The Flame of Wrath (52 page)

             
As the woman listened patiently, the little girl within her arms gave a small frown. Her brows knit together, creating a furrow between them. She released a tiny whimper then wriggled her way loose of the sorceress' embrace. She was gently lowered to her feet where she seemed much more content.

             
“Our men are losing hope. They need something from you, our Blessed Vessel, our Queen. They need guidance. What would you have us do?”

             
“Withdraw,” came a tiny voice.

             
The messenger's eyes widened in surprise. “Withdraw?” she stammered. “But, sovereign---”

             
“Let her finish,” Serenity snapped. Immediately, the messenger fell silent.

             
It was she, this tiny colossus of magic, who had held their fates within her hands since before her birth. When she was but a faint tickle within her mother's body, the child sent out her will to the Sisterhood of Tears. It was from the womb that she began her rule. No sorceress had ever been as innately blessed with magic as she had been. Not even the Vessels to the Dragon before her.

             
When at last she was born, the Sisterhood of Tears continued to rule by proxy. They listened to her guidance, but acted as the powerful presence the people craved until the child was old enough to rule properly. One among the Sisterhood had heard the child's voice above all others. For this, Serenity was never far from the Vessel's side.

             
Serenity watched over the little girl as the messenger observed them both with equal interest.

             
The mere mention of the Vessel sent the Lucidians in a state of wonderment. It had been this reason which had found the messenger kneeling in the Vessel's presence. Whatever words of wisdom coming from the blessed child would be like life-giving breath to her armies. 

             
The little one walked with a dreamy expression upon her face. Her raven gown was the exact image of her guardian's dress though dramatically miniaturized.  She adoringly gazed up at the snow falling to kiss her lashes.

             
“Withdraw from the hills,” she said. “In their arrogance, the Pyrosians will follow to eradicate our army. They will travel down into the valley in close pursuit. That is when our men ----newly equipped and reinforced--- will swoop down upon them and obliterate them.”

             
The messenger felt the swelling of hope within her chest. A smile of gratitude washed across her face.

             
Softly a dreamy humming filled the air.

             
Serenity arched her brow in observation. She walked with a fluid stride toward the swaying little girl. “Holy Vessel, do not forget your task,” she instructed gently. “What of the other forces who fled? Will they return to influence the outcome of the battle?”

             
The child frowned again. She shook her head slowly while releasing a whimpered sound. Her reluctance was worn in an expressive mask of alabaster. Her voice filled the air as a melodic whisper.

             
“Vengeance comes with angels' fury

             
After songs of haunting glory

             
Cry, Weep

             
A God will sleep

             
As its successor,

             
There thrive two, the Innocent and the Oppressor

             
One will a bleeding soul mend

             
The Other endowed with purity does pretend”

             
Serenity frowned in thought. “A God will sleep,” she repeated softly. Her quiet musing fell away as she noticed the weary lean of the child. She protectively took the girl within her arms before the Vessel could fall to the earth. Lovingly, she cradled her. Her dark brown eyes could not hide their concern for the young one as she weakly looked up at her.

             
“Vessel?” she whispered.

             
The Vessel's face crumpled beneath the might of pain. “It hurts, Mother Serenity,” she whispered.

             
Serenity nodded while empathy shadowed her face. She cleaved the child devotedly to her breast. “Shh, I know, my little love. You must rest now.”

             
Serenity laid the child upon a bed of snow. Softly, she spoke in an ancient tongue. Her hands simulated the act of pulling a cover close to the girl. That simple act inspired a thick blanket of snow to undergo metamorphosis. Where once there had been snow, now a thick silken fur swaddled the child tenderly.

             
Serenity gently blew a breath over her small weakened form.

             
The child giggled quietly as a large snowflake was created by her guardian's sorcery. Memories of her early childhood came rushing to her with the intricate perfection found within the snowflake's design. While most had mobiles of toys and childish dreaming, she had only this, the snow in all its pristine glory.

             
The large lattice of snow fell with an unhurried tempo before it draped over the little one's face. It melted quickly at the contact of her skin then seeped into it.

             
Serenity watched the weighted insistence of sleep upon the girl's lashes. Her sleeping spell was taking hold. “Sleep, dear child. Sleep.”

             
For one final moment of clarity, the child's eyes locked with those of Serenity. In her clear blue eyes, water knew life. It drifted within her pupils as floating flecks of snow, embodying the grips of peaceful sleep approaching.

             
Serenity's smile was the last thing she glimpsed before sleep claimed her. It was a splendid sight witnessed through the dark screen of her closing eyes.

             
Serenity returned her gaze to the patient messenger. She held her eyes evenly. Her faith in the small child was clearly voiced inside brown orbs. “Go now with the words of the Dragon's Vessel to guide you,” she commanded. She snapped her fingers commanding a portal to the city to appear.

********

              Steeped within the beliefs of many, it is said that souls which know no peace linger upon this world. They have no use for other planes when they are bound to the one which wronged them. Surely it was they who inhabited the darkness with him. He felt them so distinctly. They caused the hairs of his arms to stand on end. They sent the merciless cold over him. They were the causes of the brutal blows which assaulted him from every angle. They were the hateful whispers which forbid his sleep.

