The Flame of Wrath (48 page)

             
Hands gently helped both, him and the others to their feet. They were carefully untied and encouraged to stand by those strong enough to support them. His eyes lined with tears as he realized that one did not rise. The blow to his head when cast down to the flagstones had knocked the life from his brittle body.

             
The sting at Gabriel's back warned of his terrible wounds. He looked away from his fallen brother then stared up to the disenchanted face of his pursuer. He recognized Angelos IV immediately.

             
“Where is Soren?” Angelos asked.

             
No druid spoke.

             
“Where is your leader?”

             
“Our leader is the Sacred Mother,” Gabriel answered. “We serve the Dragon.”

             
Eyes narrowing in anger, Angelos tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword. He was about to speak when the music of heels upon the stones commanded his silence. He turned his head in the direction of the sound.

             
The carved steps curved downward into the mouth of the prison from their perch above. Out of the darkness a voice purred. “Too much blood has been shed. Let us end this. Give us Soren and all your lives shall be spared.”

             
Gabriel withdrew inwardly. That was a lie. They would all be killed the moment Soren's whereabouts were revealed. To his left, he recognized the whimpering of the one who had given them away in the stables. He tightened his fist.

             
“Come now. No one among you has word of his haven or for that matter if he still lives?” Again, the voice was smooth like refined silk.

             
Gabriel turned his blood-matted head. He spoke quietly through gritted teeth to the quaking druid clearly deliberating over whether or not he would reveal what he knew. “Speak one word,” he warned, “and no amount of service will save you from the hell I will drag you to.”

             
The young druid felt his heart racing inside his chest. He stepped forward.

             
Quickly, Gabriel turned. With a fluid motion, he thrust his clenched fist directly into the druid's abdomen. He listened to the pained gust of air leaving his brother's body. He wrapped his arm around the man and held him close. Tenderly, he smoothed his back. “He grieves for Soren,” he said. His voice had again risen to levels the Knights could hear.

             
“Grieves?” the voice in the shadows repeated.

             
“Yes, Soren flung himself into the catacombs as an offering to the Goddess. He prayed his offering might satiate the thirst for druid blood.” Gabriel paused. He felt the man in his arms claw at his robes while he struggled to stand upright. The druid prepared himself to silence his brother again by any means necessary. “Will you release us now. . .  Highness?”

             
Steps rang out against the high ceiling. A woman of alluring beauty stepped into view. She possessed hair like spun gold which had been pulled up securely. A few wisps of curled glory fell gracefully around her delicate face. Those same satiny tresses acted as the loving bed upon which her golden crown sat comfortably.

             
Her crown personified flame. It raised high above her adding another six inches to her body, giving the illusion of great height were there was only average truth. Its flaxen perfection mirrored the golden thread woven so painstakingly to create the seductive restraint banding around her curvaceous bosom as well as the long skirt about her hips. The gold loin cloth had been affixed to her swaying hips by a delicate chain of matching hue. That skirt ended just about her ankles while tantalizingly revealing her legs with each step she made.

             
The fullness of her heart-shaped mouth was moist and soft. It parted to speak. “I am nothing if not a woman of my word,” Aurea said. She turned her head in the direction of the woman pressing herself to her side.

             
The Empress tenderly traced her fingertip along Maven's soft cheek. Their eyes locked in the familiarity of hungered lovers.

             
“Angelos,” Aurea voiced suddenly. Her eyes did not leave those of the Queen. “Release them.”

             
Angelos opened his mouth as if to protest then quickly thought better of it. He sighed loudly then nodded submissively.

             
The druids rose like vaporous ghosts from the past. Their stunned silence spoke volumes. They cleaved to one another, fearful of what was to come.

             
An iron gate opened with a shrieked whine and clang. A silent tunnel revealed the only way out. Timidly, the druids moved toward the exit. They walked together, entering the passageway.

             
The tunnel was long and silent. At its end, the pale light of day filtered in. Weak, emotionally defeated and injured, the druids limped toward it.

             
The light grew brighter. The scent of fresh air beckoned them closer. Mere steps away from sweet liberty, the ground beneath their feet fell away.

             
One by one, they fell into the unforgiving blackness of death. All, but one remained in hope's light. He held tightly to the edge with his right hand while his other hand gripped fiercely to the druid pleading from the darkness for Gabriel not to let him go.

             
Gabriel cried out as his brother slipped from his hand. He listened to his scream echoing within his ears. Tearfully, he lifted his head. Looking up, as if to pray he blanched.

             
Aurea stared down at him with a head tilted in fascination. Her sapphire eyes were alight with passion. She could all but feel the flames dancing inside her eyes' oceanic depths. Her left foot slid its sandaled touch to rest crushingly atop Gabriel's struggling hand.

             
Meeting his eyes fully, she uttered each word slowly. Her foot pressed more fiercely against his weakening fingers. “I release you.”

