Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (64 page)

B
LOOD
ran down Walina’s clawed hand as the heart trapped in her iron-like grip still pumped with life. The last of Lord Soren’s guards, however, fell to the floor and lay there unmoving. Dark crimson fluid poured freely from the hole in his chest onto the white marble, and several streaks had painted the walls—and even the ceiling—of the grand room.

A dozen men had fallen before her as easily as wheat before the scythe. There had been two guardsmen for each of the assembled nobles currently sitting at Banlor’s table. Now the bodies of the men lay sprawled across the floor like some morbid art display.

The nobles at the table were the last group in a long line of men and women Banlor had had to master before his plans could truly be realized. The stunned silence in the room was satisfactory indeed.

Excitement had pricked Banlor’s skin as he watched his minion do her horrible work. The power and grace of the creature was awesome to behold, and it was his to command. He sat back in his chair at the head of the table and beckoned Walina back to his side with an indolent hand. He still thought of the thing that approached him as Popin’s daughter, despite the absolute knowledge that there was nothing left of the woman but her physical form. What really existed in the core of that body did not bear thinking about.
Besides
, he comforted himself,
all that really matters is I am in control.

She sauntered toward him with a lascivious rolling of her hips. The solid black eyes were fixed upon his own. He still found himself fascinated as the chestnut brown of Walina’s “human” eyes replaced the soulless black.

A careless flip of her hand deposited the extracted heart onto Soren’s plate as she passed by his chair. The lord jerked away from the bloody lump as it rolled, flinging droplets of scarlet into his face and across the tablecloth. Several others around the table gasped as though they hadn’t just witnessed the dismemberment of a dozen men.

Banlor reveled in his guests’ discomfiture, but with the practiced patience he had honed in his years as a politician, he remained silent, waiting for Walina to return to his side. Letting a moment develop was an art. His guests’ eyes were riveted by the heart as it stopped its spasms, and the young woman who had performed such casual mayhem.

Walina reached the head of the table and turned to face the guests, laying one supple, youthful hand upon Banlor’s shoulder. The other had transformed into a monstrous, clawed weapon. The six nobles watched in horrified fascination as her arm changed back into a normal human appendage. Bones popped and snapped under her writhing skin. The sickening sound echoed through the dining room and across the adjoining forum.

Blood still coated every inch of that newly formed limb, and Mistress Callahan began to retch as Walina began to lick the thick liquid from her skin, never taking her eyes off those assembled.

Banlor cringed inwardly from the thing’s touch. Apparently, each of the doppelgangers had retained certain
emotions
that they interpreted from their victims. The creature that wore Walina’s skin had apparently come to the conclusion that the young woman had been enamored of Banlor, not just subservient. It was forever watching him and would act on any opportunity to touch him with adoration on its face. He had been forced to lock himself away when they were alone, lest the creature’s “affection” lead to more than touching. Even so, the price of his near imprisonment was worth the victory. These nobles were his. He could see it in their eyes.

Looking at each of the assembled in turn, Banlor leaned forward, increasing the weight of his presence. “It is good that we are all in agreement that Prince Alexander’s marriage to the barbarian wench of Pelos is folly,” he said over the sounds of Walina’s smacking and that weakling Callahan, who was still on the verge of sickness. “Our common goals reside in war, not peace. Our common interests should be united. One front. An indomitable force of progress and power. This is the true heart of Basinia.” He stood to draw the attention of his shaken visitors away from the purring monster by his side. “I believe I have just proven that
I
am the one to lead this... union. Are there any further objections?”

All of them, even the “great” Lord Soren, shook their heads in silence.

Banlor beamed. “Wonderful. Now that’s settled, please give your attention to Sir Dammer.” He gestured to the creature that was Dammer Gornella. The man’s imposing form had been standing in the archway between the two adjoining rooms during Walina’s magnificent display of butchery.

The old knight’s arms were filled with rolled parchments. The old soldier showed no emotion as he stepped over several bodies, handing each guest his or her personalized agenda, which Banlor had painstakingly put together over the past few months.

Banlor took his seat once more as they opened their scrolls, then cleared his throat. “Take note of the items marked ‘Primary’ on your list of assignments. Those items must be completed immediately. Time is short, so do not dally. Our timing must be perfect, and when—”

The front doorbell chimed, interrupting his speech. His guests looked at each other with concern etched on their faces. Lord Soren, the group’s self-elected spokesman, turned to Banlor. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “If we are discovered it will mean our deaths!”

Banlor leaned back in his chair. “So true, Soren.” He would no longer use the man’s title, now that the nobleman was sufficiently cowed. “You needn’t worry yourselves,” he addressed the rest of the party. “Our visitor is expected.” Casually steepling his fingers before him, Banlor looked at the old soldier, who had returned to his spot under the archway. “Dammer. Receive our guest of honor.”

Dammer looked at Banlor for a long moment before turning from his spot to cross the body-littered floor. Receiving guests had been the task of Lamberth, Banlor’s former guard. When the creatures that inhabited the skins of Dammer and Walina had moved in, Lamberth’s services—valuable though they may once have been—had become obsolete. All of the house staff had become extraneous, in fact. More importantly, the loose tongues of people, even dominated ones such as his servants, were liabilities he could ill afford. Even so, the doppelgangers were proving less than adept at the tasks left wanting after the removal of the staff. Banlor’s dissatisfaction with the service ebbed as the discomfort of his other guests grew. He allowed himself a small smile behind his fingers. The situation was not ideal, but he was in control and that suited him well.

