Bound by Roses (The Bound Series Book 1) (20 page)

“Lies.” Another citizen cried out. Another stone flew. Marguerite ducked. The stone bounced through the throne room. She could hear it stop when it collided with the throne.

“I look to preserve what is left of your city. You must believe me,” Marguerite called.

“Nothing but lies from Ashok Orai scum!”

“The Wolves reform. It is only a matter of time before they bring this city to its knees!” Marguerite declared. The barrage of bricks now less frequent towards her and her soldiers.

“We will protect ourselves as we have always done. Without, the House of White!” Another screamed over the mob.

The merchant backed away and giggled watching events unfold and disappeared into the shadows of those around.

“Ashok Orai was willing to help—the call was never given—but how will you protect this city now?” Marguerite questioned, “Most of your soldiers were killed.”

The angry crowd grew silent. Stones stopped flying. Many of them began to ponder the question. Many began to ponder the reality of their situation. Murmurs began. Questions asked by one, “what will we do?”

We will find a way

Zhan’ding has always found a way!
The voices cried out.

Those surrounding cheered in agreement, her voice crystal clear. The longer the crowd stood before the palace, the more citizens joined. An Ashok Orai Soldier on horseback approached. Pulling before Marguerite, he blocked the crowd’s view of her,

“What is the word?” Marguerite wondered.

“Citizens have barricaded the main gate and are not allowing any refugees to make the trek,” the Soldier stated.

“We will not allow
any
Citizens of our great city to be removed from their home!” The woman called loudly, so that Marguerite could hear.

“We are only moving those that wish to be moved,” Marguerite rushed past another soldier on horse.

“Yet your own words were to forcefully remove as for our own safety,” the woman called, “is that now true?”

Marguerite bit her lip, and looked away. Iritis touched her shoulder, “You do not have to answer them.”

“I do,” Marguerite removed the Iritis’ hand, “For they are my words.”

The woman smirked. The crowed gasped and jeered. Another rock flew. It spooked the horse behind Marguerite. The majestic creature reared back, legs swung wildly in the air, its rider thrown off. Free, the horse sprinted away. The crowd parted to allow it to go. Marguerite and Iritis helped the soldier up, only his arm was broken. Iritis shouldered the soldier as Marguerite moved forward,

“They are my words, but everything I spoke, I spoke out of concern for you all. Nothing more.”

The crowd dispersed. Many dispersed to their destroyed homes, unwillingly to hear any more from Lady White. Her words no longer carried on the Winds as they once did. A lone Minister that survived the onslaught limped forward. Head bandaged, arm in a sling, robes bloodied by not only his blood, but also the dead Ministers.

“The citizens of Zhan’ding have spoken, Lady White. They will not leave their home, some, the only place they have ever known,” the Minister said. Fingers from his free arm twitched at this side.

“Minister?” Marguerite stared down the short and slender man, “you were all presumed dead.”

“Yes well, when one is as tiny as myself, it is easy to get lost amongst the dead,” the Minister chuckled to himself.

Marguerite did not join in. She merely stared at the Minister, “Forgive my ignorance, but I am not up to date on all the Ministers of Zhan’ding.”

The Minister limped forward. Blood crusted robes drug along the rubble of the courtyard, “Your ignorance is understandable. Having been out of direct communication with Lady Red does have that affect.”

The Minister stopped before Marguerite, but did not bow, “To refresh, I was Junior Minister Toran, but I guess with the others gone, I am now the most Senior Minister in the city.” He chuckled again.

“Does one man truly speak for all?” Marguerite called out to the few that remained in the courtyard. She could not bear to look at the broken Minister, “I offer the invitation to any and all who wish to be safe within Ashok Orai.”

“You have asked for our vote, and we have cast it,” Minister Toran stated. Fingers continued to twitch at his side. Marguerite could not tell if it was a nervous twitch, or if he did it to seem less threatening.

A few hopefuls that wished to start a new life in tried to linger. A flick of the Minster’s head and they were shown to their homes by those adamant that they remain. Minister Toran rubbed his bandaged arm.

Marguerite huffed, “Very well, Minister Toran. At least allow us to leave soldiers to help fight?”

“Your kindness is flattering but unneeded,” Toran said.

“Who will protect you?” Iritis asked.

“Our men will protect us. Our children will protect us,” the Minister spoke proudly, “our woman will protect us.”

“You are a bigger fool than I believed Minister,” Marguerite clenched her fists and could barely look upon the man before her.

“They will protect us with the swords that their predecessors used to defend this city!” The woman joined along side the Minister, a rusted sword clutched tight in her hand. She pointed the blades tip towards Marguerite and Iritis.

“What of those that wish to no longer dwell here?” Marguerite questioned.

“They will remain. We will survive as we always have, and I ask kindly that you see to the return of our citizens that are being held against their will,” the Minister asked.

