The Flame of Wrath (22 page)

             
The Empress favored him with a slightly approving nod. Then without another word, Aurea slipped into Autumn's chambers, leaving her Knights to their appointments.

             
Only after the doors had safely closed behind her, did Angelos dare to breathe. His eyes slowly began to show their usual arrogant light. It was the return of the ambitious twinkle which had been there throughout his life. Once again he was consumed by a desperate need to prove himself. Only this time, it was not his father that he wished to impress. It was Aurea.

Chapter Eight

Knowledge sleeps when the Innocents no longer wish to learn. Wake to truth and be free.

----The Book of Wrath

*******

             
The arrangements had been meticulously laid. Maven released her attention to detail upon the parchment spread out before her. She drew in a deep breath. Her confidence rose as she perused her plans. It would work. There was not an aspect of the plan which she had not gone over. Every angle of the plan had been closely examined. She had thrown every scenario at the plan while searching for any and every possible undoing, but by the end of her methodical planning, it was strong enough to stand against anything.

             
A knock at the doors caused the blond to lift her captivating face. She took in the image of the woman moving toward her.

             
The woman entered with her head held down. Her body was hidden beneath a flowing cape of violet. An elusive shadow echoed the hood atop her head. That darkness ended just above the seductive curve of her full lips.

             
“Remove the cloak,” Maven commanded quietly. She held her chin elegantly against her thumb while her fingers rested delicately against her lips. Her index finger traversed the course of her cheekbone in pensive thought.

             
The woman reached upward.
Her hands unclasped the cape, sending it puddling to the ground around her feet. Golden hair caught in the light like brilliant sunlight. Her skin was soft and inviting. She smiled inwardly though her darkly-rouged lips never grew so bold. She was confident that she would meet the Queen's standards, but she would endure the formalities of this moment if it might appease Lady Maven.

             
“Turn.”

             
The woman moved with an effortless grace. Her splendors might have rivaled the Queen of Whispering Winds. Her hips were slightly narrower, but her breasts were equally as full. An inch separated them in height, but one might never realize. When she had completed her circle, her emerald eyes found Maven's   smoldering eyes of approval.

             
Maven sensuously slipped from her high-back chair. She strode across the room with a hypnotic sway. Her hands lovingly cupped a face so like her own. With their faces so close, she caught a glimpse of flirtatious freckles lightly dusting the woman's cheeks. Her scrutinizing gaze softened. Such a thing could be covered by fine powders to complete the illusion, she assured herself.

             
After a moment more of thought, the Queen spoke. “What is your name?” she purred.

             
The woman placed her hands lightly to Maven's elbows, cupping them softly. Her eyes simmered in like passions. “Whatever you wish it to be, my Queen,” she pledged.

             
Maven's smile played beguilingly across her lips. “Until I see you again, your name shall be Maven, Queen of Whispering Winds.” She brushed her lips over the woman's in a kiss to enslave the soul. When she softly broke their kiss and peered over the woman who remained with lightly closed eyes, she knew that all would go according to plan. Her smile returned in slow eroticism.

********

              What grandiose splendors were given to the world in Whispering Winds' name? What enchantments had known life at Queen Maven's breath? Or at least so it would seem to the nobles of the court. Maven's proxy ruled the land with a seductive flair so much like Maven, herself. No true power had been granted to Salem. She was merely a hostess to the social elite. She dined amidst aristocratic society, toasting the glorious fortunes found under Aurea's reign. She made love to many, seizing their flesh with sensuous raptures and all in the name of her Queen. There was not a person within the royal court who possessed even an inkling suspicion that the woman in their presence was not Queen Maven. Moreover, no one would have even dreamed that the actual Queen was now voyaging toward the end of the earth.

********

              Good fortune had smiled upon Maven these long weeks. She rode upon a fiercely black owl toward the province of Solstice. Within the province borders, she could hear the faint sounds of bells tolling the hour. Twelve resounding tolls announced the wearisome time.

             
As the long gongs reverberated throughout her tired body, she smiled. She had never been so grateful to hear a sound. It marked the near-end to her solitary journey.

             
Solstice meant that the creature of social comforts would no longer be alone. There, she would meet up with a battalion of highly-trained soldiers awaiting her arrival. Maven was confident in her selections. They were strong. They were skilled, but above all else, they knew the advantages of discretion. The Queen felt a kinship with them. While they appeared respectable in certain circles, these men at heart were mercenaries. She could identify with them in that regard. After all, in Maven's mind, everyone had their price.

             
At first glance, these warriors had blended in with so many other men and women merely seeking out the pleasures of the decadent land. Their clothing was that of modesty. They traveled in small groups, some remaining adrift from all others. Still upon a discrete signal from Maven's hand, they would steal away into the night, where together they would be a force of individuals who could rival Aurea's precious Knights or any other task force in skill.

             
She lowered her head into the quick shot of cool air that slapped her face. It gave her a shiver which rattled her spine.

             
Almost there, she told herself.

