidence, his countrymen, and his innocence when the Vlad attacked, no doubt, and perhaps he felt he lost you, too. Or that he might lose you to the child when it comes. He will learn that your heart has room for both he and the child when he returns.”

  “We will be able to fix it?” she asked, “When he returns? Do you think so?” Eramys pursed her lips and sighed

  “That depends as much on him as you,” she said as the pain dragged Avondale under once more.

  ***

  The lines were crumbling, but they were holding better than he could have hoped. The men were hardy, motivated too. The ground began to tremble, the barricade groaned.

  Combs took a deep breath and hoisted his shield, broken nose dripping blood onto the torn ground beneath them,

  “I think you should escape, Majesty.” He said, “This will not end well.” He swivelled his eyes, one red but for the green of his iris, to Aiden, “No-one will think the less of you for it.”

  “I will.” Aiden said, “I will, Combs. Avondale needs us, needs me, and if this is… if nothing else I can buy her time.” Combs smiled, opened his mouth to reveal a missing tooth, and disappeared in a shower of splinters and iron.

  A behemoth of a creature had broken through the barricade, and a spike of shattered wood had lodged in Combs stomach, pinning him to the floor. He gaped, arched, and then let out a howl of agony, but it was drowned out by the roar of the creature that shambled through the breach. It had once been a man, that much was clear, but now all semblance of humanity had been wiped from its features. Its right arm was now a sharp, metallic looking, whip-like spike that swayed like the tail of a dragon. What little hair remained on its head was greasy, wet, sticking to its greyish skin in pallid tendrils. When it turned its gaze upon Aiden he stifled a scream, but that broke loose when it’s face split into three sections and opened to reveal circle upon circle of jagged teeth.

  ***

  Sonja entered the room as if it were a battlefield: head high, shoulders squared, she hopped lightly onto the bed and placed herself behind Avondale, lacing her arms under Avondales arms to present her hands. Avondale felt a tension release; the room was almost womb-like, now. Carlotte was right; this was women’s work. In her delirium she fancied that Sonja’s hands were giving energy as well as support. Hours blurred, the pain came in waves, and she and Sonja breathed together. In. Out, out, out. In. Out, out, out.

  “I need to push,” Avondale said suddenly. Eramys nodded and helped her to sit forward while Sonja clambered out. While she was on all fours they had loosened her dress and pulled it away to leave her in her soaked, somewhat bloody under gown. Sonja pushed this over her hips and braced her feet on her shoulders,

  “I have you, love.” Sonja said, “You push as hard as you can.”

  So she did; Sonja wavered only a little, and only once, when Avondale tensed her legs, and then she became a wall. She pushed for an eternity, for years and lifetimes, until the words floated to her from another place,

  “Holy fuck I can see his head.”

  “Pull him out… gently. Like this.”

  Then there was silence, panic, and a loud, joyful cry. And the world was made anew; she was a mother, and there was one more life to worry for in her kingdom.

  The small, wrinkled thing they placed on her breast was not pretty; it was covered in purplish slime, screaming and kicking. It, he, was angry and petulant at the cold and the noise, and the sudden light of the world. He was beautiful. Avondale pressed her hand to her head and cried without reserve as Sonja climbed onto the bed with her and held her tight to her chest.

  “I wish Greendale was here to see this,” she gasped, “or my father. Or Aiden.” She shook her head and kissed the red forehead, leaving a white patch where her lips had pressed so tightly.

  “What’s his name?” She asked,

  “Arthur,” Avondale gasped without thought or pause. That was his name… the warrior…Sonja made a small clucking sound and pressed her bloody finger to his nose,

  “Hello Arthur.”

  “Thank you,” Avondale turned her eyes to the ceiling. This was the link. This was how to love him as he deserved. “Arthur.” She repeated.

  CHAPTER XV

  The pain was too familiar, and yet alien all at once; Shaitani rubbed her flat, scarred stomach and writhed in delicious agony and knew that the girl was bringing forth her own destruction. Temejun stared at her with something akin to worry; she had fallen as if in a faint and begun to scream. Now, however, she knew it to be a waking vision of some kind and revelled in the touch.

  Her own labour was so far behind her.

  She remembered the cries. The relief. The horror.

  “She is bringing the child forth,” Shaitani said and sat,

  “You can feel this?” Temejun asked,

  “Yes.”

  He rubbed his face and waited in silence; they had been discussing his army. Their transformation. Shaitani looked to him and sniffed,

  “I had a child once,” she said without thought or reason,

  “Where is it now?” He said,

  “Dead.” Shaitani smiled, but a tear escaped her left eye, “I killed him.”