********

              Inside the quiet of the Sacred Forest, a figure radiated with eternal sorrow. He was silent except for the tiny huffs of air which could be heard escaping his dark lips from time to time. Then mightily a scream of bitter lament burst from his soul.

             
He wore the guise of a beggar's clothes. They were tattered and old. Across his eyes, a leather strip foretold the tragedy of his blindness, but he knew the painful truth. His blindness was not for lack of sight, but rather for having blindly believed that his faith would save him or the ones he loved. He tore the protection from his eyes, letting it fall to the ground. His bright red eyes glowed angrily.

             
Soren dropped the crutch he had adopted. It had been the substitute for the staff he had once been granted as a symbol of his advancement among his peers. His arms wrapped around his slender body to embrace himself. After all, there was no one left to console him. They were all gone…dead.

In his mind, he heard their screams.

              It was his fault. He should have stopped Aurea when he had the chance. He had seen her future. He had known that she would singlehandedly be their ruin, but he had done nothing.

             
He leaned forward, weeping with abandon. His beautiful face was twisted with pain. Never in all the centuries had he known this kind of pain. Even when he had lost his home, it had not wounded him with the might of this last blow. He truly was the very last of his kind.

             
The time of Aurea's reign had not been long to a being like himself. And yet, somehow it had felt like the longest time of his existence.

             
Aurea had risen to power like a flare in the night. Her light her burned fast and hot, commanding the world around her to take note of her glory.

             
How had it come to this? He was now the greatest enemy of both, his people and the sovereign he had been duty-bound to protect.

             
His tears fell harder, rocking his entire being. Weakly, he collapsed to the ground. He clutched a handful of emerald blades. His sobs rushed against the bed of earth beneath him. “My sweet Gabriel,” he choked.

             
A flash of Aurea's unfeeling face raced across his vision. His cries grew hoarse with his sadness though they were twisted by his rage. The breaths to leave him were ragged, beyond any conceivable rhythm.

             
“I belong with you,” he said. “With all of you!”

             
Blindly, he reached out for the crutch lying within the grass. He pulled it toward him.

             
Hidden inside the crutch's hollowed end was a vial He removed the stopper from the glass cylinder. Then with shaking hands, he brought the bottle to his lips.

             
The pale green elixir flowed as quick release into his mouth. Soren swallowed the foul remedy for his aching soul. Liquid fire coursed through his veins. It charted a path directly to his heart, desperate to see its throbbing end. He had nearly finished the contents when a glorious light bathed his sight. He was overcome by its power.

             
A painful shriek flooded the air. Its sound caused Soren to cry out in agony. Glorious fires spiraled zealously toward him. He extended his hands in a vain attempt to shield himself, but it was no use. The fires consumed him.

             
A heartbeat replaced the intensity of the monstrous voice. Then as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

             
Soren rolled onto his side. The movement was a slow cautious act. His arms hugged protectively at his shivering body. The pain he had felt was gone. The poison which should have killed him had released him from its clutches. Shakily, he rose to his hands and knees.

             
A violently loud clap of thunder resounded throughout the Sacred Forest. A loud tap soon followed it. The richness of chocolate soil grew dimpled beneath the touch of rain. A tempestuous downpour came relentlessly to purify the land.

             
As Soren accompanied the sky in its impassioned weeping, the rain beat down upon him. His beautiful tresses of rich auburn absorbed the water like thirsty branches. Their hue changed from their intense reddish brown to a darkened reddish-black.

             
As beads of water began dangling from each lock's end, they grew dark. Inside the rains falling from his hair was the very nature of his rich hair. Drop by drop, the waters grew darker as Soren's hair grew paler. Until at last, each tress lost its color. The earthen tones washed away with the rains, seeping into the drowning earth. All that remained of his tremendous length was startling and pure. The silken locks dripped heavily with their own tears.

             
Soren sat upon his knees, moving back to rest against his heels. His shaking hands reached up in his confusion to touch ivory strands.

             
Slowly the visions he had seen while bathed by fires returned to him. His fingertips rested absently against his lips while his brows knit together in thought.

             
Soren lifted his scarlet eyes to the sky. Through the canopy, christening tears fell to his upturned face. Gradually, the rains tapered to a fleeting mist. “The next sovereign,” he whispered within a rasp of disbelief. “The Dragon Child has been chosen.”

Chapter Twenty

Fly too high, angel, and you shall burn.

----The Book of Wrath

********

             
Twilight. It mixed in dreamlike swirls within the temperamental storm. They courted one another, rolling and dancing in the midst of loving fascination to bring about a miraculous horizon.

             
The sky shuddered and gasped before expelling a tremulous breath. Its winds caught within the leaves. Then the fallen flecks of jade suddenly stepped back in reverence and awe.

