Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (7 page)

Teacher relaxed visibly at her words. Sacha hadn’t realized how concerned he would be about her leaving. Of course, she hadn’t known he would be forced to hunt her down for crossing some imaginary moral line either. She would definitely need to be careful with her actions in the future.

“I have arranged something for you upon your return to the Monastery, if your trip goes well,” Teacher stated with satisfaction.

Sacha looked up at him and arched an eyebrow. “Should I be afraid? Your last surprise was not that pleasant.” Her mouth twisted in sour remembrance.

He chuckled. “My apologies. You have no need to be frightened by my next offering.”

Sacha was skeptical. His “offerings” since she arrived at the monastery only lead to a whirlwind of questions that couldn’t be answered, and trials, both mental and physical, that tested her to her limits. She had started to wonder if he was doing it intentionally to throw her off balance. For what purpose, she could not imagine. Tonight, she resolved to wait for him. She pulled her legs up beneath her for more warmth and looked at Teacher expectantly.

“I’ve arranged for you to see your daughter,” he said, smiling.

Thunderstruck, she sat immobile for a long moment. Hot tears came to her eyes and Sacha looked away quickly so he would not see. The ability to speak eluded her as she tried to control her emotions and respond to Teacher’s heart-wrenching announcement.

Sacha had not seen her baby in almost two years. Three weeks after her daughter’s birth, Sacha had been told she was to go north, without her infant child. The parting was ugly, and it was a scene Sasha would never forget. She had fought with all her strength, used all of her martial training, and in the end, begged on her knees not to be separated from her child. All for naught.

Teacher cleared his throat in the awkward silence. “Forgive me, I thought... I will leave you now.” He bowed. She could hear the rustling of his robes as he made his way to the door; the latch made a soft click at his exit.

Sacha stood, neatly folded her blankets, and placed them in the chair. Her tears ran freely now, and after climbing into bed, she began to sob. “We will be together again,” she whispered, conjuring an image of Renee, and the child she could hardly remember. “A family, the three of us.”

“Die!” Renee screamed as he leapt from a boulder and rammed his spear down toward the hobgoblin’s hunched back. In spite of the screams, calls and chaos all around them, the hobgoblin that was brutalizing Barden’s prone form heard his battle cry. The savage face swung up to regard him, scabby eyebrows raised, the spittle flying from its yellowish tusks.

Renee cursed, realizing his roar of challenge had come a moment too early. The knobby arm of the pivoting monster came up and pushed the shaft of his spear away just enough to keep the strike from being a killing blow. The broad head of the spear sliced a thin, brilliant line of red down the hobgoblin’s chest and belly before disappearing into the filthy rags it used as pants. Renee almost lost his grip entirely as the blade shuddered to a halt in the monster’s thigh.

A scream of rage and pain erupted from the wounded hobgoblin and its gnarled fist closed on the shaft, yanking it free so violently that Renee found himself airborne.

Within the blink of an eye, Renee was dashed to the ground in a senseless heap. His thoughts swam in a dark murk of sound and color and his eyes refused to focus. Unable to do more than struggle and kick feebly, Renee felt a grip of iron seize his ankle and start to drag him… somewhere.

He could hear the calls of men and the bellows of the creatures they fought all around him. Above, on the walls of the keep, tremulous notes of a horn rang out to rally somewhere within the chaos.

Renee stopped with a jolt and he blinked his eyes, trying to regain his bearings. He could make out the massive rock formations that surrounded the keep and found he had been dragged in between two of the monoliths, sheltering them from the sounds of battle and the possibility of rescue. Barden’s groans could be heard echoing off the sharp edges of stone nearby. It was as if this small spot were an island, separated from the battle in some unknowable way.

“I’m going to die,” he moaned, his own words returning to him from the uncaring stones beneath his bruised face. Hearing his thoughts put to voice gave rise to a panic he hadn’t felt since the first time he and his fellows had charged out against their foe, what seemed like weeks ago. “I’m going to die!” he shouted this time, beginning to claw at the ground, fighting to get away from the hands that flipped him over.

One massive hand hauled him off the ground by the throat and hoisted him into the air. Another club-like palm smashed into his cheek, sending sparks of light across his vision.

Renee struggled for air, both hands raking at the meaty fist wrapped around his throat, but darkness crept into the edges of his vision, taking all the strength out of his fight.

The thing parted its lips in a wide smile and said in a low, rumbling voice distorted by thick tusks, “Yeessss... you, die, hooman.”

As Renee’s sight blackened completely, his last thought revolved around how this was not how things were supposed to end.
I never... even... got paid...

Renee woke, his body folded up on the dirt path like a marionette with no strings, arms and legs spread madly. His head thrummed with a headache that would rival any hangover. He untangled himself and sat up, looking around in confusion. Words squeaked out of his bruised throat. “Am I dead?”

