Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (76 page)

Shock smashed against Sloane’s wall of calm but did not penetrate.
Take my place as queen? But I’m not queen yet.

“I will
not
!” Sacha screamed.

“Oh, yes, I think you will.” The creature stepped closer again. “You will bring the human kingdoms together as one. You can do this. You
will
do this. Or I shall allow my minions to drain your child’s soul, and afterward, I will devour her flesh before your very eyes.” The last syllable drew out into a hiss that trailed from the creature’s lips.

Horror and rage blasted the calm surrounding Sloane. Hairline cracks formed along the wall, allowing her emotions to seep in. Her voice finally responded to her will in the form of a low growl.

The pale man’s head twitched her way and he smiled deeply, moving so he was face-to-face with Sloane. “I have chosen wisely. It is truly a shame what must happen next. You would have made a glorious queen.”

The wall between her and her anger collapsed like a shoddy dike before a flood. Sloane screamed in rage. She jerked the short sword from Rouke’s unmoving hand and spun in place, bringing the edge of the blade down on the pale monster’s face with all of her might.

The sound of impact was similar to that of metal hitting stone. Vibration ran down the steel, causing her such pain that the sword clattered to the carved whorls on the rocky floor.

The creature’s hand closed on Sloane’s throat. It had happened so fast, Sloane completely missed the motion. Fingers of iron squeezed.

Sloane gagged. She clawed at the icy hand desperately as her ability to breathe was taken from her. She drew on every lesson she ever took with the tutors in Pelos and attacked the man with all of them. She punched and kicked, chopped and wriggled. She pushed her thumbs into pressure points and swung a flailing arm for the tender eyes, nose, and ears.

Nothing worked.

He pulled Sloane closer to him and sniffed her jawline. The creature’s eyes were kindled with that terrible red glow. His voice was deep and soft in her ear. “I have many names, my child, but you will call me Vinnicus. And I am your master.”

The surrounding landscape began to blur, and bright spots of light danced across her vision. Everything was so hazy, she couldn’t make out any details. Sloane heard a popping sound, like bones breaking, and her sister screamed. She tried to swing her arms at the pale man, but they no longer responded to her commands.

Horrible burning seared her neck, and though she could not feel her body below Vinnicus’s grip, she knew the pain. She had never experienced anything like it in her entire life—so acute she could focus on nothing else. It was as if her soul were being drawn out from a blistering wound on her neck. Her very essence flowed out of her body and into the creature clinging to her lifeless form. Millions upon millions of tiny bites were taken out of her, until there seemed to be nothing left—she had become part of the pale stranger. Part of Vinnicus, her master.

G
OBBLESNOT
closed the last trunk filled with the mistress’s personal items. He ran his hand along the intricate details carved into the large wooden box. The handcrafted reliefs depicted scenes of battle under a glowing star and the world breaking underneath.

The little goblin smiled at the box and allowed the scenes to take him back to the battles his mistress had fought. Even though his part was small, he reveled in the chaos of war; men and goblinkind screaming in defiance or pain, in victory or defeat. Of course, each battle came with spoils. There was steel, gold, and jewels, to be sure, but what made the goblin smile widest, what he craved most, was the flesh. He loved the flesh; the feel of it under his claws, the taste of it on his tongue, and the supple slip of it when it was coated in blood.

He shook himself out of the daydream and scrubbed the glistening saliva from his chin. The mistress would be displeased if he dallied.

Gobblesnot dragged the trunk across the fine handwoven rugs and polished stone floors to a place near the door. He hauled the massive oaken door open and called for the hobgoblins to carry the many chests to the carriage waiting outside.

Gobblesnot looked on in satisfaction as the brutes bustled in and easily lifted the bulky, heavy luggage. He was ahead of schedule.

Rich maroon curtains rustled from across the room as Gobblesnot closed the mistress’s chamber door. The soft glow of morning sun shone through the cracks that formed as they swayed back and forth. He walked over to the thick material and pulled them aside.

Mistress Selen stood with her back to him. The dress she had chosen today was a dark fabric, almost backless, exposing her shoulders and back to the waist. Her pale skin reflected the light that passed through the curtain, giving it a saffron glow. Straight blonde hair covered most of her luxurious spine, while tiny ringlets of silver decorated the many fine braids arranged around her proud head. Long black sleeves overlapped the tops of her delicate hands as they hung artfully at her sides. She was a thing of pure beauty and rancorous terror.

The spanning rectangular balcony where she waited faced west and was shaded from the morning sun. The cantilevered structure was made of large blocks of brown stone and dark wooden timber. Heavy beams of the same wood held a roof of stone above half the patio.

The churning ocean beyond her glittered in the morning rays. The restless waves gave rise to a dense, low fog that hugged the beachhead before drifting inland to join with the reeking bogs of the wetlands, east of the mistress’s coastal home.