“None are held against their will,” Iritis barked.

“Then return them,” Minister Toran said.

“You act as if we stole them away!” Marguerite bit her lip face grew red. Both the Minister and woman remained silent before her.

“And if none wish to return?” Marguerite wondered.

“They were forcefully removed. They can be forced to return,” Minister Toran held his nose high to Marguerite. Voice bellowed in the courtyard. Cheers greeted it.

“Very well. Those that have been relocated shall return. All soldiers removed from the city.” She turned upon Iritis.

“Lady White, you cannot seriously give into these demands!”

“Spread the word, now Captain!” Marguerite barked her orders through nearly pursed lips.

Captain Iritis relieved a soldier and took his place upon the horse. A flick of the reigns and Iritis flew from the courtyard. He called to all Ashok Orai soldiers. He called the order to return to Ashok Orai.

“We thank you from the bottom of our broken hearts,” the Minister tried to bow, but winced. He grabbed his broken ribs.

“May the Gods have mercy upon Zhan’ding, Minister,” Marguerite spit upon the ground.

She saddled her white horse and with caravan of Soldiers made their way from the palace to what remained of the city gates.

As Marguerite waited the unbarring of the gate, women held their children high into air. Held them high in the vain hope that Lady White would spare the children the fate, which awaited their parents. The fate that awaited those that served Zhan’ding. Cries of anguish accompanied every person with a child. She kept her gaze forward as best she could. The broken gate creaked open on one side.

A mother called out to Marguerite as she rode past to the open gate, “Why will you not save our children?”

“Your sole surviving Minister, will not allow me to save your children,” Marguerite stared forward.

The House of White is nothing but monsters!
Another called.

Monsters!

You have doomed us all!

“I have been told everyone is to stay in the city,” Marguerite cried out as she made her exit.

What of the children?

The children! Please! The children.

More parents called out, their children and babies high in their arms.

Save the children!

Many cried into their hands. Cried into their children’s shoulders as they cuddled them close, and tight.

Marguerite stopped her advance to the city gate and called out,

“My hands are tied by your blind, Minister Toran. He is the monster you should show your children too. He is the monster who will train your children to fight. Train your children to die!”

Moans of anguish, of sadness, and cries and pleads.

Marguerite from that moment on, kept a blind eye, and ear as best she could. A blind eye that filled with tears as more and more shoved their children into the air. Crying for them to be spared. The road was the longest she had ever ridden, in all her years of exiting the city. Marguerite’s breathes erratic, face wet from tears. Citizens rushed the gates, but were stopped by soldiers with shields. They were blockaded in.

Cries disappeared when the splintered gates to the city closed. Silence overtook Marguerite’s ears. Even the horse’s hooves could not penetrate the deathly silence. Upon the silence of the main road, Marguerite cried into her hands. She wept hard for all that transpired. She cried as her horse followed the others slowly along the road.

Ophiuchi appeared in a billow of grey smoke before the fractured gate. The Fairy stared as Marguerite’s caravan made its trek back to Ashok Orai. Black robes melted into the shadows cast by the great gate.

Feeling of being watched, Marguerite wiped her eyes and turned to find the Fairy staring at her in black robes with wide eyes and smirk upon the lips.

Ophiuchi watched her carefully. Watched the caravan of soldiers slink away back to Ashok Orai. One by one they disappeared into the woods.

In a flash and blink of watery eyes, the Fairy disappeared. Marguerite was left with the uneasy feeling as she made her way home. She wanted to turn back, but she pressed onward to Ashok Orai. She knew that there was nothing for her. Nothing remained in Zhan’ding for her. She was bound to the House of Red no more.

She continued on to Ashok Orai.

Book
Two:

The Orange Fairy Book

Twelve.

“
How brave you are to face the House of White as such.
”

Ophiuchi appeared behind the Minister and the citizens that led the crusade against Marguerite. A billowing cloud of grey blew about, spiraling away as dust devils do. All were startled, but none fled, or made an attempt to attack. Ophiuchi stepped towards the crowd. Feet made not a sound upon the stone. Dark robes disturbed not a pebble. A wispy trail of ethereal smoke followed while hands were folded behind the Fairies back, a crooked smile upon the face.

The Fairies high-pitched voice echoed into each of the citizen’s beating hearts. It calmed them. It unnerved them. They merely stared.

“And you are?” Minister Toran stepped forward to greet the stranger. Hand extended, but the Fairy ignored it.

“A friend to those that despise the House of White,” Ophiuchi spoke. Robes extended unnaturally into the shadows of the cities alleys and most hidden places, “And I come bearing a gift.”

“What sort of gift?” Toran asked as he limped forward.

“New beginnings. One that can make the House of Phoenix more powerful than the House of Red ever could have dreamt,” Ophiuchi extended a hand towards those present.

