The Legend of the Seven Sages: The Kin of Caladen Page 4

  “I selected a Queen,” Daro corrected him. The shock in Finwynn’s eyes grew in utter disbelief.

  “You… fathered children with one of your demons?” he asked with the utmost disgust.

  Daro’s eyes flashed aglow, and without hesitation, he summoned flames of bright orange upon the Sage’s skin. Finwynn bellowed in pain, and though the fires only burned him for a matter of moments, it seemed to him like an eternity.

  When Daro extinguished the blaze of magic, he observed the burns and boils on Finwynn’s flesh, and the charred, smoking remains of his robes.

  “I find your tone displeasing,” Daro said calmly, releasing the magic within him as Finwynn gasped for air. “As I wish for you to live, I would heal what wounds I inflict upon your flesh. But should you test me again, you will suffer most heinously, Sage. May you learn to still your brazen tongue.”

  Daro turned to Hadaan. “You have your orders,” he said. “Send for my Queen.”

  * * * * *

  Deep in the heart of the Megalian Wastelands stood an impressive fortress of black stone. Into its very foundations, Lord Daro had poured his magic to shield it from all that the bitter elements that would see it to ruin.

  Within the fortress, Daro’s twin bloodchildren—Dexius and Vexen—sat upon the floor, immersed in a game of thought and strategy. Each bore a Satian Collar, clasped around their necks.

  “I grow tired of waiting,” Dexius said, as though the admission had been a long time coming.

  “I’m thinking,” Vexen told him. “Were I as careless or hasty as you in my decisions, I’d lose every game we played.”

  “I’m not talking about the game,” Dexius interrupted her. “I’m tired of waiting for our Father to send word. He takes too long.”

  “Patience, Dexius,” said Vexen, moving a game piece. “He’ll send for us when he’s ready.”

  “I should have gone with him,” Dexius vented, wasting no time in moving a piece of his own. “But he chose Hadaan.”

  “Hadaan is much older than you and has proved himself, whereas we have not,” said Vexen.

  “Do you not grow restless, sister?” Dexius asked. “Do you not long to leave this place?”

  “I do, but—” Vexen said, pausing as though distracted from the game. Before she could finish her sentence, however, Daro’s Queen—Velusia—entered the room.

  “Hello, children,” she said. Velusia, named for the black rose that grew, not with the nourishment of water, but with blood, was the epitome of seductive beauty. A Primen-Blessed cross-breed, she, too, bore a Satian Collar. Her skin was blackened, yet smooth, and her suggestive eyes were as dark as the long, shiny hair that fell to her lower back. “Vexen, darling, what is this I hear of you frequenting the Borean prisoners?” she asked. “Have you been craving their blood?”

  “No, Mother,” said Vexen. “It runs icy through their veins.”

  “Borean blood’s better than no blood at all, Vex,” Dexius said.

  “Is your Satian Collar not enough to sate your appetite?” Vexen asked.

  Dexius looked at her suspiciously. “It stills my hunger,” he said, touching the band upon his neck. “But my cravings remain.”

  “Vexen,” Velusia demanded her daughter’s attention. “For what reason did you visit the dungeon?”

  “For information of course,” Vexen replied. “One of them is an ambassador, I believe.”

  “I have suspected the same,” Velusia spoke, “but what information could you possibly hope to uncover?”

  “News of our father,” Vexen said. “News of his victory or defeat that has not yet reached our ears by friendly messenger.”

  “Hmmm,” Velusia moaned approvingly. “And what did you discover?”

  “Nothing,” said Vexen, sullenly. “They said nothing.”

  “Well, they were hiding something alright,” Dexius told her. “Blighters escaped last night.”

  “Escaped?!” Vexen gasped in surprise. “How?!’

  “’How’ is indeed the question,” Velusia said. “But don’t worry, Vexen darling. They didn’t make it far before recapture. Fools, to think they had a chance.”

  “Recapture?” Vexen asked.

  “Yes. They’re down there now. Waiting to be interrogated,” Velusia told her daughter. “We need to find out how they escaped. Would you care to do the honors?”

  “Me?”

  “I would!” Dexius belted.

