Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (51 page)

Vinnicus drew open a heavy drawer. Inside were four stones that pulsed a sickly yellowish green. Each glowing stone was tied to the life force of his chosen vassals. Picking them up carefully from their nest, he set them on the table one by one.

“Move.” He motioned to the young servant.

The young man came to stand before the clear pool that captured most of the moisture within the cave.

Vinnicus forced his stone-like heart to pump the black fluid that had become his blood. He called out to the spirit world—to the creatures that would do his bidding.

The water of the pool flashed from clear to a silver glow. The servant began to quake and jerk spasmodically, but regardless of his twitching, he remained on his feet, standing before the pool as if suspended on strings. The air above the pool began to shimmer, and a dark vertical line appeared.

Huge insectoid legs shot forth from the widening slit and seized the young man’s twitching body, drawing him into the air and yanking him forward. Screams boiled from his throat, then cut short as his body slammed against some invisible wall. More legs came forth, seizing him and drawing him in. A pair of pasty white limbs, covered in red gore, erupted from the young man’s torso and wrapped around his thrashing frame. Bones snapped audibly as his body folded into the hovering slit and he was drawn through to the void on the other side.

Silence claimed the sounds of death for long moments, and then the slit widened and the appendages appeared once more. A slick, elongated head was pulled forth by the long legs, which had pierced into the stone floor as if it were soft turf. White-on-white eyes that were hard to discern littered the carapace, but there was no mistaking where the gaping maw was located. Rows of large triangular teeth covered the dark hole that had sentenced many souls to their deaths. Several sets of hooked mandibles protected the sides of its head and were currently vibrating against the armored shell, making a rattling sound. Finally, the bulbous abdomen, sheathed in long spines, slid into sight.

Vinnicus gently placed his hands on the stone table before him. “Good, you have accepted the bargain,” he intoned and moved one long-fingered hand almost reverently over one of the softly pulsing stones. “Come, I would set you to a purpose.”

K
INSEY
awoke to the screech of migratory birds. He opened his eyes and blinked in the bright morning sun. Light poured from a crystalline sky and soaked into his skin, warming it and driving out the cold that had settled in his bones.

Kinsey stretched his arms and legs, yawning deeply. He looked around to gain a bearing on his surroundings. He didn’t recognize anything. The sun-drenched shore of what could only be a Tanglevine tributary was a peaceful sight, but unfamiliar. Clear water flowed strongly within arm’s reach of the pebbles he lay on. All around him the winewoods soared, although an old giant had fallen to clear the air above and allow the sun to drench this spot. Here and there in the deep shadow of a stone along the water, snow persisted in defiance of the sun his skin was drinking in.

Naked?
he wondered as he rolled his shoulders. Kinsey wore not a stitch, not even boots.
Wonderful
, he thought grimly and contemplated how this had come to pass. He knew who he was, and he could guess generally where he was, but the near past was a complete blank.

He wasn’t one to drink to excess, but he couldn’t envision anything else leading to such a state—alone, addled and naked in the woods.

As he considered his situation, he realized that not only was the expected headache after a night of heavy drinking absent, but he actually felt good. No, not good—amazing. His muscles propelled him easily to his feet. He should have been at least stiff from a cold night exposed, but not so much as a breath of hesitation slowed his action as he stretched for his toes. The past few weeks had been a more or less constant progression of stiff awakenings following long days in the saddle, to say nothing of the days after their various combats with the Wildmen. Not even sleeping in the palace beds in Pelos had refreshed him so entirely.

The colors of the world around him seemed more vibrant today as well. He could discern shades of green as clearly as if they had been painted. The colors of red and umber that had been revealed in the stones by the waters’ edge shone like beacons.

The sound of crumbling leaves drew his attention upstream in time to see a doe poking her dun-colored head through the underbrush to sniff the air before ducking for a drink of water. He felt foolish for an instant because he would have sworn he could smell her—a hint of wet fur and nervous excitement.

Chuckling to himself, Kinsey walked to the river’s edge and knelt to take a drink from a slow, rotating eddy. His reflection looked back up at him, and he hesitated in the act of reaching. His face seemed fine, but the thick rusty brown hair he habitually wore in tight braids was free and flowing about his head and shoulders. Something about it, beyond the style, felt wrong.

Kesh’s mocking laughter echoed in his mind.

Kinsey’s scalp began to itch as he tried to place what was bothering him. When he reached up to touch his forehead to dispel the phantom thoughts, his vision blurred, and for an instant, Kesh seemed to stand over him, sneering. In one hand he held a bloody knife, and in the other…

As suddenly as it had come, the vision was gone, and Kinsey was left blinking at a silvery minnow in the clear water below. He shook his head and plunged his hands through the reflection, thinking that if he was going to be plagued with visions of people he knew, the least he might hope for was Erik and the most, perhaps, that ebon-haired cousin of the princesses.

Kinsey splashed the icy water onto his face and the shock of it cleared the last vestiges of the vision from his mind. The energy he felt upon waking returned as he cleansed the black mud and dirt from his body. The forest around him rustled and chirped with boundless energy and he stood, determined to find his way back to his friends. Once again, he needed his pants.