The Minister looked at the Fairy with great curiosity, “And who precisely is the House of Phoenix?”

“From the ashes that are the House of Red, a new House, a glorious House shall rise and claim their proper place in the realm!” Ophiuchi’s deep voice bellowed smoky tendrils extended outwards in all directions from behind the Fairies back, as clenched fists rise into the air. All present were entranced by the Fairies speech, and promise.

“How can this occur as you so speak?” A man asked.

“With my gift, I will give you directions to a Grove.”

The Minister laughed deep from his belly, ignoring the pain of his broken ribs, “A grove—what good will a grove be to us?”

Ophiuchi stepped forward. Those present cowered back as a great cold fire wrapped around the Fairy,

“It is a sacred Grove that has been forgotten. With it, you will have Soldiers who know not the need of sleep, food, or drink. Who will know loyalty only to you, the House of Phoenix,” from the great cold fire that wrapped around the Fairy, Ophiuchi created a bound scroll out of multicolored flames. The fire was beautiful to look upon. The colors constantly shifted. The scroll floated in a bubble of swirling grey smoke before the Minister, between he and the Fairy.

“What do you seek in return?” Minister Toran asked, stepping forward, drawn to it, like a moth to the flame, and temptation of power. His fingers twitched endlessly at the side of his hip.

“You will be given seven hundred and seventy-seven days in which to dispose of the House of White and, Marguerite,” Ophiuchi stated.

“And if we are unable?” Another questioned, looking at the bubble of smoke that hid all markings.

“Then the House of Phoenix and
all
citizens will suffer seven hundred and seventy-seven years of slumber, under both vine and thorn. Locked away from time itself, forgotten as the realm moves on, and you become nothing but myth,” Ophiuchi’s face remained stern while the three pondered who should be the first to touch that, which floated before them.

They pondered the course of action that was to be taken. All wanted, but none wanted to be the first. It was Minister Toran who approached and put his hand through the bubble. Where his hand entered, the opening burst into a cold, numbing flame that consumed the entire bubble once his stubby fingers had gripped the parchment.

“We accept your offer,” Minister Toran held the scroll close as he spoke out loud for all to hear, “and in seven hundred seventy-seven days, the House of White shall fall.”

“Remember your end well,” Ophiuchi disappeared in a flash of light, “
For I will not be merciful when it comes time to pay
.” 

A high pitched laugh lingered for a moment as the three set out to rebuild their new city of Zhan’ding as the House of Phoenix.

Thirteen.

With great challenge, and using all his mighty skills in the wild open fields of Relland, the Huntsman eventually caught the trail of the Wolves that had attacked Zhan’ding. Days turned to night, and back with no scent to follow. Magic it seemed had control over the Winds themselves. Which prevented him from finding those he hunted. But as is the nature of the Winds, they eventually returned to his favor. The Wolves scent grew. It was faint, but it was theirs. It danced delicately over the fields like pollen.

Through wood, across field, and sand, the Huntsman was led to the remains of a once great labyrinth. A labyrinth that was old when the desert was new. Grey stonewalls eroded by the hungry grains of sand that whipped and blew about harshly. The heat stung against Avarice’s skin. But so dry was the atmosphere that any sweat he accumulated was evaporated away almost immediately. The sun blinded his eyes. Within the center of it all, the tower stood proud and true seemingly impervious to the sands and heat that blew.

The Wolves he hunted had left long ago. Their scent no longer danced upon the Winds. But this is where they stopped. Or at least, this is where the Winds wanted him to be. The unforgiving desert wiped clean their tracks. Avarice flicked the reigns. With difficulty, the horse trekked forward. Hooves sunk deep into the hot sand. The horse trotted a few more paces before it stopped once more. Avarice flicked the reigns again. It refused to walk any further. Legs several inches deep. His head shook back and forth.

“No further?” The blowing sand drowned Avarice’s raspy voice out, but his horse heard clearly and shook its majestic mane with a great neigh and snort.

“Very well old friend,” dismounting, the Huntsman tied his faithful friend to a log that extended out from the sand. A sunken boat in the dune waves, the log was bleached whiter than the stones that built Ashok Orai. Avarice eyes stared at the tower. He stared until he could no longer stare into the blue sky. Eyes blinded by the blistering bright sand. Colorful specks dotted the darkness when he rubbed his eyes.

His hand, like the hunter he was, naturally extended itself to feel the stone tower that he approached. The stone was softer than silk. His fingers enjoyed touching the velvety stone. It reminded him of Marguerite’s skin just after a bath, when her body would be anointed with the most delicate oils that smelled sweetly of lavender and honey. Avarice chuckled to himself. His hand continued to caress the tower. The tower, whose roughness smoothed away by years of blowing particulates, Avarice trudged through the boggy sand that swallowed his boots with each step. He walked the perimeter. The sun burned. His eyes scanned for an entrance.

