Authors: Rhiannon Paille
Villains (14 page)
“Curses,” he muttered under his breath. He kicked the bowl aside and looked at Shezeel. Her eyes darted back and forth under her eyelids and he realized Valtor was still torturing her mentally. He shook his head and ducked into the atrium. He grabbed a dagger. He felt sick as he straddled her and felt her down. He needed to find a spot that would cause pain, but not internal damage. He found the soft spot on her torso and then dug the blade into it.
Shezeel gasped as her eyes snapped open. She jostled around in the shackles trying to get free but Narwa put his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. He wasn’t disguised as a Zanad anymore, but he hoped she would remember him.
“Shezeel?”
She growled at him as he pulled the dagger out of her torso and backed up. “You!” she exclaimed. She tried to pull the shackles off the wall as she bared her teeth in anger but Narwa hung his head and paced away from her. The guilt crushed him. It was one thing to belong to Crestaos, it was another to hurt others to satisfy his hunger. She slumped against the wall in disbelief.
“Please tell me where the Flames are,” he said. There would be no end to her pain if she didn’t give up the location of the others.
Shezeel spat. “You’re no different than the others.” She watched him pace back and forth, her breathing thick.
He stopped pacing and stared down at her. “Do you want to die?”
“No,” she replied.
“Then lie to me.”
“Will you let us escape?”
“I can try,” Narwa admitted bitterly. As much as he wanted to set her free, he was bound to a cold-blooded killer and there was little he could do to ensure her safety without endangering himself.
Shezeel stared at him, and he hoped she realized he was being sincere. If Valtor returned, it would be much worse. Even if she betrayed her kin, the chance for life was slim. Her head wobbled back and forth in disbelief as she contemplated her decision. If she wanted the pain to stop she would have to give them what they wanted. She sighed. “Promise you will kill me quickly.”
Narwa nodded.
Shezeel pressed her back against the wall and closed her eyes. Narwa watched, the likeliness of her survival was slim. He listened to her monotone humming. She seemed frustrated with what she found. He glanced at the stairs with caution. Someone would be coming soon, and when they did, he planned to be gone. He no longer understood why she would do this for him. If she was going to die anyway why tell him the truth? He expected her to lie.
Shezeel stopped, and Narwa knew the answer was on her lips.
“If you don’t tell me they will return and steal it from you,” Narwa warned. He was getting restless with every second that ticked by. He spent too long at her side, he needed an answer. “I can make it painless, for both of you,” he said anxiously. He looked at the adjacent room.
“Terra,” Shezeel whispered. Tears pooled in her eyes.
Narwa moved towards the atrium and reached for the vile that would end her life instantly. As he turned he heard footsteps in the stairwell and froze. It wasn’t his brethren. His body stiffened as the poison slipped from his hands, crashing into the puddle below.
Shezeel glanced at him with fear in her eyes and squirmed in the shackles. Her eyes moved to the catacombs as Crestaos came into view. Narwa moved towards the exit but Crestaos filled it with his form and blocked him. He was clad in a ceremonial jacket and black trousers. His white hair was slicked back, his skin sunk around the bones.
“Betrayal,” he stated plainly as he stared at Narwa, white lightning crackling in his eyes.
Narwa felt a lump in his throat as he glanced back at Shezeel. Crestaos followed his gaze and met Shezeel’s rosy pink eyes. She couldn’t hide the Flame in her if she wanted to. She threw up all over herself.
“Someone must be punished.”
“Terra,” Narwa said in his haste to save himself. That was something neither Crestaos nor Valtor was able to garnish from the Flames, information.
Crestaos shook his head. “You have made yourself useless.” He snapped his fingers and let flames roll onto Narwa’s clothing, setting him ablaze.
Narwa’s mouth hung open in shock as the fire consumed him. His gaze moved to Shezeel. She was wide eyed, terror leaking off her. She was terrified of what Crestaos would do to her. She screamed as Narwa fell and rolled onto his side, smoke rising up between the flames that still charred his body.
Crestaos neared the ruby one slumped on the floor. She whimpered and drew her knees to her chest, instinctively shying away from him. Crestaos pulled an orb out of his pocket. Narwa realized what Crestaos wanted. He wasn’t killing them, he was possessing them, and in that little orb he’d never let them go. Shezeel struggled and screamed in successions as the fire singed everything left of Narwa and he passed out, Crestaos’s last words emblazoned on his mind.
“You belong to me now.”
***
Chapter 6
Delotha bent his head, glaring at the body in the mud. There was no time for coffins or ceremonies at this point. All they had were a few moments before the next battle.