  “Why?” Temejun seemed appalled.

  Why? Such a question. Such a great question from such a small man. Shaitani swallowed and thought about the prodding, probing, the threats, the promises. And the sudden, great rage that would take hold when she thought of its beginning; how did anything have the right to be so innocent when its coming had been heralded with such humiliation, such pain?

  “Because every benefit we gain needs an equal sacrifice.” Shaitani said,

  “And what did you gain?” Temejun asked.

  “Everything,” Shaitani said simply, “everything that brought me here to you.” The answer seemed to satisfy him, and he returned to airing his plans for the offence.

  Shaitani traced the lines on her stomach and ran her mind down the paths of her past. Everything that had brought her here; that was what Awar’s life had bought her. That small, broken body that was supposed to remain nameless, but which had been named in her heart before it was ever passed into the world.

  And what would she call his sister, Shaitani wondered? His sister who was the price of the world. She looked to Temejun. His sister yet to be.

/>   -

  “I…” she looked at the child in her arms,

  “Now.” Pallas said, “His life, or yours.”

  “I…” the tears began to flow; she was a bad woman, she knew. Vengeful, angry, vicious. She had fucked men, women… hounds, she had killed children and elders, she had gutted, tortured, twisted, shat on everything that was sacred and good.

  But he was her son.

  Was this not the line? Was this not the end of her sacrifice? After being beaten, and raped, and humiliated, after being set upon by men of all ages, after being beaten black and blue… did she not deserve this? This one moment?

  “Choose.” Chei said simply, holding a wicked dagger in one hand. Shaitani had known from the minute the trade was set that she would choose her own life, but it still hurt as she stood, trailing blood and afterbirth, to stagger to the alter. Xarces stared at her, as he had during the countless hours of agony.

  No blade now, no quick stabbing or slice to the guts. This was the peak, the end. Shaitani looked down at him, his yellow flashing eyes, the scales that slid across and under the skin. He would have been beautiful, one day. She brought her fist down three times in quick succession, sobbing as the blood spattered her face and his cries stopped suddenly.

  The heat of his blood, laced with the power of dragons, was astounding, but it did nothing to combat the icy chill that spread through her body. She was ice. She was stone. The tears dried on her face, and the dull ache slipped away.

  She had been without grief since then, without fear or love… until the girl. Until Avondale. Was it her own feelings, or Avondales horror that she felt at this memory? She could not say. Shaitani stood, and when she discarded her dress he seemed shocked, but did not question. He was gentler than Drakho had been, but he could have been as rough as he pleased; she felt nothing. She slipped from his bed like a ghost and walked out onto the battlefield. It was time to reach out to the girl; to take her in hand like the helpless thing she was.

  She would crush her under her heel like she had so many others.

  EPILOGUE

  The young woman who had argued with the palace guards for hours was settled by the fire while Avondale made her way, aching and weary, to the library. She had Aiden’s ring, they had said, and a letter. Avondale clutched Arthur as if he would disappear and allowed herself to be herded into the library. The waking dreams were becoming more intense, more frequent.

  Whether it was a symptom of the childbirth, or of Shaitani’s proximity Avondale could not know, but she felt the familiar pressure behind her eyes as she settled into a chair near the woman.

  “Serena?” She asked, “Is that your name?” The woman nodded, “You have something for me?”

  Serena held out the letter, on top of it Aiden’s wedding ring,

  “He said, m’lady… he said he were not returning it, just giving it so I’d be believed. He’m want it back when he comes home.” She said and flushed. Avondale smiled, heart fluttering with hope and joy,

  “Thank you.” She said, “Fiona, take Serena and her child to a room where they can sleep in peace. Feed and bathe them… and see if you can find her a position here.” Avondale said quietly over her shoulder. Fiona nodded and ushered the woman out. Avondale settled Arthur in her lap, and opened the letter,

  Avondale, my love,

  I need to tell you so much but have so little time.

  Venece is under attack, and the demons that come forth are much like those we saw at Bledd. Your reinforcements have not yet arrived, but when they do they will be well received. I have seen…

  I have seen many things, now. I know, as much as any man could, what you faced. I know, now, Avondale, and I wish I did not, though I will be glad if it allows me to bridge the tears in our relationship. I write not because I wish to avoid saying this in person, but because I wish to say it as soon as possible.

  I am sorry. I was not there for you. I thought only of my own pain, only of the shame at my inability to protect you. I have forgiveness to ask of you, but I will do so in person.