Footfalls from the corridor quelled the whispering nobles, and the assembly craned their necks expectantly. Dammer, Bale, and two men who were obviously bodyguards despite their lack of uniform entered the foyer. The three men responded identically to the dozen bodies scattered in front of them. Three hands went to the pommels of three swords. Bale took a half-step forward and thrust a belligerent chin in Banlor’s direction. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

Ah, such a lack of trust
, Banlor thought. He rose from his chair and extended his arm toward the captain. “This, my friends, is Captain Bale Tigon. Head of the house guard to the royal family of Pelos. He is going to show us the way into Stone Mountain.” Banlor paused and smiled widely. “So we may burn it to the ground.”

Bale erupted into motion. His blade left its sheath as he turned toward Dammer. Bale’s two-handed blow cut deeply into the doppelganger’s stocky torso, nearly severing the arm and shoulder entirely from its body. No blood or ichor spilled from the wound, but if the lack of such gore surprised the captain, it didn’t show. Bale reared back slightly and kicked Dammer in the chest, freeing his sword and flinging the body back into the entry hall.

The creature that was Dammer opened its mouth as it flew backward, but no sound came forth. The body writhed on the floor as Bale commanded his men, “Finish it.”

The two soldiers had drawn their swords as well, though Banlor had not seen it happen. They turned as a unit and set to hacking at the body while Bale turned back to face Banlor and his guests.

Banlor was frozen in shock, mouth hanging agape, with his hand still extended to the Pelosian captain.

Bale took a giant step forward and hurled his weapon across the foyer at the minister.

Banlor stood with his feet unable to move, watching the blade tumble through the air, end over end. Far too late, his self-control returned, and he squeezed his eyes shut, dreading the impact of the weapon.

Nothing happened.

He cautiously opened one eye and found the point of the sword mere inches from his bulging eye. The cold steel was frozen in mid-air by the clawed arm of Walina. The chitinous covering had regrown, but blood still painted much of the surface.

Banlor’s face beaded with sweat as his heart leapt back into motion. Fury replaced the terror he had briefly felt, and he dropped the arm that was still raised. “Pacify him,” he snarled.

Walina lowered the sword and began to move around the table. The sound of sliding steel rang through the two rooms as Bale unsheathed another sword and a dagger from his belt. “Come, demon. I would send you back to the abyss.”

Walina appeared to believe she had all the time in the world. She sauntered across the floor and lazily dropped the sword onto the pile of bodies as she stepped lightly over splayed arms, legs, and pooling blood. The tiny woman’s form looked almost ridiculous as she approached the massive captain, who watched her approach with weapons at the ready. Not a word was spoken by his guests, though, as they had already learned that her size had little to do with her ability to wreak mayhem. The Pelosian had spoken more accurately than he knew—Walina truly was a demon.

Bale began to circle as Walina approached. He moved with poise, weapons forward, and his weight balanced on his toes so he would be ready to spring. Walina, for her part, still walked casually.

Banlor felt his poise return as Walina toyed with the captain. His heartbeat slowed to its stolid pace and the sweat began to dry on his brow. He seated himself once more and watched the scene unfold. He wondered what his guests might make of this development. They had already seen their entire contingent be vanquished by this creature. Did they harbor hopes of Bale’s success? Banlor felt his smile return and he raised his goblet to toast the performance.

Bale charged toward Walina, dispensing with battle cries. His blades moved so quickly they were hard to see. Walina dodged every thrust and slash, except for one. The captain’s dagger cut a thin line down the side of her delicate cheek as he danced away from her. Several around the table took in a breath at the feat. This one man had already done more damage than the dozen who had been laid out earlier. Not one of that group had so much as laid a finger on her.

Walina twitched her head in an annoyed gesture, but otherwise, the amused twist to her lips never wavered.

The two came together again. Bale’s blades whirled and the tiny woman dodged. Another hit was scored on her shoulder, but this time, Walina did not allow the large man to disengage. Her transformed arm snapped forward and caught the wrist of Bale’s sword arm. He winced in pain but brought his dagger up in an attempt to stab her exposed throat. Walina’s still-human hand seized the sharp steel inches away from her neck. She hissed in fury at the armored man as the sharp edges cut deeply into her flesh.

Banlor leaned forward in his seat. He had not seen the doppelganger show so much anger before. A frown made its way across his face and worry began to edge into his happily entertained mind—not for his creature, but for the Pelosian.

With both arms entangled, Bale employed his legs. He brought his knee up into Walina’s midsection with such force, she was lifted off the ground. When her feet left the floor, the captain rushed forward and slammed Walina into the marble wall. Keeping her pinned, Bale released the trapped dagger and began to rain elbow smashes repeatedly into her skull.

Walina’s body began to wilt under the punishment. Her feet had already landed on the ground and she began to fold her body as the blows continued relentlessly. Soren’s condescending voice floated across the table. “Looks as if your monsters aren’t as invincible as you thought, Banlor.” Rumbles of agreement came from the others and the beginnings of mutiny formed in the soft whispers.

Fools
, thought Banlor.
Still they refuse to believe
.

Walina had curled into a ball, but the clawed arm still maintained its grip on the captain’s sword arm. Bale was shouting wordlessly as he attempted to break her bones. The claw suddenly released its grip on his arm and the big man stumbled. Two slim legs shot out, catching Bale squarely in the chest. He was flung violently into the air and he sailed across the room to slam into the opposite wall. Walina was on her feet in an eyeblink, and she was already crossing the intervening space before Bale struck the stone floor. Walina leapt onto Bale in a fury of pummeling fists, swinging chestnut hair, and hissing rage. The captain’s body quaked under the punishment; blow followed blow almost faster than the eye could follow.

“Stop!” Banlor commanded, rising to his feet. His concern for the Pelosian intensified. Walina had never displayed this lack of control.

Her blows continued unabated.