Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (2 page)

The scent of blood hung thick in the air, the distinct musk clinging to the surrounding field like a dense fog. Even the acrid smoke from the burning houses nearby could not dampen the smell.

An eagerness to feed came over Vinnicus. He breathed in deeply so the aroma would linger in his nostrils. Nothing in the world smelled better to him than blood. The impulse was so strong that his feet slowed to a stop in the sea of alfalfa fields surrounding the small, human settlement of Morhaven. He needed complete control of himself before venturing further into what might be a disaster. With great effort, he hammered the urge back to the furthest reaches of his mind. He had mastered the process long ago. Even so, the pangs of hunger never lessened in intensity. They would always be there waiting for him, eager to take over. The struggle seemed commonplace—not easier, but at least expected. He had found that with preparation, difficulties such as these transpired much more smoothly and he regained control with practiced effort.

It would take the slaughter of many people to create such temptation from a distance. Death, carnage, and blood were a sure sign of Duhann’s presence, always marking the passage of his were-beast, a mindless thing of malice and destruction. After all the years of training together, Duhann still could not control the beast within him. In fact, every year since the emergence of his gift, the monster seemed to become more monstrous.

The current incident would mark the fifth time Duhann had rampaged through the countryside of Basinia. It became harder to cover his trail each time as whispers of a savage beast terrorizing the farmlands finally reached the ears of powerful councilors in the courts at Waterfall Citadel. They were concerned. Vinnicus would have to put an end to it; discovery of his workings with Duhann was not an option. Fortunately, he could pursue other avenues to keep Duhann subdued, and Vinnicus wasn’t above using any of them. The next lesson Duhann learned would be from behind the bars of a cage. It was time to take away the dream of family he had been allowed to cherish. Perhaps Vinnicus had been foolish to ever have allowed him the softness afforded by happiness.

Vinnicus glided through the slow-swaying fields toward the flaming buildings of the hamlet. He looked up to see massive columns of dark smoke swirling into the night sky like raging tornadoes. Listening intently for danger, he only heard the crackling of burning wood—no screaming villagers running for their lives, no cries from the wounded, no howling from the beast he so desperately needed to find. Everything within reach of his supernatural senses was deathly quiet.

Unease settled upon Vinnicus like a heavy cloak. Had he come too late? Would he spend another night searching in vain? He took in his second deep breath, and the wild animal smell that seeped through the cloud of blood and smoke told him otherwise.

His silent steps brought him to the rear of two large burning buildings, most likely a tavern and its stables. Upon closer inspection of the warped brown walls, he could make out deep scratches along the blistering boards. Vinnicus easily recognized the marks as Duhann’s.

He stepped quickly along the backside of the tavern and peered around the corner into the small alley between the buildings. Three eviscerated bodies lay not far from the mouth of the alleyway. Two smaller forms, perhaps children, lay face down on the ground. The third, an adult, slumped against the stables.

Vinnicus strode over to the three brutalized forms. He knelt between them for a closer look and found the rending was so extensive he could not discern their genders. But from what remained of the clothing and the broken scythe next to them, they were obviously villagers. Leaning closer to the largest of the three victims, he pulled the tattered fabric away just enough to get a better look at the wounds. The torn flesh could have been caused by any number of predators, but the severed bones underneath were a different story. Vinnicus ran his index finger along several exposed ribs that had been cut cleanly in many places. The marks looked as if they had been made by a white-hot blade, another recognizable trait of Duhann’s savage work.

Vinnicus stepped confidently away from the three bodies and into the hamlet’s main thoroughfare. His eyes, sharper than any mortal’s, scanned the buildings across the dirt road with a hunter’s patience. Every house and shop was ablaze. Falling embers rained down onto the street, allowing Vinnicus to pinpoint more torn bodies strewn all along the long stretch of roadway. A truly gruesome site for anyone who possessed even a shred of morality.

