Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (20 page)

The goblin grinned in delight. Such savagery was a sign of leadership amongst his kind. Her ferocity affirmed her right to rule his people.

Gobblesnot tore his eyes from his mistress’s feasting and looked at his new friend. He found the dark form staring at him once again with glowing, red eyes. Unspoken words echoed in Gobblesnot’s thoughts.
I must leave now, my little friend, but you will remain here, with your mistress. Stay close to her and be attentive to her plans. I will check in with you from time to time to make sure all is well.

The grin deepened on Gobblesnot’s face and he nodded in anticipation of serving his new master.

Moisture dripped from the unfinished rock ceiling to land on the large maroon roots that cut through the solid stone after centuries of growth. A pool of crystal-clear water emitted a soft, glowing light reflected from the small patches of moss and fungi spattering the rough walls. The spore light gave a green-and-blue hue to the little cavern sanctuary located deep within the bowels of Waterfall Citadel.

A stone table and chair were the only furnishings in this subterranean retreat that had been here prior to his discovery of this place. There was no evidence to indicate who had brought them here, nor what they used them for, but the effort involved must have been significant. No path existed to allow something of this size to be transported whole, so the crafter had built them in small but cunningly wrought pieces that were covered in decorations to mask the joinery. The top of the table was square in proportion and extended the entire span of his arms if stretched to their fullest. Covered with a repeating pattern of inlaid metal, the table glimmered with a dull, silver sheen. Running fingertips over the surface was the only way to feel the main joints where the pieces of the table had been made separately and the skill almost cried “dwarven.”

Vinnicus sat on one of his own additions to this cavern, a massive stone sarcophagus perhaps seven feet in length, three in width, and another four in height. He had commissioned the construction of this and the five others like it many years ago. His long white fingers danced lightly across the runic inscriptions carved into the lid, his sharp nails lightly tapping on the edges and the impressions. His eyes passed without seeing over the scenes of dead men’s bones and lit upon the finely crafted furniture. It was well he did not have to rely on physical means and limitations to move through the world, although bringing his prizes here was far from easy. The creatures of Dausos always had a cost tied to their use.

A twin to the coffin he perched upon sat parallel to the first; both boxes together took up almost all the space that remained amongst the massive roots that snaked from the ceiling of the grotto and twisted through the walls and floor.

He had felt the protective spell on one of his finely crafted prisons come undone. This could only mean one of his wards was now lost to him.

“So, it has begun.” Vinnicus’s cold voice bounced off the rough stone walls. Speaking aloud and acknowledging the reality settled his nerves and opened his mind to the choices that must be made.

The tools he needed were finally falling into place, but he was no longer sure if there was enough time for him to guide them in the correct directions. His plans were so close to fruition that it made the discovery of one of his wards most unsettling.
I need more time
.

There would be no escape if more of his prisons were found. He was certain, though, now that their existence had been discovered, they would be. His pursuers had not even known they needed to hunt for such items before, much less himself. Now, however, the first rock of the avalanche had dribbled down the cliff face. Each discovery would bring his enemies closer to the truth and eventually, he would have no place left to hide.

Vinnicus shuddered with the first truly human reaction he could remember in centuries. The last vestiges of the man he had once been howled in horror at the thought of prolonging his current existence for another untold stretch of time. He was certain that what little sanity remained in him would be lost forever if he were forced to bury himself again, joining with the earth to wait for another opportunity for rebellion.

No
. For better or worse, he would have to see this through, here and now. This would be his last chance to break the cycle that had repeated for innumerable millennia.

A
RECE
stood beside her king on a stone porch under the cool, clear sky. She watched clusters of crimson tabards dash about like angry red ants after their mound had been kicked by a petulant child. Much like in an ant colony, the appearance of total chaos was only an illusion. Each person who wore those tabards had a specific purpose, and like each ant in a colony, each of those purposes were tied to one common goal. Today, that goal was the departure of her daughters.

The sisters stood together, surrounded by their cousins on the eastern side of the Receiving Courtyard. All about them, the visiting delegates from Basinia and an army of servants formed a restless, surging ocean of humanity. Horses, wagons, and supply carts filled the western side. Soon, the two milling groups would merge together as one caravan and take her daughters away from the stone prison they had called home.

Arece felt a tightness in her chest, as if a great weight were slowly crushing the air from her lungs. She took a half step toward her daughters but stopped.
How I wish I could go with you, my children
.

“Contain yourself,” King Hathorn rumbled, glancing her way. “Lest your weakness shame us in front of our people and these others. Those we shall soon call brothers.”

