Bound by Roses (The Bound Series Book 1) (5 page)

“Yes Kaniz, I have seen it. Just now,” Marguerite was cold and distant as she spoke.

“What does it mean?” Kaniz asked ebony hair blew back in the Wind wildly. Her white gown was not immune to the Winds either. It fluttered softly near her ankles. Barefooted, with a golden chain that wrapped thrice around the ankle. A silver rose charm dangled softly.

“Only our darkest fears,” Marguerite tucked hair behind her ears, heartbeat rapidly in her chest. Her ears could hardly hear the wind blow.

“The House of Red falls,” a gruff, powerful voice called from the shadows behind the women. He was giant, easily dwarfed the two women, muscular with scars that crossed his cheeks from years of fights. Stubble littered his face. His nose slightly off-kilter from being broken and set improperly too many times to count. The ma
n’
s thick auburn hair was nearly colorless, but not dull. Wisps of thick hair peaked out from his low shirt collar. Deep-set eyes were the color of the sea at dawn. He joined Marguerite and her handmaiden at the balcony. The orange glow intensified the longer they watched. The sky grew darker the longer they stood. Time had no meaning to those standing there.

“What can you tell me, Avarice?” Marguerite turned her attention to the older gentlemen. The way the Wind blew, she could smell his strong natural musk. It always sent a quiver down her knees. It intoxicated her senses, and set fire to her loins. She longed for him to enter her, right there. She adjusted to the Wind as he adjusted, so that his scent would not be lost to her own senses. She blushed when Kaniz stared at her.

Avarice leaned into the balcony. His large sand paper hands gripped the delicate marble like an egg. He sniffed lightly three times before he inhaled the air deeply. Avarice tried to acquire as much of the blood, death, and fire as he could. He inhaled until his lungs were full. Avarice held the air until his lungs burned. He exhaled with a monstrous and disappointed groan,

“We are too far away. But they are losing, Marguerite.”

Understanding without a single word uttered, Marguerite removed herself into the tower. There in the darkness she gripped a thick white gilded rope made from three individual ropes that had been braided together. She tugged. A bell, four times the size as she, rung out. The great bronze bell, emblazoned with two mighty stag whose horns were bound by roses, rang out into the night air of Ashok Orai thrice. Letting it rest for a moment, she pulled. The bell rang thrice more.

Into the bell chamber, a soldier, just older than her handmaiden, Kaniz, greeted Marguerite. He was prepared for battle. A battle he was sure would never come. Shining white armor that covered his body made him look like a chess piece. Chess piece that missing his great stead. The Captain’s helmet had a band of bright teal and aqua feathers run to the back.

“Captain Iritis, punctual as ever,” Marguerite walked to her soldier. He clanked his feet together and bowed at the waist.

Iritis with turned head, winked to Kaniz, “by a happy coincidence I was on my way to the palace.”

Kaniz blushed and brushed hair out of her face, “Wonderful to see you also, Captain Iritis.”

“Pleasantries aside,” Marguerite positioned herself between the two, “we have an emergency.”

“Lady White, I am at your service,” Captain Iritis removed his feathered helmet and saluted before falling to one knee. Her hand brushed his shoulder and he rose. Following her to the balcony, he too saw the light of the dying star on the horizon.

“When did this begin?” Iritis asked, dropping his helmet to his feet.

Marguerite joined in staring out to the horizon, “Less than an hour ago. You have not seen it?”

“I was making rounds through the Fountain District,” Captain Iritis stared upon the horizon with bright blue eyes, “What does this mean?”

“Zhan’ding is under attack. Assemble a contingent of soldiers and investigate. Repel forces if you must,” Marguerite pushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear. Her eyes did not look upon the Captain. Voice strong and direct.

“My Lady, with respect,” Captain Iritis started, his sword and armor clanked in any direction, “Zhan’ding has not contacted us for assistance.”