“And so we bid farewell to a brother, an ally, a friend. Goodbye.” Lorac declared. During these times of chaos and war, those were the only words he spoke. Delotha didn’t feel sorry for Narwa in the least. He understood the power of Crestaos and he knew better than to deter his goals for his own gain.
The others nodded their heads in silence as they paid homage to their departed brother. Delotha felt the twinge of sadness in his heart. The others felt little remorse, and Valtor spat on the ground as he stormed towards the fortress.
“Not going to waste my time on the scum,” he grumbled.
Delotha watched him go and turned to pick up the spade behind him. The dirt and sand mix was wet but it would have to do. He took a shovel full and threw it on the body. The others watched silently as Delotha continued to bury the charred and unrecognizable body. When the grave was almost full, Lorac gave the motion that any could speak.
“You must know he is insane,” Azdrach said, glancing expectantly at Lorac.
“Aye, who is next?” Delotha huffed. He heaved another bit of dirt onto the grave.
“None. We will finish Crestaos’s quest and no more of us shall perish.” Lorac stared at the grave, rain dripping off his face and splashed on the ground.
“I wouldn’t have been that stupid,” Hortis muttered. He glanced at Delotha as he tossed another shovel full into the grave.
Delotha let out a low snicker. “You should talk. Apprentice.” He paused for a moment and stuck the spade in the ground. He rested both hands on the handle and locked eyes with Hortis as though to challenge him. This much grief put Delotha in the mood for fighting, and if Hortis were for it, he would show him how strong he was.
“Save it for the battlefield,” Lorac bellowed. He nodded to the full grave and turned towards the fortress.
Hortis broke his gaze with Delotha and trotted off behind Lorac.
Delotha watched them go and idly threw another shovel full of sand onto the grave. “There, now at least his death doesn’t have to be a stain.” He frowned and took in a deep breath as he avoided the eyes of Azdrach and Turon.
“It will always be a travesty,” Turon said dismally.
“This changes many things,” Azdrach said. The dram of necra powder coursed through his veins sufficiently.
Delotha and Turon looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?” Delotha asked.
Azdrach shook his head. “Now we’re even. Three on three. Though Lorac leads us, there is little that will not divide us.”
“Aye, and yet there isn’t much difference in what we desire,” Turon mused with a knowing expression on his face. He was referring to their mischief on Cam’Wethrin and their need for destruction and adventure. He smiled and let out a short laugh, which Delotha returned.
Azdrach stood staring at the grave. “Narwa took what he wanted from this Flame. He succeeded in revealing the location, and he should have been rewarded.” Azdrach may have been convicted of psychic crimes, turning the sane to insane, but he still believed in fairness. Loyalty was of the utmost importance, and he didn’t hold Narwa responsible for his lust or his mercy on the Flame.
“That might be so if she gave us the right location,” Delotha agreed. He rested his chin on the top of the shovel and frowned.
“It’s the right location,” Turon rebutted. He said it as though he knew all along. Delotha and Azdrach seemed bewildered; it was the same mistake that led to Narwa’s death. Turon shrugged. “Tor wouldn’t hide them on the Lands of Peace alone. They’re not meant for that. Terra is in war, it would only be fitting to have a Flame present.”
“Is that all? Their usefulness? I assumed Crestaos wanted the Flames for their grandeur,” Delotha said.
Azdrach let out a loud laugh and Turon followed. “All this time and you didn’t know what they were?” Azdrach shook his head. “I took you for smarter.”
Delotha hung his head in embarrassment as he grimaced. It was Turon who continued, without chiding him for his lack of knowledge.
“The Flames are a powerful race. I must say I don’t know as much as I would like, but each of them has an extraordinary ability. If turned on their corrupted ends, those abilities could provide the ultimate weapon.”
Azdrach looked up at Delotha and smiled. “We aren’t only hunting damsels in distress.” This pleased Delotha very much. It was one thing to fight a foe that was evenly matched, it was purely another to steal innocence girls from their bedchambers and kill them with no remorse.
“Aye, that explains the antics Narwa went through with Shezeel,” Delotha began. He stifled a laugh as he spoke, but he remembered what Narwa said on the hilltop. She was arousing, more so than any goblin he had taken. He found it impossible to resist when she was so willing.
“She’s the reason he’s dead. He never betrayed us; his admiration for her was a ruse. He was manipulated by her abilities,” Turon said. He looked at the sky, the rain was ceasing, dark clouds remained overhead.