  “No, Dexius,” said Velusia. “I trust your sister to this task. Be careful when you’re with them, daughter. They are cunning devils.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out,” Vexen told her. She started to get up, then turned back to the game she and Dexius were playing. With a final move, she said, “You’re beaten,” then exited the chamber. When the doors closed behind her, Velusia turned to her son.

  “Keep an eye on her, Dexius.”

  “For what reason, Mother?” Dexius asked, slapping the game pieces from the board.

  “Your sister’s heart has never been as strong as yours,” said Velusia. “I fear she is beginning to feel pity for the faithless.”

  “But I thought we were supposed to pity them,” said Dexius.

  “Yes, Dexius, but pity for their ignorance—pity that they will never see the greatness of your father’s deeds, because of their own refusal to do so—is very different from the pity of weakness—the pity which leads to sympathy. A dangerous thing that is, my son.”

  “Vexen’s not like that,” said Dexius. “She’d bite their heads off herself, if Borean blood tasted any better.”

  “I pray so,” Velusia told her son, then thought to herself for a moment. “Still,” she said, “watch her. Watch her closely.”

  Vexen descended the twisting stone steps that led into the palace’s dungeon. She passed Primen and Blessed leaning against instruments and contraptions used to peel skin and crunch bone, until she reached a corridor that ended at a small chamber with torches of red everfire upon the walls. There, chained to the stone by their necks and wrists, were three Boreans—an older male and two younger females—dirtied by the filth of the dungeon.

  At the sight of them, Vexen drew her blade. “Leave us,” she ordered the guards, who bowed and obeyed, leaving Vexen alone with the Boreans. She walked closer to the eldest, then held her blade out until its tip touched his neck.

  “As you can see, Borean, there is no hope for your escape,” she said loudly, lifting his chin with her sword. The man said nothing. Instead, he only glared into her eyes. Then, Vexen lowered her blade, and stepped closer to him. “What happened, Cryos?” she whispered, her eyes suddenly filled with sorrow. “What went wrong?”

  “We made it outside the palace,” said the Borean, “but after half a day’s travel, the Wastelands proved too great a foe. The cold we can manage, but the heat was unbearable. And the sand, wind and ash, amidst storms of lightning—we could not carry on, nor could we navigate our way. I wonder, Dark Princess, did you not free us, only to send us to die?”

  Vexen looked to the Borean women flanking Cryos, beautiful as they were, and cool in their appearance as she was dark. “The Wastelands are unforgiving,” she said. “But I believed your chances better out there than in here. I think I could steal a contentment cloak from my father’s stores without anyone noticing. You’d have to share it between the three of you, but the next time you escape—”

  “No, Vexen!” Cryos silenced her. “Not again! We’ve lost too much already.”

  “And would you rather wait here and rot? Knowing your life ends in the belly of my kin?”

  “Don’t listen to her, Cryos!” said Icia, one of the females. “She feeds you lies.”

  “Does she?” questioned Sabria, the other female. “She helped us escape, Icia.”

  “To appear as our ally, now, upon our recapture. It was all part of her plan—a sick game, toying with us, dangling hope before our eyes, using trust to blind us from the obvious trap.” She looked ferociously into Vexen’s eyes.
“And now, she persists with the same act. Only this time, Vexen Alakai, I see your intentions for what they are.”

  The Borean man appeared contemplative. “Why do you help us?” he asked. Vexen shook her head, as if suppressing an unbearable urge that begged to be released. “Vexen—”

  “Because my shame is greater than you can imagine,” Vexen spoke.

  “Is it?” Icia asked suspiciously.

  “I understand your mistrust, Icia,” Vexen continued, “but regardless of how you feel, you have two choices: stay here and die, or accept my help. I’ll lay a contentment cloak in the same place you found my provisions before. It will make the elements more bearable.” She pulled a key from her hip, unlocked one of Cryos’s wrists, then pressed it into his hand. “You must leave tonight. I think my mother is already suspicious of my actions. I don’t know if I’ll be able to help you again.”

  “Let us hope you won’t have to,” said Sabria.

  “You’ve risked so much already,” Cryos added.

  “And now I must leave you once more,” Vexen told them.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” asked Cryos.