“It is our duty to aid them,” Marguerite broke her gaze and looked upon the Captain sternly, “regardless of prior contact by way of beacon, or messenger.”

“But will Rose Red appreciate the help, should be the question, Marguerite,” Avarice interjected with a low grumble. Arms crossed a burly, hairy chest. He leaned upon the High Tower’s white stonewall.

Marguerite stared at the burning sky. Her heart broke for what she already knew, “Even if they have not requested aide we must keep Zhan’ding secured, for the safety of not only Ashok Orai. Now go. Secure the city, Captain. Every second is of importance. Sarenith guide you well.”

Captain Iritis saluted Marguerite before donning his helmet and hurrying himself out of the bell tower. His armor clanked. His sword bounced off his hip. The sounds disappeared down the steps.

Time stood still for Marguerite as she stared at the burning sky. Far below, a garrison of troops rushed away from the Great Palace upon horseback, down the long straight grey-bricked road out of Ashok Orai. From the perspective of the High Tower, Marguerite could make out the forces upon the Great Bridge, which spanned the Gap of Eldin, an immense crack between where Ashok Orai was founded and built and the mainland.

When the garrison blended into the horizon, Marguerite turned upon Avarice, “Track them, Huntsman. If it is what we fear.”

“Then the Wolves have begun to grow in number,” the Huntsman finished Marguerite’s thought with ease before he kicked himself away from the wall and rushed away as well. His thick hands adjusted the silver sheathed dagger around his waist.

“Lady White, have you considered,
speaking to
The Seven
?” Kaniz questioned in hushed tone. Her eyes darted about the walls before falling upon Marguerite who stared below into another courtyard where a tower, a quarter of the size to the Great Tower resided. Multicolored smoke billowed softly out of several cracks in the ceiling at nearly all hours of the day. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear low hum dancing upon the smoke. It calmed her overworked nerves.

“I do not know if what I fear is true,” Marguerite could not keep her eyes away from the burning horizon. It beckoned her to look. Heart beat in steady fear of the glow, and in steady beat to the fate of Rose Red. Kaniz stayed close to her side. Hand rested upon one another’s.

Marguerite’s eyes darted between the glowing horizon, and the Ashok Orai citizens who begun to take an interest in both the burning sky and own fascination with its otherworldly glow. She stared at them, and knew they were talking about the contingent of soldiers that rushed out of the city. She knew they talked about her upon the tower. She knew word would spread as a fire does. The rumors and stories would begin before dawn crested the horizon, and those rumors would only spread once the Market District opened.

“If the Wolves do indeed grow stronger, why do you remain so calm?” Kaniz looked at Marguerite as she asked.

Marguerite’s eyes soft and heartbroken, “I am not as calm as you so believe. I merely hope and pray to the Gods that the work Lord Red and my Father did, would keep the Wolves fighting amongst themselves for generations.”

“That does not seem to be the case,” Kaniz’s own eyes too could not leave the burning horizon. Marguerite could see her handmaiden’s mouth move softly. She could not make out words, but she knew she prayed. Marguerite knew Kaniz prayed to Nostralrius, to guide the souls of those lost to her father, Lamashan in the Underworld.

“Then perhaps action will be of more use than prayers,” Marguerite wiped away a tear that formed in the corner of her eye. Kaniz opened her eyes and cleared her throat.

“Perhaps,” Kaniz trailed off.

“Do you not feel sorry for your prayers,” Marguerite commented. Kaniz had no response. She merely stared out and prayed more.

Marguerite watched citizens of Ashok Orai climb upon any available roof, balcony, or area high enough to catch a glimpse of the burning sky. Those that could not climb merely took to the streets to see. Kaniz grabbed Marguerite by the arm and tugged, “You must come inside Lady White. The people mustn’t know anything is wrong.”

Marguerite moved away from the balcony. Her handmaiden trailed close behind her. Long and simple white dress moved silently as a cloud does, “Something is terribly wrong, Kaniz. My standing upon the tower balcony will not change that fact!”