             
With the same biting force as the wind, itself, Maven felt the intense reality of her mission. She would lay eyes upon a world few had ever seen. She would walk among the land of legends and of heroes, of guiding spirits and ultimately of misleading demons. She would breathe the Dragon's breath and sleep within the darkness of Her shadow.

             
The memory of sweet-smelling skin and lips softly lingering near to her ear gave Maven courage. Inside her eyes the lights of Solstice dazzled brightly. She inhaled deeply, feeling destiny rushing to meet her.

             
Withdrawing an arrow from the quiver at her back, she readied her bow. She aimed high above her. Her body was proud and majestic in the night. Nimble fingers released the tight string, letting loose her signaling arrow. As it raced upward in a dramatic arc, the specially crafted shaft released a soundless whistle which caused every animal within the area to respond. Horses stamped and whinnied shrilly. Dogs howled mournfully. Birds, whether they were small enough to fit inside ones hand or large enough to carry a man, all flapped their wings in abject fear.

             
One by one throughout the province, the soldiers of Maven's army lifted their heads. They had each witnessed the manic animals. Shooting surreptitious glances to their surroundings, they attempted to gage the moment.  Only after they were certain it was safe to move did they allow themselves to grow lost among the confusion-filled streets.

             
Two hours had come and gone before the last of the soldiers found their way to the meeting grounds. At their arrival, a woman shrouded within the grips of passionate red tallied their numbers. She ventured away from them, seeking out the campfire prepared far from all the others. It was there that an exhausted Maven had placed a pallet upon the warm earth before lying down for a bit of much-needed rest.

             
As the woman approached, she took in the way that shapely legs were crossed at the ankles.

             
Maven's left arm was draped lazily over her eyes. She nuzzled sleepily at the nook of her elbow while lost in dreaming.

             
“My Queen,” the woman began. Her voice timidly lured Maven from sleep.

             
A tiny sound of acknowledgment reverberated within the Queen's throat. Yet still, she did not open her eyes.

             
“All soldiers have been accounted for.”

             
Maven nodded slowly. “And Logos?” she asked in a voice throaty with sleep.

             
The woman knelt respectfully at the blonde’s side. She watched over her diligently. Her brown eyes warmly reflected the fire's light. “The people of Solstice have reported viewing a mysterious fog near the edge of the world. It is a sign that Logos is near.”

             
Maven sighed. Its sound was laced with boredom. She sat up with a cat-like stretch. “Why do we call it that?” she asked curiously.

             
The warrior's eyes betrayed her confusion. “Majesty?”

             
“The edge of the world,” Maven repeated. “Why do we call it that when we know that there is so much more out there?” Her eyes were quietly simmering with a hunger for adventure and conquest. “We know that there is Logos and let us not forget Lucidia.”

             
“I suppose,” the woman began, “that it's for those of us who are content with what we have… content with what we know.” She smiled almost bashfully, feeling quite out of her element within that instant. She was a soldier not a philosopher. “It's for the dreamers, for the ones with vision that the end of the world isn't the end so much as it is merely a new beginning.”

             
Maven smiled. She regarded the woman closely.

             
By the light of the campfire, the woman was as elegant as she was soft spoken. Her long hair caught the light like silver silk. Her face though youthful still possessed a set of dark brown eyes which knew the magnitude of lifetimes. The softness of her skin had faltered slightly due to years on the battlefield. Lightly golden, her skin smiled along with her whispering lips.

             
Maven guessed that the woman was no more than two perhaps three years her senior, but it was the soldier's hair, her intensely silver hair which seemed to age her falsely. “Thank you.” She paused, regarding the woman with interest and searching eyes.

             
“Rapier,” the woman said, introducing herself.

             
The Queen smiled, realizing that she had been caught. “Rapier.” She repeated the word, enjoying the feel of the name within her mouth.

             
A silence passed between them as they regarded one another with a mutual respect.

             
“We'll move at dawn,” Maven commanded. She watched the noble inclination of Rapier's head as she bowed then left her to her night's rest. She gazed after her for a lengthy moment. As she watched the woman grow lost in the darkness of night, she felt herself consumed by the impending approach her of ambitious hope for the challenges ahead.

********
             

             
The ghostly hours of twilight were the haunting moments when the dead are free to walk. They were the heavy fog which breathed around them. They, who possessed cool lilac hands, cleaved to the periwinkle bosom of day as though they had a right to it. Golden poppy sent a shiver down the spines of men. It existed as the other world's all-seeing eye though its vision was obscured by the dreamy veil of blushing lavender.

             
Whispering Wind's Queen released a breath which collided with the air in vaporous clouds. The air was suddenly so cold. It frightened her. Pyros was never cold. Despite the truth of seemingly endless summers, she could feel the temperature dropping zealously. She shivered, holding tighter to the reins of her onyx owl.

             
A quick glance over her shoulder brought no comfort. Though her men were poised upon their owls to take flight at her command, something baleful crackled in the air. In their eyes, she clearly saw that she was not alone in having felt its ominous arrival.

             
Tread softly
, mourned an amethyst wind.
It comes
.

             
It broke through an enshrouding wall of cloud. It came with a voice which dared to breathe,
I exist. I am the Land of Logos, the birth and doom of you all.