Laughter boomed from behind him. “No, not this time! I was afraid we wouldn’t make it in time.” Prince Galen’s rich voice rose to cut through the constant crash and surge of the battle that still moved around them. “I saw you leap from the rock. Brave, but not too smart. It won’t do for you to die while under my protection. Sacha would have my head!”

Renee turned, wincing in pain as he did, to look up at his savior.

Much like King Hathorn, Prince Galen was built with proportions that made him seem of a slightly different race. Standing flat-footed, he was just shy of his father’s seven feet and broad shouldered, and possessed all the raw power of youth and long training on the battlefield. Unarmored, it was hard to call the prince anything but impressive, and in full battle attire, he was a truly imposing sight. The armor itself was closely tailored to the prince’s body and not a gaudy affair, as was typical of so many men of his position. However, it was made of red-hued metal, accented lightly at rondel, vambrace, and gauntlet with gold enamel that was reflected in his pennant. The eagle wings of Galen’s personal sigil were emblazoned in an ebony inlay on his helm, avoiding the ostentation of three-dimensional antlers, wings, or crest that were often seen in other noble houses. The effect made him reminiscent of some ancient fire god sent from the heavens to punish those foolish enough to threaten the might and splendor that was Pelos.

“Come, now, on your feet.” Galen smiled as he offered Renee a gauntleted hand.

He took the prince’s generosity, instantly regretting it as a quick wrench of Galen’s great arm hauled him to his feet. Sharp pain shot through every part of Renee’s body and his vision blurred for a moment.

“Good work, saving Barden. Would have been a shame to lose him,” the Prince said, while delivering several hard blows to the back of Renee’s armor once he had ceased his stumbling.

Still not fully understanding what had happened after his blackout, Renee shook his head and took a better look at his surroundings.

The first thing he saw was his hobgoblin captor, on its knees, slumped to one side with the bright red point of a lance protruding from its chest. The next unavoidable observation was the constantly moving wall of horseflesh and steel that protected the prince and Renee from attack. One of the mounted men, his horse stamping impatiently, bore the banner of Prince Galen, a gold field surmounted by a black triangle with a red eagle soaring, wingtips brushing the black borders that defined the edge of the shimmering triangle. Although his was the honor of bearing the Prince’s flag, he never stopped scanning the field, searching for enemies.

“Ho, there, Rosa!” the Prince barked. “Can we move him?” Galen moved past Renee to stand beside his personal physician, who was busy at work wrapping Barden’s wounds.

“Aye, My Prince, but not by horse,” Rosa declared, wiping the sweat from his brow.

A roar of horns sounded in the distance, pulling the prince’s attention away from the wounded man and physician.

“We must go!” Galen bellowed to his mounted guard. Turning toward the enormous destrier he rode, the Prince eyed Renee. “Get Barden and yourself behind the gates. And don’t come back out,” he commanded, gesturing at the keep.

Renee could only nod in acceptance, not feeling the need to come out from behind its heavy stone walls ever again. He watched the Prince and Rosa swing up into their saddles.

Prince Galen yelled a chant to destroy all enemies of Pelos and thundered off in the direction of the blasting horns, his cohort close behind, leaving Renee to drag Barden’s unconscious body back to safety.

The crash and thunder of the raging battle subsided abruptly as the door to the infirmary slammed shut behind Renee, leaving his ears ringing in the comparative silence. His voice rasped roughly as he called out, “Help needed here!”

Frecht looked up from where he was examining the ragged edges of a stone spear that protruded from the thigh of a sentryman. Catching the attention of two triage assistants with a grunt, the surgeon waved in Renee’s direction. The two young men rushed over and lifted Barden’s dead weight from Renee’s shoulders.

With a sigh of relief, Renee made his way to an unoccupied alcove and leaned back into its shadow, losing himself in thought while slowly taking off pieces of dented armor.

The past year and a half had begun in dreadful boredom, not to mention a total departure from the life to which he was accustomed. Recent months, however, had spiraled into something far worse. Large groups of Wildmen were crossing the border from the Savage Lands into Pelos, wreaking havoc on the common folk, and worst of all, threatening his very existence.

Renee let out a curse of resentment as he dumped his chest plate to the stone floor. He was trapped, banished by an overprotective king and jailed under the watchful eye of a self-righteous prince. Renee’s contacts in Waterfall Citadel had been unable to find him, and the opportunity to send word to them was all but impossible, especially with the uprising of the stupid savages from the South.

“No payment for services rendered two years past,” Renee muttered. “I should have asked for an advance.” He smirked sourly then slipped off the chainmail shirt and felt as if he could actually breathe again.

At least it had been a job he enjoyed. More than most of his jobs, anyway; seducing women was an exhilarating pastime and getting paid for it made the exercise all the better. This time it had been in the lap of luxury, in an environment he lusted after. With royalty.

Renee closed his eyes to bring the memories back more clearly.