Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (22 page)

Sacha leaned forward in hopes of getting a glimpse of the absorbed man’s workings. “How many different cages did you bring, Chancellor?”

“Kesh,” he said, absently, without raising his head. “Please, call me Kesh.”

“Yes, of course. Kesh?”

The slender man raised his smooth writing board slightly, blocking Sacha’s view. He dipped his quill in an inkwell that had been secured to one of the two armrests on either side of him with a thin piece of rawhide. “Eight. Four birds to a cage.” He flashed his teeth. “Work never ceases, it would seem.” He began writing again, the scribbling of his quill barely audible over the creaking carriage.

“I see.” Sacha fell back against her seat with a sigh. The boredom of their long journey closed in around her like the cluttered confinement of the carriage. Talking politics with Chancellor Tomelen was interesting to a point, but after three weeks of the same subjects, even the most interesting study could become worn. She needed a diversion. Renee and Rylan had dominated her thoughts since leaving Stone Mountain, serving only to magnify the gloom of her captivity. Riding outside of the carriage as her sister did would usually be her preference. Unfortunately, she still keenly felt the embarrassment of her disastrous conversation with Erik at the celebration and had no desire to revisit the incident.

Her thoughts paused on the farewell party and the brief encounter she had with the elven scout she had offended. “Tell me, Chan... Kesh, do you know much about
Sha-ou-Taun
?”

The chancellor’s quill came to a stop and he smiled. “Yes, I have read of the incident.” He looked up at Sacha and tapped the feathered end of his writing utensil on his thin lips. “What would you like to know?”

She wasn’t surprised by his answer. Actually, she had counted on it. The man had apparently read articles or histories of just about everything. At the least, he had proven the equal to every subject she had inquired about these past two weeks. “What happened? I mean, what caused the rift between the humans and elves after it was over?”

“That’s a very good question.” Kesh dropped his quill into the inkwell and leaned back in his seat. “Most of what we know is speculation, you must understand. The documentation concerning that particular conflict is patchy at best. There was a series of fires that broke out a few years after events settled, destroying many of our recorded histories. The
Sha-ou-Taun
documents amongst them.” The chancellor paused.

Sacha suspected his hesitation was for dramatic effect, so she indulged him. “Most intriguing. Please continue.”

“Yes. Well, you see, relations between humans and elves tended to be strained even before the
Sha-ou-Taun
incident started. Most of the hostilities revolved around the Tanglevine river. Whose boundaries started where? What level of control could be exerted along which areas of the river? Those sorts of things. Very messy business, even to the point of a few skirmishes being fought along the waters’ edge.” Kesh cleared his throat. “Anyway, in spite of the tensions around the Tanglevine, the humans and elves actually had a combined settlement to the far south. I’m sure you already know of this?” He arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, the place is called Dry Tower now.”

“Exactly.” The chancellor beamed. “Back then it was called
Ou-Taun
, literally meaning ‘of two.’ It was a small trading colony, maybe a thousand souls altogether—”

The carriage violently shuddered over some obstruction in the road. The jostling displaced several of the parchment tubes and spilled some of the precious ink onto the chancellor’s finely crafted pants. “Oh, for the love of...” Kesh snatched his board to one side with both hands to save the document he had been so engaged with earlier. “Could you?” He motioned to the inkwell with a nod. “There is a cork, just there.”

The item in question was nestled between Kesh’s thigh and the cushion upon which he sat. His finely embroidered brown coat with deep green collar and cuffs, as well as the soft, leather boots that swathed his feet, had both escaped inundation. Perhaps he would not count the well-chosen outfit a total loss.

Sacha leaned over, picked up the used cork, and capped the sloshing inkwell. Spotting the quill that had fallen between the chancellor’s feet, she leaned down further and plucked it from the floor. A generous portion of her bosom was exposed during the process and she did not miss the chancellor’s focused gaze as she righted herself to a proper sitting position. “Better?”

Kesh’s involuntary swallow made him pause before he could reply. “Yes. Much. Thank you.”

“I believe ‘a small trading colony’ is where we left off.”

His hand went to the rich collar around his neck and he tugged at it lightly while he rotated his head. “Right you are,” he continued. “Well, apparently, trade galleys whose last port of call was to have been the
Ou-Taun
colony, began failing to return. Travelers who had listed
Ou-Taun
as a destination in their journeys simply disappeared. In addition to this, all word stopped coming from the colony, and this silence persisted for at least a year. The humans and elves decided to set aside their bickering to join forces and determine what had become of their brethren to the South. At least, this is what the historians believe.” Kesh set his writing board on top of some of the leather tubes and began to inspect his stained pants. “A small army was raised, consisting of a blend of noblemen who had an interest in the colony and soldiers of both human and elven descent. Together, they traveled overland to the South to solve the mystery.”

Sacha pondered the nobleman’s words before responding. “How many strong was this army?”

“Alas, those details are lost. But we do know this: Only three survivors returned. A human, an elf, and a small child.”

Sacha’s teachings had not contained these kinds of details. Her tutors had brushed over the conflict as some uneventful mishap between human and elf. Given her country’s attitude toward the woodland folk of Asynia, she could understand why anything that wasn’t either a treatise on how to defend against them, or an example of why they could not be trusted, would be deemed of little importance. She had to admit, the story had meant little to her until the party two weeks ago. “Is there more to your account? What became of the army? Why were no other forces sent south?”

The chancellor looked up from his pants, a small frown on his face. “Not much more to tell, really. It was a long time ago, and neither country has sought to reestablish diplomatic ties or affix blame for the incident. Most of the peasants believe Dry Tower is cursed, and any who go there will never return.” The smile that made its way across his face had fine veins of false pity laced through it. “It’s complete rubbish, of course. There is no gain to going back! The place is a desert, for Eos’ sake.” Kesh’s eye wandered back to the stain on his pants, and with an irritated tsk, he returned to his ineffectual scrubbing.