“Aye, too powerful to be trusted. Corruption festers where power grows, and these Flames are powerful foes,” Azdrach reflected. He grunted as he stepped over the grave and took a long stride towards the fortress. “Come! From what I can tell, this Flame will be difficult to capture!” he shouted. Delotha and Turon took one last look at the grave, and followed Azdrach into the fortress.
Tiki was only afraid of one thing, and it wasn’t Crestaos. She dimmed in the lantern and pressed herself up against the glass. Her captor was inside the cabin, unaware they were coming for him. Not the enemies, the humans. Osvanir was a thief; he fled to the countryside and overtook a cabin in the valley. Tiki thought it was a bad place for a thief, but she was nothing but a light in the darkness to him. He was unaware of the life brimming behind the endless glow of her Carnelian Flame.
She shifted to the center of the boxy chamber and waited, anxious to see what would happen next. It was blurry, the real battle taking place beyond the hill; obscured from her view. She could hear them, and feel them, and smell them as they neared her. A legion of men on horses spilled out from the treacherous mountain path, they galloped across the long field of wild flowers. She tensed, blood spattered, black skinned creatures tore them down, pulled them apart, turned them into carnage. She shuddered, anticipation spiking off her. She felt the seven of them gliding across the field, crushing petals with their heavy boots. She waited to see what they would make of her, if they would understand.
There was loud smack against the doorjamb of the cabin as Osvanir stumbled onto the porch, a burlap sack in his rough red skinned hands. He went to grab Tiki and stopped. Tiki beamed, her light shining brighter than it ever had before. The silhouettes of the seven stood on the hill. They were coming for her. She wanted them to. Osvanir grunted in fear and ducked into the cabin, looking for a dagger. Tiki waited. The seven didn’t move.
Time seemed to stop around them.
“Retreat!” one of them called.
Tiki’s heart dropped. She glanced into the sky, and fear hit her with an intensity she never thought possible. The seven disappeared from the hill, and she silently begged them to come back. A sick feeling entered her. She knew why they left, the beacon in the sky was hard to ignore.
They found her, the Amethyst Flame.
The vortex emerged on the dry grounds of Angrenoth and Hortis fell with a loud thud. The goblins gathered in a crowd screaming and wrestling with one another. The adrenaline from the battle was taking time to wear off. “Why did we leave?” Hortis demanded.
Lorac ignored him as he stormed towards the fortress. He was seething. Something wasn’t right, but he didn’t know what. He felt Valtor and Delotha flanking either side of him while Turon, Azdrach and Hortis followed on his heels. He knew they had his back should Crestaos become unruly.
Lorac reached the archway and staircase that led to the main hall of the fortress. The newly appointed guards standing at either side cowered from his livid stare as he ascended the stairs and slammed open the doors.
“Crestaos!” he roared into the fortress. Allegiance or not, he would no longer cower to this foe.
As his eyes fixed on the hall he noticed Crestaos seated on the throne. His hood was removed which showed the fullness of his facial features. Pointed bony ears stuck out from either side of his face. His hair was a striking white, slicked back. He was sickly pale, his white skin clinging to the bones on his face in an unnatural way. His eyes were glazed over, jagged lightning ripping through the whites. For the first time, he had a sick and twisted smiled on his face.
Lorac stopped in his tracks and eyed the ancient lord. He forgot why he was there. What was worse was the calm Crestaos emanated, as though they hadn’t failed at all. He felt Valtor and Delotha shift their weight uncomfortably beside him.
“There was a problem,” Lorac said unevenly. His anger dissipated. It was replaced by nausea.
Crestaos gave out a short laugh, the first ever heard by the faction. They stood with shock as he twisted his fingers together and stretched out his palms. “Nay, everything is exactly as it should be,” he breathed with an intense amount of pleasure in his tone.
“I do not understand my lord,” Hortis interrupted out of turn. Lorac shot him a lethal glance and his eyes moved to the floor.
Crestaos stared at Lorac with a perplexed look on his face. “Why did you return?”
Lorac felt his stomach churn. Perhaps the wrath had been delayed. “We saw an unnatural light in the sky. A threat perhaps…” He knew how unintelligent it sounded the moment it fell from his lips.
Crestaos’s twisted smile became wider at the mention of the beacon. He almost beamed as he stared back at Lorac. “Nay, much better than that,” he breathed, like he was savoring the moment.
Lorac did a double take and shook his head, feeling ineptitude flushing through him. “What do you mean?”
Crestaos stood and neared Lorac. He leaned towards him, the putrid smell of death forcing Lorac to stifle his gag reflex. Lorac closed his eyes instinctively as Crestaos hovered inches from him. Crestaos lowered his voice to a whisper and spoke the words that would change everything.
“The one I want is on Avristar.”
***