Gobblesnot shuffled forward until he could see over the balustrade while maintaining a respectful and prudent distance from the mistress. Below, in the harbor, the masts of hundreds upon hundreds of galleys poked out of the thick fogbank like skeletal fingers reaching through the dirt of a fresh grave. The ships were thick through the harbor and extended well beyond the edge of the fog, dispelling the image his mind had created.

All of the ships he could see had dozens of speck-like forms bustling about the decks, loading goods, lashing bundles, or checking equipment. The mistress’s fleet was almost ready to sail.

“You have done what I commanded.” Her soft, firm voice was not asking a question, but demanding an answer.

Gobblesnot bowed even though she did not face him. “Yes, Mistress. Yer things are on their way ta the ship.”

The mistress looked out over her army, a small smile on her face.

Gobblesnot waited patiently. She always took her time. He had seen many without patience lose their lives to the mistress. He had learned from their mistakes and would be patient.

“The Awakening is at hand, my devoted,” she said finally, almost as though she spoke only to herself. “The long wait is almost over.”

In the dim glow of his subterranean sanctuary, Vinnicus laid Sloane’s body on the ancient stone desk. The smooth surface would be pleasantly cool to the touch when she awoke—if she awoke.

His thoughts on creating another like himself were only theories. He had tinkered with animals before, but never one of the “higher” life forms. The prospect of condemning another being to his cursed way of life had never truly appealed to him. In this case, though, it was necessary. She could not endure the coming days as a simple human, and he needed her to survive. The choices, then, were simple: give her what she needed to survive, or allow her to die and choose another. He told himself there was no time to wait for another. It made him feel better, most of the time, but today he felt hollow.

He looked down at the dead woman’s naked body and couldn’t help but admire her beauty. If he were still a man, Vinnicus could imagine he would have been quite taken by her comeliness alone. Her strength of will and forward thinking would have only added to his attraction to her. He was not a man, though. The attributes that appealed to him now had little to do with the flesh.

Her essence writhed inside of him. Her soul was strong and it struggled for freedom, even extracted from her body as it was. Most souls would have either been drawn away into the nether, or become incoherent within minutes of the death of the body. Sloane’s struggled mightily to be free.
Yes, I have chosen well
, he thought.

Vinnicus took hold of the stone table to steady himself. His willpower was waning. Every fiber of his being wanted to consume the sweet life force that surged through his body, but so far, he had managed to stave off his hunger.

I must hurry
.

Vinnicus bent to reach beneath the desk; his long fingers took hold of the heavy iron handle that was attached to a large granite block buried within the bedrock floor. He pulled the lid free, and the sound of stone scraping against stone echoed through the chamber. He set the slab aside and knelt in front of the square-shaped hole that was now exposed. The brilliant, tawny light shining within its depths radiated from runes of power that glowed on all four sides of the smooth walls. He had placed them here to guard his most prized possession.

Tentatively, his pale hands lowered into the hidden safe.

Rough gemstone brushed against undead flesh as his hands wrapped around one of the only mortal-forged artifacts that could harm creatures of darkness such as himself.

Harundin, the stone of power, settled into his palms as he stood. The stone was about the size of a large apple and the weight of a bag of sand the same size. It was impossible to say what kind of stone it had originally been before it had been subjected to the rites that made it what it was, but at the moment, it resembled nothing more than a finely cut but otherwise unimpressive lump of quartz.

Harundin might have been unassuming in appearance, but it harbored many secrets. Vinnicus had seen the stone be used to kill, but he had also seen it create life... Or “unlife,” as one might call it.

Vinnicus suspected Harundin was a key. A key that could potentially open more doors than those he had already explored, and capable of uses far beyond those he planned tonight.

Stepping forward, he held Harundin above Princess Sloane’s body and began to chant the words of making in his ancient tongue. The girl’s essence reacted violently to the incantation, pushing against Vinnicus’s will and body.

He clenched his teeth in pain for a moment but continued with the chant. His blood felt like it was boiling, but finally, a spark of life began to grow deep within the crystalline edges of the gemstone.

The spark grew until a chartreuse glow surrounded Harundin and spilled through Vinnicus’s elegant fingers. Bands of power began to arc across the surface of the stone like tiny bolts of lightning. The bolts increased in number and size, dancing not only across the surface of the stone, but also across Vinnicus’s hands. He could feel them like feathers on his skin. Their touch was light and seemed out of proportion to their brightness.

Vinnicus never ceased his chant, but he released the stone above Sloane’s still breast. Harundin hovered in place above his palms, with the veins of power still connecting it to his hands.

The pale green glow picked up an angry red tinge, and the tendrils of power began to burn.

A scream tore itself from Vinnicus’s throat. Sloane’s spirit, boiling inside of him, screamed in unison. The light of the stone swept them both up and tumbled them together.