             
He peered up from the darkness, cleaving to the small bits of light filtering down from above. He listened desperately to the familiar sounds of smiths toiling away. Bitter tears welled inside his eyes. It was a disgrace. He, who had dragged many a man to his untimely deaths, was now imprisoned with their darkened memories. He glared around him, hating the sight of the mountain prison.

             
A voice shouted down to him from above. “Dinner fit for a king,” he said. A raspy laugh filled the air, echoing off the gritty walls of the pit as a pot of slop was emptied with a might heave. “Enjoy Angelos.”

             
Angelos winced with the loud splat that clapped violently in the air. He crawled toward its sound. In the dim light, he could scarcely make out the watered-down broth and meager bits of rotten meat that were meant to make the stew more 'filling'. He recoiled. He could not eat this. It was not fit for humans.

             
His mind's eye had a flash of the druids which had found themselves living off of this stew and stale bits of bread. If they had lived off of these scant offerings them perhaps he could as well.

             
His stomach agreed. It had been void of food for how long now? He could not endure a moment more without sustenance of some kind. Angelos lurched forward attempting to gather what bits of food he could, but found that the stones had consumed more of the meal than he ever could. His head fell as his stomach cramped bitterly.

             
The dizzying slant of the world caused him to release a whimper. He collapsed against the stones, allowing blackness to claim him wholly.

********

              The doors opened to release a world of gluttonous decadence. The perfumes of wealth wafted through the air with braggart majesty. It bid a small young messenger welcome as only temptation could.

             
Hypnotic music thundered with abandon. The sound beat against the chest in time with one's own heart. It drew out one's inhibitions then cast it away to the realm of forgotten things. Devoid of importance, restraint was scarcely worth remembering.

             
As she came deeper within the ambiance of indulgence, she fell under the sultry warmth of candlelight.

              The grand room was alight with thousands of candles. They bathed the world in hypnotic illumination. Each radiant flame glinted off glistening marble steps. The steps led up to a huge bed of pillows enclosed from the world by four smooth columns. From those towering columns, the airy sheerness of red curtains teased the eyes.

             
Two figures intertwined in passion's ancient embrace joined the dancers reigning atop marble platforms in their own zealous ballet.

             
Lowering to her knee respectfully, the messenger placed her fist upon her heart. She licked her lips after having suddenly felt her mouth run dry.

             
It was through the sensual frames of dancing legs that she fought both, to be seen and also to glimpse the entangled lovers. She swallowed hard. Her eyes danced in time with the undulating performers writhing in seductive abandon to the music. She nervously cleared her throat, commanding her eyes to look away. Instead, she lowered her head.

             
The music escalated exuberantly. It mimicked the cries of the woman who’s back bowed dramatically off the bed of silken pillows. Along the walls running parallel to the festivities, drummers beat spiritedly against their massive drums. Each beat of their powerful instruments knew the zealous punctuation of her soulful song.

             
“Highness,” the messenger began. She lifted her voice, unsure she would be heard above the music, above the woman who continued to speak her ecstasy.  “The army has divided as per your command. Our forces will be upon the province of Angels by day's end.”

             
Intoxication filled the rhapsody of every note. The dancers spun. Around their erotic forms, gossamer chiffon fanned outward to seduce the eyes with wanton visions of sweat-lined bodies.

             
“Regrettably, the trackers have found no sign of the druid, Soren, or Queen Autumn.” The messenger paused, adding, “Do you wish them to join the soldiers surrounding the province?”

             
The drums voiced a wrathful might. The music hastened to a manic height. Its dizzying allure throbbed a final brutal note. With it, the dancers collapsed to their platforms. They lay weakly upon their sides. Their panted breaths weighted the air as an airy interlude to the song which came next.

             
Maven's voice rang out loudly in the echoing silence. Her arched body concaved then crumbled to the delicate ruins of silk and fluff.

             
Aurea fought to steady her breathing as she supported her shimmering body by the strength of her arms. Through the mask of obscuring red, she could see the kneeling messenger. She stared out at her from behind flaxen lashes. Loudly in her ear, she could hear the woman beneath her fighting for breath.

             
“Tell the trackers to double their efforts,” Aurea commanded firmly. “I want Soren and Autumn.”

             
“It will be so, my Empress.”

             
The messenger rose to her feet. Her legs shook violently as she backed away. The overabundance of fear which accompanied her calling upon their sovereign had never subsided over the years. In fact it grew as time went by. One never knew if being within Aurea's presence would be their final act.

             
“Knights!” Aurea called.

             
From floor to magnificent ceiling, two immense doors sheltered the Empress from a waiting world. They cracked to release a thin sliver of light before opening to admit the Knights of Virtue.

             
The Knights curiously watched the messenger scuttle past them as they entered. They might have inquired about her news, but had learned long ago not to ask questions. It was because of this that the optimism once so readily seen within their eyes had faded to a jaded dimness.

             
With hands upon their waiting hilts, the Shadow Reign siblings remained poised for whatever orders their Empress would surely give. This was what it meant to be Aurea's Enforcers. Their sole purpose was to fulfill her orders.