Vinnicus felt nothing, not an ounce of pity or remorse. Time had worn those inconveniences to dust centuries ago. In many ways, he was far worse than the monster he hunted. Upon waking from his delirium, Duhann would at least feel guilt and self-loathing—emotions Vinnicus no longer possessed nor desired to regain. Too much was at stake to carry such liabilities.

He focused on the town’s granary moaning in defiance of the hungry flames devouring it. The building finally surrendered with a shuddering crash that showered splinters of wood and fire across the blood-soaked ground. The trail of debris drew his gaze to the silhouette of a human female stumbling amongst the rubble.
A survivor
. Vinnicus froze in place, not wanting to give away his position.

Wait. Not just a survivor
. This was the woman on whom Duhann had been pinning his hopes of “humanity.” Maybe she had seen the beast, or better yet, he could use her as bait. Straining to listen, he could hear her weeping over the crackling flames. He inhaled deeply once more, searching for the familiar scent of his pupil. Duhann was definitely close, just not in sight.

Vinnicus eased back into what shadows were available. His petrified heart thumped into motion as he concentrated on the blood within him. The fist-sized muscle infused his will into the thick, crimson fluid that raced on to fervently waiting veins. His body began to blend with the darkness. Small spasms ran through his arms and legs as the familiar cold tingling told Vinnicus the process was complete. He would appear like a shadow to any who happened to look in his direction. He need only watch the young woman and wait for his prey.

Beaten and weary, she fell to her knees in the street and leaned over to cradle a bloody mass that might have been a living being at one time. She rocked back and forth and began to wail.

Vinnicus flexed his muscles slightly in anticipation. Duhann couldn’t possibly resist that display. Her cries rang out and echoed off the burning buildings all the way down the smoke-covered roadway.

Nothing came.

The young woman’s screams gradually lessened as her body failed. She collapsed over the body of her infant in a whimpering huddle.

Still, nothing came.

Apprehension crept back into Vinnicus. Shadows danced along the facades of burning homes and shops. His eyes searched every nook and cranny for signs of Duhann.

Nothing.

The night would be spent before he actually confronted the beast. Pumping more blood through his stone-like heart, Vinnicus willed his senses to sharpen far beyond his already heightened abilities. Frustration now his master, he took long strides away from the protective shadows. Vinnicus stopped in the middle of the massacre and took another deep breath. The blending of different aromas became so intense that he closed his eyes for focus. The musty smell of Duhann was not unlike that of a dire bear or wolf, but stronger and mingled with the scent of many other predatory animals. Given the physical makeup of the monster, Vinnicus felt the smell was appropriate. The odor was a mélange of the most vicious predators found in nature. It was said amongst Duhann’s people that each were-beast was unique and no two creatures looked alike. Fortunately, the beast’s appearance meant little to Vinnicus, but its abilities would prove invaluable to his goals.

As Vinnicus’s senses expanded, Duhann’s scent surged.

Vinnicus spun with inhuman quickness to face the menace but found nothing bearing down on him. Then he noticed a difference in the scent, a stench, like mud after a heavy rain. A feeling of dread came over him. He looked further down the fire-lit causeway, and his fears materialized.

A large, shadowy form lay unmoving near the last building on the opposite side of the street.

He moved with blurred speed past buildings and debris to reach Duhann’s side. “No... I have waited so long. You cannot die now,” Vinnicus whispered.

Duhann lay on his side in a pool of blood. Large gashes ran along his body and a massive rend, most likely the killing blow, sunk deep into the skull. Vinnicus searched in vain for signs of life.

How could this happen?
Vinnicus knew Duhann’s rage made his body as immune to harm as his own, and yet there he lay, dead as any mortal being. An enchanted blade perhaps? Weapons that could harm supernatural beings were rare; in all his years, Vinnicus had only seen three.