None.

All he could find was the arched window high above. He stared upwards at the massive window. Against the bright blue sky, and hot sun, a bright grey light pulsed like a beating heart before it disappeared nearly as quickly as it appeared in a flash.

With increased vigor, the Huntsman looked over the mighty tower. He circled like a vulture to its prey. Fingers combed through the dead branches and dried vines that wrapped about. Stopping before a bricked over archway, he found nothing of value. Avarice moved out to the decayed walls. In hopes that some clues remained of who resided within the tower. He hoped that whatever he found would be easy to understand. Along most of the walls that still lined the tower, he found faded images of days long past, and what looked like magic being used. The symbols of writing were unknown to him. He was a hunter, not an academic.

High atop, Ophiuchi stood before the window. The Fairy stared out. Thin ebony robes blew and billowed in the warm breeze like storm clouds. The sun seemed to disappear in the darkness of them, “We have company my Queen.”

The Fairy looked upon the sleeping Theodora Talisa, skin white as snow. Long flowing blonde hair was dull, almost colorless, “Allow me to give him a proper introduction to you.”

Another flash. A ball of grey and aqua mist floated nearly invisible from the window. Ghostly tendrils reached out in all directions, constantly searching for anything to touch. The mist entered the golden trimmed mirrored doorway. The Mirrors surface rippled and undulated softly. Tendrils disappeared.

Outside, the Wind changed direction and the Huntsman inhaled deeply. Fresh vines grew all about the tall tower. Great pink flowers opened. Bright blue sparks showered all around. He could smell the magic. It was vibrant, intoxicating, and made his cock stir. The vines parted as he stared at the magic unfold.

The bricked archway opened silently. The bricks spun and reformed.

Stairs that spiraled up appeared in great puffs of dark clouds. A blanket of haze rolled out of the tower doorway.

In that dark abyss he saw the ghostly mist that was the Fairy. Just in the doorway. Just out of reach of the sun. The Fairies faint light pulsed. Its ghostly tendrils beckoned him to come. They pulled inwards and upwards in the shadows. Avarice heard the Fairies voice call,

Come.

Avarice fought the voice. It beckoned him, his body tried to move,

Come.

Avarice strained. His body hurt. Muscles ached. Brow tight. Sweat upon it. The tendrils beckoned like fingers. The voice called thrice,

Come.

Avarice stepped forward.

Closer

He was caught, one step after another.

Closer I say.

Avarice heard the high voice of the Fairy call to him. He trekked through the bog like sand. A moth to the flame, hypnotized. Blinded to all else in the world. His horse made a great commotion, but it fell to deaf ears. Every step the Huntsman took, Ophiuchi moved further up into the tower. Avarice rushed the ball. It flashed in intensity with every step. An intensity that swum his head. Deeper into the tower, and up the spiral staircase he began. The archway resealed. He was bathed in the eerie blue darkness of fires kept in crystal orbs. He watched them with intent. They did not unnerve him as they unnerved the Wolf Queen.

Once the final doorway brick spun into place, a mighty sandstorm erupted. The sand raced, and whipped around the tower. It spiraled outwards in all directions. The Huntsman’s horse spooked ripped away from the dead, bleached tree. The creature sprinted away lest be swallowed by the shifting sands. The sandstorm raged wildly. Great waves of sand overtook the galloping horse in its escape. It tried to swim, to flee, but could not. Another crashing wave of sand, and the horse was buried, drug beneath the hot sand. Forgotten by its master. Its flesh to rot away, bones to return in time.

The sandstorm died as quietly, and magically as it arose.

The Huntsman was alone as he climbed higher and higher. Throughout the inner wall, the blue fires raged softly. They cast areas of stairwell into an eerie light. His eyes never blinked. He continued to stare ahead in a daze. The Fairy hid in the shadows, barely able to outshine the flames with its own light.

Come

The ethereal voice called through the fires that wildly flickered. Ghostly tendrils brushed Avarice’s cheeks. An electric chill ran through him,

Come

The ball passed through a bright doorway at the top of the stairwell. The Huntsman stopped. It was a strange opening that cast no light into the stairwell. The gaseous ball intensified within the room. The Huntsman could make out more tendrils that moved upwards. He stared into the barren room. Only the mysterious ball floated in it.

Enter

His foot without question moved forward. A numbing, damp chill ran the length of his body. He shivered violently.

What was an empty room became full of furniture, magical apothecary, and Mirrors. Hundreds of Mirrors hung along the walls. He didn’t care, or was not fazed by such petty parlor tricks. He was used to such glamour spells, having seen countless in his service to the Queen. He turned back and found he came through a Mirror. Touching it, solid. He knocked upon it. No echo, there was nothing but solid stone behind it. He was locked in that tower.