             
Their heroes were returning under the grateful blessing of a heavy mist.

             
Four files topped the sweeping hills. At their front, a woman walked with a lowered head.

             
She stood easily shoulder to shoulder with the strongest of her men unlike many of the women who served valiantly beneath her. Her body moved with the undeniable grace of one who was born to lead. The dark brown length of her hair hung down to the small of her back. Its length rolled as the waves which touch the sea. That same nautical grace could be found within the stormy steel-blue of her eyes. They were the exact likeness of the reigning sky which ebbed against the surface of Mirror Lake.

             
With only the smallest of winces, she hefted the weight of her burden more securely. Her sculpted arm was bent. She clutched tightly to her makeshift tote. Against the overwhelming spans of a gray sky, the crimson cape blazed. It had been bundled together to carry a soldier's meager belongings. Her provisions leaned against her bronze-clad back. The armor molded to her body was a testament to the strength of their people. The tunic ending mid-thigh matched her glorious red cape.

             
She stopped at the fork in the road then smiled gently to a few of her men as they veered toward the direction of their villages. One by one, her charges would find their path home until she alone walked the road to her family's protective castle.

             
A voice from above commanded her to lift her downcast head. “Autumn!”

             
The supple fullness of her mouth birthed a smile of adoration which soon fell away as she remembered so many things. “Brother,” the Queen sighed.

             
A white owl descended from its heights. Its glowing presence defied the bleakness of the evening. Its talons planted firmly into the ground to stake a crunched claim upon its newfound perch.

             
Having jumped down from atop its back, the Knight of Virtue rushed forward. His joy bounded from his once solemn face to fill the world with laughter. Tightly, he cleaved to Autumn as though she were all that existed in this chaotic world.

             
Autumn dropped her belongings, wrapping her arms around her older brother. She held him close with sadness shimmering inside her eyes. How long had it been, she wondered. “My sweet Angelos,” she whispered.

             
Angelos beamed as he stepped back. His broad hands gripped firmly to her shoulders. He searched over her. His dark eyes were alight with love. That love quickly dimmed to concern. “Autumn, you're so thin.”

             
Autumn motioned her men forward. Wearily, she scooped her bundle from the grips of the muddy road. Then she too set out again for home. “I suppose sleepless nights at the front can do that,” she said with echoes of the war racing throughout her mind. She frowned as she thought to those she had lost, their dear father among them.

             
Still frowning, Angelos walked alongside his sister. “I'm sorry you had to endure that alone,” he said. “I know that taking on the army couldn't have been easy after father----” He stopped awkwardly, fumbling over his own tongue.

             
He cleared his throat loudly. More pleasant things rushed to console his mind. Material things could always bring him joy. “We have transport,” Angelos uttered with a motion of his hand. “There's no need to walk.”

             
Another haunted smile and a wave were given to those of her company setting off toward their families. Autumn returned her gaze to her older brother. A slow-burning rage began to rise inside her eyes. He could not even speak of their father. “I have led my men this far,” she said. “I will not leave them now that we are mere steps from our homes.”

             
Angelos opened his mouth to speak then sighed. His sister wore the look of determination which had always proven pointless to fight. Instead, he nodded and walked with his hands clasped regally at his back.

             
After a lengthy silence, he spoke again. “So much has changed since you have been gone. I am doing quite well, my sister. You should be proud. The siblings of Angels are prosperous. You have Angels as left to you by father and I have a kingdom all my own. It is a beautiful place, the perfect sister clan to Angels. I have named it Knight Reign.” Angelos darted his eyes to his sister, hoping to see a softening inside her as he made idle chitchat but instead he felt only the uncomfortable silence.

             
Hoping to fill the void, the King tried again. “I heard that Echo and Myth led the first group home. How is cousin?”

             
Silence answered him. “And Zahara led the men home this last time. I'll bet it was hard for her to leave you behind. You should have ordered them to stay behind, sister. You could have come home first.”

             
Autumn tensed, remembering her bargain. “No,” she spoke faintly. “I couldn't have.”

             
“Yes, of course,” Angelos uttered in understanding even though he did not.

             
After another lengthy pause, the King asked the question which was rampaging throughout his mind. “How long do you---- I mean...” He sighed at his sudden inability to speak. He suspected he knew the answer already. He just could not bear to ask the question.

             
Autumn's voice was soft. “We have until the next full moon.”

             
“So little?” Angelos asked in astonishment.

             
Autumn nodded soberly. “We were told that this is a time for rest, but we aren't fools. We know the truth. We're home only for more provisions which the Empress has not seen fit to send.”

             
Angelos tensed. “Careful, sister.”

             
“Why, brother? Will you kill me if I speak out as you have killed so many others?”

             
Struck by his sister's words, Angelos stopped. His body was weighted by a guilt-ridden immobility as he watched the countless others walking around him. He was left to stand as an immovable rock within their tragic seas with only the roaring sound of their marching waves growing further and further away from him.