  “What?” She couldn’t think of anything.

  “You must make it appear as though you attempted to pry information from us. Take a piece of my flesh to validate your intentions with the guards. Otherwise, upon our disappearance, they will surely come to you for questioning.”

  “No, I will not,” Vexen adamantly protested.

  “Do it, Vexen!”

  “No!” shouted Sabria. “Take it from my flesh.”

  “Don’t trust her!” yelled Icia. “How cunning you are, dark one. Manipulating us to offer our own flesh to you, so that you might satisfy your thirst for blood! Twisted you are, Vexen. An evil thing, wrought with lies, forging confessions of shame to pry at our sympathies!”

  “Icia, please!” Cryos silenced her.

  “Don’t trust her,” Icia said again. “Give her nothing.”

  “No, Icia,” said Cryos. “I do trust her.”

  “As do I,” added Sabria. “Vexen, do it now.”

  “Are you sure?” Vexen asked.

  “It is a small price to pay for your courage.”

  “This red everfire—Mender’s Flame—will help speed your healing,” Vexen said, nodding to the torches along the walls.

  “I know,” said Sabria. Vexen then took the Borean’s hand in hers, and brought one of Sabria’s icy fingers to the edge of her blade.

  “She deceives you, Cryos,” uttered Icia. “This will end ill for us all.”

  Vexen kept her gaze with the Borean woman. “Forgive me,” she said, then sliced through Sabria’s flesh.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 4: The Skaelar

  Dawn broke through the trees of Blackwood Forest as Gabrel, Kaven and Dareic demanded every bit of speed their horses could muster. As the morning hours passed, their steeds slowed considerably, for fatigue began to wear on them.

  “We should let the horses rest,” Dareic suggested, noticing the animals’ sluggish nature.

  “No,” Gabrel said. “They can make it a bit farther.”

  “They’re exhausted, Gabe,” said Dareic. “And so am I.”

  Gabrel frowned. He did not respond, but still accommodated Dareic’s request, finding an area to make camp just off the wooded road.

  “Let’s get one thing straight, Dare,” Gabrel spoke as he dismounted. “I won’t be dragged down by extra baggage—yourself included. If you can’t keep up, you should turn back now.”

  “We needed to stop, Gabrel,” Dareic countered. “I know we can’t afford to waste any time, but it’d be even more costly if we ran our horses to death, wouldn’t it? And I don’t know about you two, but I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’m wet, I’m cold—and I have to take a righteous piss. So, if you’ll excuse me.” He dismounted, then left Gabrel and Kaven.

  “Was it a mistake—letting him come along?” Gabrel asked.

  “Probably,” said Kaven. “But he’s right, you know.”

  Gabrel groaned, then noticed the weight on Kaven’s brow as his brother slipped something between his fingers. It was the hem from Kiara’s dress.

  Gabrel gasped, almost shamefully. “I’ve been so set on saving my own wife that I’ve completely forgotten you’ve just lost yours. Kiara was a kind and gentle soul. How are you managing?”

  “I’m fine,” Kaven said coldly, stuffing the hem inside his shirt.

  “Clearly, you can’t be—” Gabrel started to respond.

  “I’m fine, Gabrel,” Kaven repeated forcefully.

  “Okay,” Gabrel said, realizing he should leave the topic of Kiara alone. “Maybe we could use a break after all. It’s just that I can’t stand the thought of stopping. Ever since we set out, I’ve felt this urge to press on. I don’t fully understand it. I mean, the thought of Adelyne drives me forward, sure enough, but it’s more than that. Like something ahead is pulling us toward it. And with every step we take, it grows stronger in me. Strange though, somehow it feels like it’s always been there—deep down.”

  “I’ve felt something like that in my gut as well,” said Kaven.

  “Maybe it would help to have some food in our bellies,” Gabrel proposed.

  “I’m not hungry,” said Kaven. “But I’m sure Dareic will snag a hare for you if you ask him nicely.”

  Not far from the camp, Dareic unlaced his trousers and drenched a tree with the contents of his bladder, expressing his relief quite vocally. Just as he finished, the sound of clashing steel echoed from somewhere in the woods.

