The Willbreaker (Book 1) (25 page)

              Janga continued. “You are not only my King, but you are my friend. I could not bear leaving you back here alone. I knew the second I saw that look in your eye…”

              “Alright, Janga, alright. No hard feelings. It’s actually really good to see your face.”

              The two men gripped each other in a quick hug, patting each other’s backs in comfort.

              “Let’s ride,” Cedric said, “We have some catching up to do.”

              The long trip wore on the men. Cedric moved the army through Greylin, restocking on supplies, then followed the main trade road east through Jellindor. As the army moved north to Tormain’s Ravine, they discovered the abandoned camps previously occupied by Aurora’s Blade Maidens; they left their marked supply crates behind in their rushed retreat. Unexpectedly, Tormain’s Ravine had been abandoned, making Reinhold question Aurora’s plan. He dispatched a small group of armed knights to guard the pass as they moved through Oakridge towards the Castle.

              A day out from home, Reinhold raised his head, filling his lungs with fresh air. He shrugged his shoulders, cracking a few bones in his back as he stretched, and rolled his head around. They travelled for over a month now since leaving Orlimay, and Cedric needed rest. His men needed a break too. The relief washed over everyone as the castle came into view on the horizon.

              Reinhold’s smile slowly slid to concern as two horsed riders raced towards him from the Castle, in obvious urgency. Cedric raised his right hand over his head in a clenched fist, halting the army as the two scouts approached.

              The riders rode up to the King in distress; one of the riders shook his head back and forth. From the look on their faces, Cedric knew they had terrible news.

              “What is it?” Cedric demanded. “What is the matter?”

              “Milord, the castle… death…” one of the riders spoke.

              “They are dead, Milord,” the other finished.

              “Dammit! Who is dead?” Cedric yelled.

              “Everyone.”

              Blood drained from Cedric’s face like an upside down bottle. Despair washed over him as he buckled in his saddle. Arkam quickly grabbed ahold of his arm, balancing him.

              Janga burst into action, calling his squadron into full sprint. A thousand mounted warriors swept ahead of the army towards the castle, swords in the air, spears at the ready.

              Images of Bram, the Avatar of War, plagued Cedric’s thoughts. He locked him in the Castle dungeon. He must have escaped. Only he could do something like this.

              “What… have… I done…”

              Reinhold raised his head as he kicked his horse into a gallop.

              Judging by the maggots and decay, death had been a week in waiting. Reinhold strolled under the portcullis into the courtyard. The sound of men losing their stomachs behind him quickened. The smells washed over him like a black fog.

              “Clear!” came from one of the guard towers as an armored knight poked his head out. The shout echoed as the soldiers checked the other buildings.

              Bodies piled up everywhere, in random and strange positions, as if everyone here moved in their routines when death hit them all suddenly and instantly. Guards still lay at the gates, weapons sheathed. Cart runners curled over in their seats, still hanging on to the reigns of the horses rotting on the ground in front of them. Archers hung limp from the walkways around the castle walls. The streets were lined with fallen workers and citizens, street vendors and shop owners. A battle had not been fought here; nobody engaged in a fight.

              Cedric jumped off his horse and ran into the castle. Arkam trailed behind him. He ran down the halls with motivated purpose, past the kitchens and through the servant’s quarters to the spiraling staircase that lead down to the dungeon. He released the Heart of the King from its sheath, holding it tight with his hand as he entered the dungeon. The guards down lay in crumpled masses of death, plopped in piles on the floor. Reinhold looked in to the cell. All thoughts left him as he stared at the Avatar of War.

              Bram sat up against the wall of his prison, picking his teeth with a curved rat bone, still locked inside. Rat bones littered the floor.

              “Well, sire, I can’t say much for your hospitality here. The food is terrible,” Bram said, spitting out a piece of something from his teeth.

              Cedric stared at the Avatar in disbelief.
What in the hell happened here, and how come he is alive?

              Aurora looked out the window of the white, marble tower that stood high above her city. This tower, one of five in her city, smelled of sugar incense and bloomed with various sizes and shades of lilac. White satin curtains and rugs decorated the walls and floors, and golden framed mirrors hung on every wall. Golden water bowls shaped into the form of opening flowers, filled with lavender water and topped with pink rose petals, adorned the tables and floor. A sole bed sheeted in the world’s finest silk sheets sat alone and unused against the far wall.

              Aurora stared down at the army of Gifted wielding their power to rebuild the damage caused by her fierce enemy, Lord Cedric Reinhold. The outer guard towers were crushed, the defense walls toppled, and everything lit aflame. Aurora contained the rage that festered inside of her. She felt violated and threatened.

              It had been ten days since the small group of Blade Maidens returned to Orlimay, bearing word of Reinhold’s threats. He called her an oppressor and a murder. She gritted her teeth in anger.

              Ivy Arclight entered the room, slowly. She could have posed as a double for her sister, from her high cheekbones to her thin red lips. Her red robes, trimmed at the cuffs and neck with a bright yellow band, brushed the floor as she entered. She peered around, running a single finger through the water of one of the flower bowls. Quickly, she retreated her hand and bowed her upper body to the floor.

              “Sister, our retaliation force is ready, two-hundred thousand strong. It is everything we have. I even had to pull Maidens from the prisons and guard walls.”

              Aurora’s words were slow and drawn out. “I don’t care. They are on the move, and this action cannot go unpunished. If Cedric Reinhold thinks he can upstage me, in my house, then he is gravely mistaken. He will pay for his actions in the blood of his people.”

              A soft knock rapped on the door. Aurora did not turn to acknowledge it, but Ivy did.