********

              The wooden doors to the castle opened to bathe her in warmth and light. Autumn all but wept at the familiar scents of home. The weary Queen was immediately swarmed by the droves of servants, attendants, nobles and kin who rejoiced boisterously in her safe return. In the great hall of her father's castle, they openly wept for the fallen King.

             
With limbs cleaving to her with grateful need, Autumn lifted her tearful face to the painted murals running along the spans of the furthest wall. Another panel had been erected as a tribute to her father.

             
King Angelos III stood with his beloved mountains at his back. His flowing cape billowed in the wind. He possessed the very same strength which Autumn had always attributed to her father. No longer had sadness ravaged his body until he was frail. His mighty sword pointed to the horizon while an army of loyal soldiers intermingled with the shadow of the mountain.

             
Autumn could not look away from his face. Her father's eyes in the painting were every bit as piercing as they had been in life. His rich dark hair was lightly dusted with the cream which alluded to his wisdom.

             
Suddenly Autumn looked down. Her vision had blurred with tears beyond the point of seeing. “Father,” she sobbed softly. “Your children are home.”

             
Angelos IV stood apart from the others. He did not dare to venture forward. Though no one among them would ever dare to utter the words, he knew of their resentment toward him.

             
The King crossed his arms over his chest then found his brown eyes drifted upward to the painting forever paying homage to his late-father. Something inside him quivered. His father would always haunt him. Being here in his castle proved this to him.

             
While his father's faithful cleaved to Autumn, they shunned him. Angelos tightened his jaw in quiet bitterness then pushed past the rejoicing gathering to the nearest bit of wine he could find within this castle of unwanted memories.

             
Autumn stared after her departing brother only to have her attention called away by the voices of her family.

             
“Autumn!” they screamed excitedly.

             
The Queen turned her head to see Echo, Myth and Zahara racing toward her.

             
“My loves!” Autumn cooed excitedly. Her body was released from the tangle of others only to find itself ensnared by another more fiercely possessive group of arms. She cried and laughed as her face, hands and hair were covered in happy kisses.

             
She pulled away from her family just enough to take them in. The women looked as though life at home had settled well with them. They had each gained the weight which malnourishment had robbed from their frames. There was a certain glow newly restored to their skin even if their eyes remained in possession of lingering shadows.

             
Both, Echo and Myth looked like the rulers of Black Flame. Autumn smiled inwardly, realizing that it would be only a matter of time before the beautiful couple decided to make that fact official. Each day they shared together brought them closer to marriage.

             
Their black regal togas were accented by elegant gold thread and even finer golden cuffs and earrings. The golden circlet around Echo's head was the only difference among them.

             
Zahara was at home within the creamy white adorning her alluring form. The flush of life inside her cheeks gave her the appearance of a woman whom had just come from walking barefoot along the lakes edge when truthfully her rejuvenation had more to do with being inside her beloved Guardian realm than anything else.

             
The chestnut haired Guardian backed away from the embrace with slightly lowered eyes and a gentle blush warming her cheeks. Zahara was all too grateful for the sound of eager servants whisking Autumn away to bathe her and then feed her.

             
Zahara lifted her eyes to find Echo smirking knowingly. She huffed an agitated sound then quickly left before the woman with warm skin and warmer dark eyes could comment.

             
Dinner was served at the grand banquet table with a new ruler sitting at the head. Autumn entered the room as refreshing summer light. Her airy yellow chiffon brightened up the room along with her smile. That smile faded however once the Queen caught sight of the men at the far end of the table near to her brother.

             
“What are they doing here,” Autumn's eyes voiced even though her lips never moved.

             
“The priests of Virtue are my guests,” Angelos explained with a gracious smile to the clergymen. He motioned for the others of the room to sit. “Please,” he said.

             
The men of the order immediately sat while thanking their kind host. The other guests in attendance however did not move. Their heads turned in Autumn's direction as the Queen stood quaking with quiet rage.

             
Autumn knew that things had changed since she had last been within her beloved lands, but she could not abide by this obvious disrespect to her father's house. The offense was made worse that it had come at her brother's invitation.

             
“Not in our father's house,” Autumn uttered softly.

             
The guests quietly held their breaths in anticipation.

             
Angelos stopped with his goblet near to his lips. “Come again,” he asked. He turned his head to expose his ear more fully in the direction of his soft-spoken sister.

             
“Not in our father's house,” Autumn said. This time, her voice had been laced by the distinctive sting which left no room for debate with her words.

             
Angelos huffed in astonishment. “You would deny a King his comrades?” he asked.

             
“I would deny my brother the right to insult his land, his people and his father,” Autumn said. Her eyes chilled to a cold winter storm as she turned to take in the priests. Addressing them pointedly, she said, “You will leave.”