Sacha slumped back in her seat, crinkling her lips in dissatisfaction. Even the chancellor’s bottomless well of information had left her unasked questions shrouded in mystery. She had hoped to find some tie to Erik within Kesh’s version of the
Sha-ou-Taun
histories.

“And what of the survivors, what happened to them?”

Kesh hunched his shoulders as he continued his scouring. “Well, they gave their accounts of what happened, which were lost in the fires, and went their separate ways.”

“Of course, but what happened to them
after
they split?” Sacha was beginning to think the chancellor was hiding something, with all the prying she was being forced to do. The test these past days had been getting him to
stop
talking. “The child couldn’t have gone off alone. Was there a surviving family member to help? And what of the elf?”

The chancellor ceased his dabbing with a loud exhalation and slumped back in his seat. “Hopeless. These will never come clean.” Shaking his head, Kesh raised his hands palms up. “I am sorry, Princess. I have no clue as to what happened after they parted ways. The conflict occurred over two hundred and fifty years ago. The records are lost. If you would like, I can do some research when we—”

The carriage jolted violently, throwing the passengers, leather tubes, and sheaves of parchment into the air. Sacha pitched forward and landed on the floorboards. Kesh was slammed first into the roof of the carriage then back against the wall below the driver’s seat.

“What on Orundal was that?” Cursing, Chancellor Tomelen clutched his head with one hand while the other reached for the door.

“Wait!” Sacha put a restraining hand on Kesh’s leg. “Don’t you hear that?” Sacha strained to listen. Above the fluttering of pages and the creak of the rocking carriage, faint shouting could be heard. As she listened, the noises grew louder. “I think we’re under attack!”

The carriage rocked violently again, and the door exploded in a shower of splinters. Kesh shrieked as the lurching surge of the carriage springs sent him sprawling back into the chaotic piles of tubes. Stinging shards of wood peppered the back of Sacha’s head and her palms as she cringed lower from her position on the floor. A loud roar bellowed from outside and a looming silhouette filled the empty space left by the shattered door.

Stunned by the twin shocks of the carriage, Sacha could only fling herself backward and scrabble as a thick arm, covered with mismatched leather and crude armor, reached through the ragged opening. The meaty hand at the end of the broad appendage clamped around Sacha’s ankle like a jailer’s manacle and hauled her from the carriage.

Sacha cried out as the horrible pressure sent pain up her leg. Clutching vainly at the seats and papers about her, her voice was cut off with a sharp click of her teeth as her head smacked on the carriage step on its way to the rocky ground. Shaking her head desperately to clear it, she attempted to understand what was going on around her.

Her eyes focused first on the hobnailed fingers poking from an ill-fitting gauntlet, gripping her ankle. From there she followed the heavily muscled arm and shoulder up to the leering, malformed face that stared down at her.

Eos preserve me, a hobgoblin!
She had seen preserved corpses of the vile creatures and depictions too numerous to count in the barracks and procession halls of her home in Pelos. Until now, she had never seen a living specimen, much less had her life held in its vicious grip.

She reared back her free leg as her body was hauled into the air and kicked the heel of her boot at the hand that held her. The first blow glanced off the heavy gauntlet, but the second connected squarely with its scarred knuckles.

A howl of pain and rage erupted from the hobgoblin and he dropped Sacha to the ground.

She rolled to her hands and knees and scrambled under the stricken coach while the injured hobgoblin continued to shake its bruised hand.

Sacha drew up against the opposite wheel, where she hoped she would be out of immediate danger. She searched frantically at her waist and on the ground for some means to defend herself but found nothing. Even the small knife she typically carried had been lost in her ignominious extraction from the coach.

I’m doomed
.

The hobgoblin had dropped to his hands and knees and attempted to crawl under the coach after her. The creature’s ill-fitting crude armor prevented it from bending well, so its bulk slammed against the undercarriage repeatedly. Gnarled and calloused fingers flexed inches away from her face, and the hobgoblin’s yellow eyes peered between the staves of the wagon wheel, blazing with malice.

Panic raced through her and she began to edge around the wheel at her back, angling for flight and freedom.

The beastly goblinoid stopped its struggling and opened its maw. A rocky, rough voice issued forth, “Ooman. Gorgnak no hurt little ooman. Only help ooman.” The words dripped with malcontent even though they offered peace. “You, come to Gorgnak.” With slow purpose, its monstrous hand reached out, palm up, and beckoned for her to come closer.

The lie that worked its way past Gorgnak’s twisted teeth and lips brought Sacha back to herself. Boundless anger surged through her, and tiny hairs all along her body stood up straight. She opened herself to the Shamonrae and drank in its power.
Yes, deceiver, I will take your false generosity.

Her hand shot forward like a striking snake and she seized two of the hobgoblin’s thick fingers.

The hobgoblin flinched in surprise and reflexively attempted to pull his hand away, but it was already too late.

Sacha poured her fury and power through the conduit of her arm into the creature’s body. She felt, for just a moment, an eerie oneness with it.

A strangled howl escaped the hobgoblin’s slobbering maw before it started to spasm.

She squeezed harder on the calloused fingers, remembering the pain they had caused her. The surging energy of the Shamonrae flowed through the veins of the shuddering creature. Gorgnak’s blood boiled until the black fluid fountained from his eyes, nose, and ears. His struggle for life ended abruptly with a gasp filled with blood that spilled to the ground.

Sacha ceased pouring energy into the corpse and released the fingers of her victim. Her world spun suddenly as the Shamonrae turned on her, burning pathways in her mind and body. Nausea doubled her over and she retched in the dirt.