He ran his fingers along the bloody cuts in Duhann’s body. “Thorn,” Vinnicus spoke in realization. Duhann’s people had come to clean up the mess. He examined the gashes more closely and determined that a battle axe, Thorn’s axe most likely, had made the wounds. Of the three enchanted weapons Vinnicus knew, one belonged to Thorn, king of the dwarven clans and father to Duhann.

Relations with King Thorn were tenuous at best, but now they would be impossible. With the death of his son, at his own hands no less, Thorn would do his best to kill Vinnicus on sight.

Despair seeped into his still heart. Vinnicus realized now what a horrible mistake he had made by taking Duhann from his people. He had assumed Duhann’s battles with rage would be little different than his own battle with the blood. How wrong his assumption proved to be. The rituals and guidance from Duhann’s people would have been far more effective than his own teachings. What a horrible waste.

Vinnicus grabbed a handful of blood-soaked fur and hurled Duhann’s beastly body through the wall of the closest burning building. “So, the father kills the son and leaves me with nothing!” He spat at the crumbing mass that entombed the body in a blaze.

Vinnicus furrowed his brow in frustration. How had he let it come to this? How could he have been so foolish? The burning hamlet faded from his mind’s eye as Vinnicus sank deeper into thought. He would need another were-beast.
But how?
Even if such a creature was born, how would he get close to it, now that relations with Thorn were most assuredly shattered?

Vinnicus pondered his next move as he strode through the wreckage. He needed more time, such a ridiculous thought considering how long he had survived. He needed time for another were-beast to be born, time for the beast to be trained—its abilities harnessed.

Vinnicus stepped over mangled bodies as he made his way up the street. He found himself once again standing in front of the young woman, who was still clutching the bloody corpse. Her whimpers pulled him from contemplation and he looked at this frail human being with more scrutiny.

Her matted hair was a rich auburn. Several chunks had been torn out, but the rest hung down just past her shoulders. Under the dried blood and soot Vinnicus could make out the high, delicate cheekbones characteristic of the people in this region. Her face was miraculously undamaged, and her full lips, while pulled taut in anguish, still maintained a country girl’s beauty. She wore the remains of a thick wool dress, the front of which was torn away, leaving the sleeves and collar holding the garment together, as if it were some ragged cloak. Cuts and deep gashes crossed most of her exposed flesh. It was a wonder that she was alive at all. Perhaps the last caring part of Duhann had restrained the beast in some small way.

“Was that your child?” Vinnicus asked.

For answer, she parted her lips in a silent scream and clutched the damp bundle closer to her ruined breast.

Answer enough
.

A burning building across the village lane collapsed with a sliding crash, causing the woman to shriek and cringe anew.

“The beast is dead, and quite useless. He will do you no more harm,” Vinnicus said with anger. He’d tasted the bitterness of disappointment many times in the past, yet his palette had never acquired a tolerance for its cutting bite. Duhann’s death created such a rift in his plans that Vinnicus would be scrambling for years to put events back in order… It was hard not to be bitter.

“Ruined.” Raw edges ridged the first coherent word that emerged from the woman’s huddled form, echoing Vinnicus’s thoughts. Her voice began to rise in pitch, repeating the word again and again, until she was howling with the same intensity with which she had initially come to his attention. “Ruined! RUIned! RUINED!”

Relaxing the tension from his face, Vinnicus knelt down beside her, thinking of Duhann. “It would appear that all present are ruined, my dear,” he said, with no true feeling and mostly to himself. He reached out with delicate fingers and the force of his presence, simultaneously. He gently moved the mass of tangled hair to expose her slender neck, while his mind confronted and subdued the feral fears in her mind. It would not do for her to survive and bear witness to these events.
A quick death
, Vinnicus decided; there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Her resounding howls died away as her fear was calmed by his will and he sheltered her mind from the pain in her body. In her stillness, the sound of muffled mewling and the rapid thumps of a second heartbeat caught his ear. She cradled no corpse.