The queen clenched her hands at her side but she nodded and took a deep, calming breath. “As you say, My King.” Her fingernails bit into her palms as she fought down the urge to claw out the man’s eyes. Arece searched the courtyard for something to distract her from the growing feelings of despair.

She found Bale. He sat atop a rusty destrier, posture straight as an arrow. He barked orders at every person within range of his powerful voice. Bale was busy directing the calamity on the western side of the courtyard, and around him, the chaos was swiftly falling into order. Soldiers and servants alike jumped into motion at his call.

The whiteness in her knuckles receded. Arece knew it was dangerous, placing her faith in Bale and their forbidden affair, but as she watched him resolve the disorder around him, she could feel the warmth of affection melting the ice in her veins. Her warming heart battled the despair that had threatened to claim her. She released her clenched hands and pressed them flat against her stomach. Even as she watched him and felt calm spread through her body, she knew she could not survive if they should be discovered. Bale wouldn’t have the opportunity to die of a broken heart. Hathorn might even swing the sword himself.
Find our escape, Bale
. She willed her thoughts to fly across the intervening space.
Or do not return
.

Almost as if he had heard her thoughts, he paused. His face briefly turned to regard the royal couple. With no acknowledgement of her gaze, he turned back to his work.

The last unruly groups of people fell into place like pieces of a puzzle, and the organized formations of a caravan emerged. The time for the princesses to leave was at hand. The king and his small entourage made their way down the stone steps toward the gathering of delegates, servants, and soldiers that surrounded Sloane and Sacha.

Arece followed Hathorn. Each step she took renewed the tightness in her belly and she felt as if she were walking to the gallows.

The group around the princesses parted as King Hathorn approached. The giant king came to a halt within the circle of people and all of them bowed. “Travel well, my daughters. Remember where you are from and do us honor.” He then turned to the delegates from Basinia. “Tell your prince to care well for his new bride, as it will reflect on how well our nations will commune.”

Chancellor Tomelen straightened from his bent position, one hand holding his emerald surcoat taut and crisp. It was not often the men around her could be described as “resplendent,” but the chancellor warranted the description. Today he had worn a magnificent coat of his country’s colors over a creamy white shirt with a tall collar that nestled in his well-brushed hair. The few days of rest had seen the swelling of his facial injury almost entirely healed, and only a small discoloration marred his regal features. “I shall convey your words, great King of Pelos. And might I add that my prince will most assuredly place his new queen upon the highest pedestal of honor.”

Hathorn stared at the man for a long moment, face impassive, then turned away without another word. He walked from the gathering toward Bale, who was moving the caravan to the center of the courtyard.

Arece did not join her husband. After their departure today, Sloane and Sacha could be gone for years. The queen did not believe opportunities to visit them in Waterfall Citadel would be readily available. The next few moments could be the last they would share in a long while. She wasn’t going to waste them surveying horses and supply wagons.

A page sprinted past the queen and teetered to a stop before Chancellor Tomelen. “Message for you, Milord.” The breathless boy held out a letter that was sealed with a dark green stamp of hardened wax.

The chancellor took the worn parchment without question and in an act of seeming generosity, dropped several coppers into the boy’s hand. “Good lad. On your way, now.” Kesh snapped the seal and read the note as the young boy deftly made the coins disappear, bowed, then sped off. The edges of Chancellor Tomelen’s mouth turned down and he carefully put the letter into an internal pocket of his doublet.

“Everything all right?” Arece hesitated on her path to Sloane and Sacha. She eyed the man’s chest where the letter had been deposited.

He raised his brows and smiled. “Yes, of course, My Queen. Just personal business back home, nothing serious.”

“Ah. Well, then, safe journey.” She didn’t wait for a reply. Time was short and Arece needed to be with her children. She moved closer to her daughters and huddled them together so prying ears could not listen. “Watch out for each other, and be wary of the politics in Waterfall Citadel. They play by different rules.” She gave them both a stern look.

Sacha rolled her eyes. “Of course, mother. We aren’t children anymore.”

“You could’ve fooled me.” Sloane narrowed her eyes at Sacha.

“You. Shut up,” Sacha growled at her sister.

“The two of you.
Please
!” Arece commanded.

Sacha’s irritation with the entire affair was bubbling to the surface more often in the days before the departure. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep Hathorn from reacting to his daughter’s provocations. Squashing irritants flat and having a servant sweep the pieces into the ocean was generally the king’s preferred course of action, but Arece was determined that their last days be at least partially peaceful. Though it pained her anew, it was just as well Sacha was leaving today.

Arece looked around and smoothed her dress. “We will most likely not see each other for some time. I would like to remember you both as loving, doting daughters. Not spoiled brats.”

Sacha’s gaze went to the ground. “Forgive me, Mother. I meant no disrespect.”