  Curiosity gathered within him, and he had half a mind to ask his brothers to investigate with him. Gabrel will just tell me to stay at the camp, he thought, then tied his trousers and buckled his belt as he sprinted silently toward the distant sound of combat. He came upon a large tree, completely uprooted from the forest floor. Beyond it, Dareic saw shadowy figures engaged in a brutal fight. He immediately pressed his back low against the fallen trunk.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he peered over the top of the tree, and spotted a green, lizard-like figure locked in battle with two dark creatures. Around them, two bodies already lay dead.

  “A Skaelar,” Dareic uttered to himself, then looked again to the demons it fought. One, armored in dark metal, stood massive with sunken eyes, and a menacing, sharply featured face. The Blessed One bore three curved horns, which looked to form a hellish crown atop its head, and two additional horns that jutted out from either side of its jaw.

  The other demon—a Primen—significantly smaller and thinner, resembled a Human skeleton wrapped in dark, coarse skin. It glared at the Skaelar with baleful eyes that were so sunken into its skull, it seemed as if they held no life in them at all. The creature was the size of a short man, and thin, like it had been deprived of food for an entire lifetime. Yet Dareic could see that what muscle it had was toned. It wore only a few pieces of armor in addition to the garb around its waist, and ragged gloves of dark leather. It was a fearsome sight to behold, with extremely sharp teeth, and not a single strand of hair on its muddy, blackened body.

  Dareic watched as the Blessed One swung its heavy sword in a full horizontal arc. The Skaelar ducked under the strike, then embedded one of his blades between the demon’s ribs. When the Primen attacked, the Skaelar became a blur, jumping and spinning, even flipping off the side of a tree before slicing his blade through the creature’s neck.

  Landing in a crouch, the Skaelar breathed heavily, searching the area around him for any more assailants. Then, from seemingly nowhere, a third creature sprung up from behind him, sword in hand, already delivering a killing blow. But before the unseen Primen could bring its blade down upon the Skaelar, Dareic’s arrow hissed through the air, and slammed into its chest.

  Dareic lowered his bow, and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.

  The Skaelar looked around wildly in an attempt to spot his savior. Upon sighting Dareic, he uttered in Skalen—the Skael
ar tongue, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  When Dareic returned to the camp, he found Gabrel starting a fire, and Kaven resting against a tree trunk.

  “Hey big brothers, look what I found,” Dareic voiced proudly.

  When Gabrel turned, the sight of the Skaelar startled him. “What the—” he belted. “Where’d he come from?”

  “I saved him from Daro’s demons while I was takin’ a piss.”

  “While you were taking a piss?” Gabrel asked. “Wait, did you say Daro’s demons?” He and Kaven leapt to their feet.

  “Yeah,” said Dareic. “I found Treäbu here fighting a Primen and a big ol’ Blessed One. He’s lucky I’m not such a bad shot.”

  “Treäbu?” Gabrel repeated the name. “I—I know you,” he told the Skaelar. “I saw you in Caleton. What were you doing there?”

  Treäbu looked as though responding caused him great difficulty. “Informing your King of what happened to the Tyken in the Woods of Warruntyne.”

  “What happened in the Woods of Warruntyne?” Kaven asked.

  The Skaelar paused, then spoke, “A massacre.” Not a moment later, his ears perked at the sound of distant booming. “Someone’s coming,” he said. “Down the road—there.”

  “More demons?” Dareic asked.

  “No,” Treäbu said, sniffing the air. “Humans. And horses.”

  The thundering of hooves grew louder until it came to a stop, just beside their camp. Gabrel saw twenty Human soldiers on horseback. Among them were two men garbed in finer armor.

  “Hello there!” one of the finely armored men voiced loudly. “I am Lord Torren Spark and this is Lord Ralindur. We’re ambassadors of King Mercer, and wish to share your camp.”

  “Uh… of course,” Gabrel fumbled.

  “Glory!” the other ambassador, Ralindur, exclaimed upon sighting Treäbu. Gabrel then remembered seeing him in Caleton as well, chasing after the Skaelar outside the Great Hall. “Treäbu Skael’adar, what in blazes are you doing here? I thought you were returning to Skaelwood.”