              “What do you want?”

              An attending maid whispered something, and Ivy answered, “Alright, send her up.”

              Aurora continued to look out the window, never turning her head. After a moment, gentle footsteps approached the room.  A slender woman, with long and straight brown hair entered the room holding her fingers together in front of her, small bits of red satin cloth hanging between her fingers. Ivy turned to look at Aurora, who no longer looked out the window; she turned and gave the woman in the doorway her full attention. 

              Victoria gave a small curtsy and glanced at Ivy, as if asking what she should do. Ivy nodded. “Go ahead.”

              Victoria hesitated and then moved her eyes to Empress Aurora. She took one small step, then another. Nervously, she held her hands outward, offering Aurora the item in her hand that was wrapped in fine red satin. The item in her palm was the size of a small egg. Aurora’s eyes locked on it, as if it were a viper ready to strike. Aurora’s eyes quickly darted to meet Victoria’s, then went right back to her hands. She gave a small nod.

              Victoria raised her other hand, grabbing a corner of the red satin cloth, and lifted it from the glowing, red metal elephant figurine underneath. It amazed her; dull red metal, semi-transparent like a raw ruby, shaped and carved into a tiny elephant, equipped with saddle and tusks. It rested in the center of her palm and Aurora slowly reached out to grab it.

              Victoria pulled her hand back an inch. “Wait, Samuel. You promised.”

Aurora froze and then pulled her hand back.

              “Yes. Your Son. Right.” The look of astonishment had faded from her face, replaced with a stone cold, hard glare. Aurora looked at Ivy and nodded in affirmation.

              Ivy spoke up. “First, give her the idol. We will go get your son. You will never want for anything again.”             

              With one last glance at Ivy, Victoria thrust her hand forward, offering the idol once again to her Empress. Aurora snatched the idol from her hand, fingers wrapped tightly around it, and pulled it to her chest. Power, raw and pure, pounded within her. A thousand galaxies of energy, more vast than the boundaries of infinite thought, came to life, filling her body and soul with inconceivable function and potential. Her visions became clear, like the waters of the Elven Glades; sharp, precise, and ever so perfect. The previous unreachable boundaries of her mind were now a distant thought. Power spilled from her being.

              “Whoa…” Ivy whispered. She pressed up against the wall staring at her sister in awe, as if she lost her balance and used the wall to stop her. Victoria looked terrified, and amazed. Aurora looked at them both, tilting her head to the side, as she saw them with new vision.

              “Leave us,” Ivy demanded of Victoria. “Tell Princess to reunite you with your son,” she said as she pushed a small velvet bag of coins into her arms. The weight of the bag surprised Victoria, judging from the look on her face as she wrapped her fingers around it. Victoria immediately turned and vanished down the stairway.

              “Order Gretchen to take the armies across the border. Greylin and Jellindor will be unguarded when they get there. Destroy them, and raze them to ashes. Kill everyone in the way. Burn the crops, kill their livestock, and leave no building standing. Ash. Cover the world in it.”

              Ivy said, almost pleading, “Sister, you should let me lead the armies--”

              “No.” The answer came before Ivy finished speaking. “You will march with the Kella’Dune up the Paraline River.”

              Ivy’s eyebrow rose, with pleasure. “The Guardians? Really?”

              “Prophecies are coming to pass, fate is running a head on collision with us, and I plan on challenging destiny.  Are our actions predetermined by what is written, or with the proper tools, can we rewrite our futures? Time will tell.” She looked down at her closed hand, hiding the idol.

              “Go Ivy. Make haste, and be warned sister; blood will be spilled in the Paraline.”

              “Not my blood, sister.” She gave an obedient nod and departed down the stairs.

              Aurora gripped the small elephant tightly in her hand, becoming aware of his presence. Never before could she feel him, although she had tried numerous times before. She did not have the power, but now, there he waited in the deepest recesses of her mind, everywhere and nowhere.

              “Watcher…” she whispered.

              The words echoed elsewhere, in a place away from the world, through the black jagged cliffs and over the fifty-foot guard wall covered in sharp blade-like rocks.

              “Watcher…” she said again.

              Blowing on the tips of the wind, her voice moved like haunted howls past the black armored men prowling the walls, all moving in unison, and into the colossal stone fortress.

              “Watcher!” she screamed.

              Her voice broke barriers, booming across the time-lapsed sky, purple and white, fast and slow, hiding the three yellow moons draped high above. The man in the sole tower, draped in a heavy black wool cloak, covering his head and dragging on the floor, jumped as if startled. He stood around a black granite well, holding water that illuminated the small room in ghostly shades of white. Creatures moved in the rafters, screeching and clawing around, staring down with hundreds of glowing green eyes.

              Her voice focused and reached, and her next words came from the room as if she stood there.

              “Watcher, we need to strike a bargain.”

              The Watcher looked around, surprised. His voice sounded like coarse bone grinding on a stone wheel.

              “You finally found me, Empress. Impressive.”

              The wind howled through the arrow slit windows like screams of the dying. The sounds of tearing wood came from above him, where the creatures hung on to the rafter boards with taloned feet. They moved apprehensively, flapping their large bat wings as they bumped into each other, shrieking combatively. The green eyes of the Screechers created a ghostly atmosphere in the room below them.

              The Watcher rubbed his hands together anxiously. His hands seemed frail; skin the color of the tar with mixed hues of deep blue, bony tendons stretching from his wrist to his fingers, each topped with sharp pointed nails.

              The Watcher stood no taller than most chairs. He was small in size, but prodigious in stature. His power here, in this world, could not be matched, limited only by his imagination.