Reckoning
Authors: Amy Miles
RECKONING
Book II: The Arotas Trilogy
By: Amy Miles
Copyright © 2012 by Amy Miles
Createspace:
This book is a work of fiction.
The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Love and Thanks
To my husband.
Without your help, this book would never have been completed on time.
Thanks for all that you do!
To my wonderful little man,
whose limitless imagination always reminds me that the only boundaries we have are the ones that we place on ourselves.
I love you both!
Chapter 1
Death is inevitable, but Brother Sias prays it will not come to collect tonight.
Uncertainty plagues his mind.
There is too much that can go wrong with their plan.
Too many innocent lives hang in the balance if they should fail.
“Are the men in position?” Sias asks.
The battle-hardened man at his shoulder nods.
Ordin’s gaze remains fixed on the tunnel ahead.
“They are ready.”
Five have emerged, battered and wounded from the brawl below.
By his count, two remain.
The moon slowly climbs the night sky but still Sias waits.
“Aren’t we going in?” A boy peaking over his shoulder whispers.
Sias suppresses his annoyance with Enael’s impatience.
The boy is too emotionally involved with tonight’s events.
He should never have left Enael come on this mission.
“Yes, but we cannot be careless,” Sias replies.
Caution and prayer must walk before them as they enter the tunnel.
Without it, the small space could easily become a funnel of carnage.
Enael frowns, his wind-burned lips puckering.
Sias pats him on the shoulder.
“Have patience.”
“This is a waste of time,” Ordin growls, casting a menacing glare at Enael.
“For all we know, that wretch has already slipped out another entrance with the boy.
I say we go now.”
Glacial winds whip against Sias’ umber robe.
Snow cyclones alter the landscape - a perfect cover for their tracks.
It is time to move.
Nodding his assent, Sias cups his hand to his mouth and whistles.
The sound pierces through the night and a swift response escapes the far tree line.
“Follow me.”
Sias emerges from his hiding place, dipping his head against the driving winds.
Snow grates like sandpaper against his bare skin.
He steps methodically as his boots disappear in the shifting drifts.
Three figures separate from the shadows and merge to take up the rear of their group.
Arthes and Faeus, a pair of lanky twins, skulk behind a middle-aged Bronus.
At the tunnel entrance, Sias holds up his hand.
The men fall back against the earth wall, melding with the shadows as clouds traverse across the moon.
Sias’ salt and pepper beard offers little protection from the biting cold as he removes his hood.
His gaze quickly connects with each person.
His brethren.
His friends.
“Do not underestimate our target.
Roseline will not give up her prey without a fight.
She will be quick and vicious.
Make every shot count,” Sias commands.
He raises his tranquilizer gun, firmly seating it in his palm.
His men follow suit.
Their weapons seem small and insufficient for a battle with an immortal, but faith plunges them into the darkness.
They shuffle forward, single file, as the path burrows deep into the frozen earth.
The tunnel widens after a few moments, allowing them to approach the dungeon three abreast.
Sias and Ordin mold to the wall, surveying the room ahead.
No sneak attack.
No movement.
Only silence.
Ordin’s bushy eyebrows knit with confusion as he frowns.
Sias motions him over and shifts forward to allow him room.
Where are they?
Sias mouths to his second in command.
Ordin’s whiskered jaw pulls taut as his gaze rests on a fallen crossbow, partially submerged in a puddle of blood.
Feathered arrows protrude from stone mortar around the cavernous room.
Splatters of blood and mushy gore paint the walls.
Sias inches forward, craning his neck.
A wooden table with snapped leather straps looms in the center of the room.
Trepidation sits heavily in his belly, but there is no turning back.
They must protect the boy.
The men follow his path, careful to avoid the corpses on the floor.
Although they are unafraid of death, they are not foolish enough to think themselves unaffected by its presence.
This way,
Sias signals, creeping forward on the balls of his feet, his steps as silent as a mute’s song.
A strange gurgling drifts through the air - squelching, moaning.
“No!”
Sias hurtles recklessly across the dungeon, his boots stamping through the carnage.
Maybe he is not too late.
Gabriel might still be alive.
His heavy footfalls are drowned out by a guttural shriek.
The masculine screams, like an animal enduring a merciless skinning, reverberate around the domed room.
Bile rises into Sias’ throat.
“We are too late.”
Through the rusted cell bars, he lays eyes on Roseline Enescue for the first time.
Her hair falls in blood-matted locks, painting a crimson equator at her waist.