He considered the sky through a gap in the trees to orient himself. All of the streams eventually would join with the Tanglevine, and from there, lead to Waterfall Citadel. If worse came to worst, he could always trace the stream until it lead to civilization. He was unwilling to go that course; his friends needed him. He knew of their need in the same way he knew his own name. It was not a question, but a certainty.

He worked his way to the base of the old fallen giant. The trunk slanted up at a shallow angle to the point where it was caught within the heavy branches of a flourishing tree, offering him an easy path to the lower limbs of the canopy. He clambered up the fallen trunk and began working his way up. Clambering about in the canopy of the Winewood had always been Erik’s forte, but this morning it felt as natural to Kinsey as walking. He picked up speed as his confidence grew and was almost running when he arrived at the crossing of live branch and fallen trunk.

He stretched up a hand to catch a limb and swung onto the upper limbs. Gaining enough height to gaze out above the majority of the forest around him was child’s play and he had to wonder what had ever kept his feet on the ground for so much of his life.

Swells of endless green stretched out before him and he spied a distant stone structure, just visible amidst a dip in the sea of leaves.
Ordair’s Keep
.

A shudder ran through him and for an instant, visions assaulted his mind. Screaming men ran before him as he searched for something—something that eluded him and made him quake with anger. The smell of blood and fear filled the air. The vision subsided and he came back to himself, still clinging to his airy perch. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he could feel that the answers he needed were back at the Keep.

Kinsey climbed back down to the forest floor and immediately set off for the distant structure, legs pumping. Just as he found scaling his way to the canopy of the Winewood a simple matter, he found moving through the forest was easier now than it had ever been. Gone were the hesitations about hidden snags and hazards. He fell into a rhythm that was at once natural but yet alien to his past. The forest passed by in a blur. The trip through the heart of the wild, which once could have easily taken hours, if not days, instead delivered him to the Keep before midday.

He halted his run behind a large stump at the edge of the ancient clearing and scanned the area.

Apparently, his second vision had elements of truth to it.

Bodies lay everywhere. Even outside the walls, the ground was obscured below the wings of carrion birds that pecked and pulled at the remains of corpses.

Behind the wall, a trumpeting call broke the subdued sounds of the scavengers and a hissing, snarling furor broke out. He couldn’t see what was happening, but he was reasonably certain he didn’t want to. The eagles of Waterfall Citadel were not the only creatures that had adopted the scale of the Winewood. He slipped back into the shelter of the wood as the sounds of battle rose behind him.

Predators and scavengers could be a problem, given his lack of anything resembling protective clothing or weapons, but he could not leave without searching for the answers he needed. Kinsey began to circle the Keep until he found a leaning tree that sparked something in his mind. He whispered a prayer of thanks that this memory was not about blood and death, or Kesh, but Erik. He could envision Erik speaking of this tree and describing it as a possible entry point to the Keep, but the why of it escaped him.

Kinsey felt confident that he was finally making progress as he mounted the leaning trunk and began to ascend. A good-sized limb extended above the encircling perimeter wall and he began to make his way along it. As he did, something caught his eye.

A leather strap had been looped around a broken branch.

He pulled on it experimentally and found it attached to a quiver full of arrows that had been elegantly concealed in a thick weave of leaves and limbs.
Erik
.

Casting about, Kinsey also found Erik’s hornwood bow tucked close to another branch. Neither would be easily seen from the ground—neither had been easily seen from his current vantage. Erik had taken great care before he entered the crumbling Keep.

Kinsey studied his father’s weapons and considered why Erik would want to get into the sanctum of the Keep. As his fingers ran along the well-worn leather where Erik’s grip had indented the wrappings, his mind flared once again as it had at the stream’s edge.

This time, his memory of Erik talking of the tree was much more than a vague recollection. His father stood, pointing with his bow toward the Keep. “There is a place on the far side of the wall that has a tree leaning very close,” Erik said. “I will be able to get in easily by that route, and possibly get out as well.”

“Let’s hope so.” Kinsey motioned downstream, to the opposite side of the Keep from where Erik intended to climb. “I will start a fire farther that way. Chancellor, you will need to keep the horses ready and watch the prisoner until I get back. We’ll wait to move until an hour before sunrise.”

Kesh’s haughty expression flashed by and reality snapped back into place for Kinsey.

He clung to the tree, fingers dug firmly into the crevices of the maroon bark.
Damn visions. I must be losing my mind
.

In the clarity of Kinsey’s memory, Kesh’s smug expression was merely window dressing on the hate boiling below the surface. How had he missed the depth to which this man despised him and Erik? This discovery was secondary, though, to the next thing he remembered.

Princess Sacha.

Kinsey crawled his way up the tree and lowered himself to the wall walk below. He spotted several buildings in varying states of disrepair. Only one structure stood taller than the massive perimeter walls, and he figured that was the best place to start looking for clues. If the princess had been held anywhere, she would likely have been held there. Even with its age, the construction appeared to be sound. Surely at least one of the interior spaces would limit her ability to escape.

He set out at a slow jog, searching for way off the wall into the yard below or a sign of his missing companions. Looking down into the courtyard, Kinsey knew he had been here—he just couldn’t remember when. Given the disturbing nature of the first two visions, he was becoming increasingly unsure that he wanted to.