Kaniz stopped and bowed her body low to Marguerite. Hands folded before her chest tightly, “Please, forgive my ignorance, Lady White.”

“Oh shush. But perhaps rest is in order for us both,” Marguerite grabbed her handmaiden by the arm and drug her out of the tower. Though her eyes lingered for a moment or two longer upon the horizon. Sadness pulled at her heart.

Two.

The Huntsman upon his majestic and trusted steed rushed as fast as he could be carried to Zhan’ding. The scent of death, and fire clung to his nostrils as he inhaled the late air. The Winds blew in his favor this eve. Scents of the Wolves danced upon it delicately. The night sky glowed eerily with its orange tint that faded but did not disappear as the Huntsman entered the dark woods.

Avarice carried very little as he rode, he always did. A bow of yew wood slung over his broad shoulder. Silver arrows that always found its mark were quivered, they rattled like delicate chimes. Both were a gift from a great Sorceress that he helped many years previous. He also carried a silver axe, whose grip was crafted from the reddest cherry wood one could find. So deep red was the wood, it looked as if it was bleeding. As well the dagger that nearly carved out Marguerite’s still beating heart, at the order of her mother, Lady Astra. A decision he has come to regret, and attempted to atone for. The dagger was sheathed in crudely stitched tan leather. While wrapped around his shoulders, a cloak of the brownest dirt. It flapped and flowed in the wind as he travelled on his steed.

The scents he tracked grew more intense the closer he came to the burning city. It danced and swirled upon the Winds in all directions. The Great Winds wanted him to smell the Wolves. The great fires that raged turned night into day. Through the woods he traveled. Guided by the ghostly glow of the false rising sun. His brown cloak helped him blend easily into his surroundings. None knew he arrived, as even his galloping steed seemed quiet, amid the chaos of pyres that burned.

The Huntsman arrived at the burning city of Zhan’ding shortly after the Wolves made their departure. His horse sped through the burning, splintered gate. Avarice was the first to lay eyes upon the horrors the beasts inflicted. Fires raged. Blood ran like rivers. Bodies littered the cobblestone streets. None of the residents paid him attention, as they were preoccupied with counting the dead and burning the corpses of Wolves. He did not linger too long gazing about. The scent was everywhere. Not even the flames that burned could mask his mark.

Rushing on his horse through the aftermath, he picked up more of the Wolves scent. It came strongly from an abandoned but broken waterway within the Eastern section of the Wall. Avarice led his horse through the fractured wall and attempted to follow the trail.

The Wolves scent spread far from the burning city. His horse sped on. The Huntsman inhaled the air before him, but the trail began to thin. The creatures he hunted crossed great distances in a short period of time, as if guided and aided by magic. The scent of magic was familiar to the Huntsman, but through the Wolves scent, he could not recall why. His mind wandered, but was clouded by the scent of the Wolves. The Winds were no longer his ally. Avarice continued on through the night.

Three.

The fires of Zhan’ding lit the sky throughout the night. The pale violet horizon was filled with dark, billowing smoke of fires far away extinguished. Much of Ashok Orai had stayed up through the night. To watch the sky burn and smoke rise. It was not until near after dawn broke, that word reached the streets of Ashok Orai just as Marguerite knew.

A contingent of troops, smaller than what had left initially for Zhan’ding, arrived back. Captain Iritis led them. The garrison, on their horses, sped past the morning cavalcade of traders and merchants. Capes and banners whipped in the wind. Those that entered from the outlying villages to sell their goods and wares, heavy carts filled with flour, hay, textiles and the such crossed their way along the Great Bridge. Many, if not all, already gossiped away about what caused the burning sky. Rumors spread. Tales of heroism, and cowardice knew no bounds. That though which caused everyone to shiver, and the blood to race was one word, Wolves.