  I am not the boy you married, anymore, but I hope that I am better now than that child, as you are a better woman now than you have ever been.

  I love you.

  Aiden.

  A darks stain sat under his signature; she reached out to touch it. Avondale screamed and bent forward as a vision forced its way into her mind.

  The shining tendril slammed down on Aiden, cracking like a whip across his face and chest, and he flew backwards, blood spattering the ground and face of his attacker. If it could be said to be a face. She watched as it advanced, watched him crawl for his blade, shaking and sobbing in the bodies that surrounded him. All men of Archibald. With a motion of her slim hand she stopped the creature,

  “I know you’re watching, pretty girl.” She said, to herself, “I know because I want you to. You will see this. You cannot save them. You cannot save him, just like you could not save Greendale.”

  She dropped her hand and the creature dragged Aiden into the air, he kicked and fought like a demon, but he was facing a real demon, and it was unmoved by his kicking, gouging, or his fear. The tendril hardened into a lance and came down on his stomach with stunning speed and brutality before the creature dropped him. As he fell it tore its arm upwards and rent him in two.

  “I am coming.” She said and closed her eyes.

  Avondale’s scream was wordless, horrified, and violent; her throat ached, her ears rang, but still the screams would not stop. Fiona took Arthur, Sonja clamped her arms around her like a vice, but still she screamed and thrashed. It could have been false, just like the dream had been, but somehow she knew that Aiden was dead; that was not a threat, but a display of power and aggression.

  They were at war.

  TO BE CONTINUED IN…

  LOST LEGEND OF AVONDALE

  FREE NOVELLA

  Thank you for reading Knights and Dragons of Avondale, in appreciation of your time and purchase please accept this free novella by Kai Kazi. The free novella, Tears of a Bride, is from Kai Kazi’s Sad Short Stories anthology which is a series of 10 standalone tragedies by Kai Kazi. Please note that unlike Knights and Dragons of Avondale which is a sword and sorcery high fantasy fiction, the following free novella, Tears from an Arranged Marriage, is literary fiction. Regardless I hope you enjoy and thank you dearly for taking the time to read Knights and Dragons of Avondale.

  Tears of a Bride

  Ritu

  The world can change in one moment. In one word, with one incline of the head, or stretch of the hand your entire universe can be turned upon its head as mine was. No... that's not right; it was more a series of moments. A few nods here, a tilt of the head there, and the extension of a hand to accept something you never wanted in the first place. A life you did not choose for yourself is a terrible thing. A life lived for the appreciation of others is no better.

  These streets are so cold, so grey and lifeless in comparison to Dhaka where colour and life are everywhere. Where music and the smell of fresh food is laced into and around everything. These streets are not mine, and this frigid, beige house is no more my home than the airport waiting room was. Everything here is grey, or else it is green, but nonetheless it is damp. It was easy to imagine it pleasant while the warm sun still bore down on us. It was so easy to agree, when I was sitting in my parents home, to this marriage. To believe all the false promises I was spoon fed gladly and readily like a child.

  I would leave my course unfinished, and when we were settled I would apply to a British University and finish my studies there.

  False.

  Children would wait until after I had finished my studies.

  False.

  I would have my own life and career.

  False.

  Each of these shining promises was dangled before me in brilliant colour and the heat of the Bengali summer before being washed away by the bitter deluge of a Scottish winter.

  ***

  A Bengali wedd
ing is a beautiful and long affair that requires much preparation. The gravity of my choice, and the finality of it was rubbed into my skin during the turmeric ceremony but by the time I was being led to Jalil it was too late to turn back. I was to be grateful that he was young, and educated. That he was to be a doctor, and that his family were of such good standing.

  He looked so handsome that, for a moment, I forgot I did not really know him. His eyes were warm and kind, and he smiled at me as if I were a Goddess. I remember how sweet he smelled, and how warm his hands were when he reached over and complimented my Sari. I clutched my hope tight then, but with tenderness as if it were a baby bird that could be sustained only with faith and time. My Amma and Babu were so proud that he didn't even roll his eyes when she cried and talked about how her little chick was leaving the nest.

  We could not perform the bouboron properly because we were to live in Scotland and he had not chosen a suitable home yet, but his Aunts house did well enough. My footprints on the sari were meant to be divine; the Goddess Lakshmi blessed our union and the new home. But they looked ghostly. The last signs of a woman I did not know was fading from the world as slowly and surely as the passing of time. I wondered if we would do it again when we reached our new home. I knew his mother was to live with us, his father was dead, but not where we would stay, or even if I would be able to visit my family again.