Her pale skin is a patchwork of torn dress fibers, clustered purple bruises and splatters of blood. Slender shoulders quake as she huddles over Gabriel’s writhing form.
Roseline turns, tear tracks cleansing her soiled cheeks.
Wide, aqua eyes search his face before alighting on his raised gun.
Her lips peel back and a warning snarl rises in her throat.
Despite her current state, Sias can easily see her buried beauty and her lethal prowess.
His gaze shifts to Gabriel, noting the changes already taking place.
The boy’s forehead is drenched with fever sweats.
His neck muscles are corded, his back arched as her venom rips through his veins.
Bones splinter as Gabriel thrashes against the floor. Break.
Repair.
Strengthen.
Transform.
The process will repeat until every cell in his body has been converted.
They are too late.
Roseline rises, her malicious glare pinning him in place.
“Leave now and I will consider letting you keep your spines intact.”
Delicate fingers curl into deadly talons.
She crouches, preparing for battle.
His mind screams to attack, to do something to help Gabriel, but it is too late.
There is nothing they can do to stop the conversion, but his hesitation is rooted far deeper than mere uncertainty over his mission- shock, disbelief, incredulity stab at his mind in quick succession.
The immortal was crying.
Why?
Lowering his weapon, Sias inches forward.
“Don’t.” Ordin warns.
Ignoring caution, Sias advances.
Roseline weaves slowly, visibly zeroing in on Sias’ pulse against his neck.
The increase is to be expected, as well as the musky scent of fear, but she appears surprised by the regret tugging at his features.
“We do not want to hurt you.”
She glances over Sias’ shoulder.
Each man has trained his gun at her.
Roseline returns her gaze to Sias.
“Apparently you do.”
His men are on edge.
Their tension presses against his back.
He must find a way to stall, to understand what he is seeing.
“Give me a chance to explain.”
The soothing tone of his voice fails to compensate for his threatening presence.
Lean muscles clothe his body.
His brown eyes betray a calculating intelligence.
A fleshy scar carves a trail from his right eye to jaw line and his stance screams experience.
“Why are you here?”
Her muscles lock down as Sias glances at Gabriel.
“You want him, don’t you?”
Sias’ adam’s apple rises and falls.
His heart tap-dances in his chest.
Roseline’s eyes narrow.
“Enough talk,” Ordin grunts, shoving Sias aside.
“No!”
Black rage distorts Roseline’s face as she dips her shoulder, dodging a red-feathered dart.
The golden tip burrows into the mortar behind her.
A growl bursts forth as Roseline launches overhead.
Her toes perch on a fiery sconce and the damp layers of her tattered dress snuff out the candle.
The men huddle together, squinting to see in the dim room.
“Over there!” a man shouts.
Roseline is already on the move, skittering over the cloud of tranquilizer darts.
Gabriel’s rising screams mingle with Ordin’s vexed shouts.
“Look out!”
Pointing her toe, she takes aim and crushes Bronus’ windpipe before her dress even clears his head.
She lands on all fours and instantly leaps away.
Bronus’ eyes bulge as he collapses to the floor, his fingers clawing at his neck.
“Stay still,” Ordin grunts, his fingertips grazing Roseline’s foot as she hurtles overhead.
“Stop,” Sias shouts, twirling amongst the chaos.
“Put your weapons down!”
Enael huddles behind Faeus, his gaze riveted on Gabriel.
He casts a wary glance up at Roseline as she backflips over Ordin, taunting him.
Seeing an opening, Enael lunges forward, skidding on his knees to Gabriel’s side.
Enlarged blue veins strain against Gabriel’s pallid skin.
His teeth have gnawed through his lower lip.
A stream of blood oozes from the corner of his eyes.
Enael reaches for Gabriel with trembling hands.
“Don’t touch him!”
Roseline’s fingers encircle Enael’s forearm, crushing bone and sinew.
The boy shrieks, flailing as he is yanked away.
Roseline stops abruptly as the cold barrel of Sias’ gun presses against her neck.
“Let the boy go.”
Her grasp uncurls from Enael’s arm.
She drops and sweeps Sias’ feet out from under him.
He topples backward as Roseline lashes out, raking her fingernails down Enael’s face.
“Leave. Him. Alone.”
Grabbing a handful of his robe, Roseline sends Enael hurtling through the air.
He slams into Ordin, crying out as they crash into the far wall.
She crouches low, presenting an unmovable barrier in front of Gabriel.
The battered men regroup and pull their leader to his feet.
Sias winces at the pain radiating up from his tailbone.
