Regret's Shadow (Sins of Earth Trilogy) (21 page)

He looked dubious.

“A wise elf once said ‘It is a fool who cries for summer when winter’s stolen the
land.  The wise elf hunts instead’.  I find it gets me through worrisome nights.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, before smiling at her in return. 

“Don’t worry about things you cannot control?”

She nodded, “That’s the idea.”

She leaned in and kissed him, long and with passion.  His doubts began to dissolve, as he was brought forcefully into the moment.  When they broke, he looked at her wistfully.

“I’m glad you found me, Princess of the Elves,” he breathed earnestly.

She blinked rapidly, her breath catching.  “As am I, Captain of Men,” she whispered, “As am I.”

After she had fallen asleep, Hade stood at the large window tha
t allowed a view of the western skyline.  Lights twinkled above and below the horizon.  Hade stared at them and a prickling sensation fingered its way up the back of his neck.  They could almost be campfires.  Thousands of campfires.

War.  The return of the Drejth.  An elven princess in his bed.  Could life get any more incredible?  He doubted it.  And yet he felt strangely detached, as though it was all happening to someone else.

Was he ready to lead men into battle?  The last time he’d attempted it was with the ragtag band of survivors of the Hammerfist.  They’d tried to stay together and keep each other alive, but it had proved futile.  Thinking back, it was little more than chaos in his mind.

Would Galloway end the same?  He had to believe that it wouldn’t.  He thought he could get their team to where the
baroness was hiding, even though it was just a hunch, but thwarting her plan was another matter.

He sighed.  He’d been running in circles in his mind for a
n hour, with no progress.  The princess had been right, of course - there was nothing for it.  They would deal with what they had to deal with when the time arrived.  All the plans that could be made at the moment were made.  He turned to look at her.

Even stretched out on the bed, having drifted off after their love-making, she was a study in grace.  He marveled at the soft curves of her body, the unblemished cream of her perfect skin, the brilliant waves of her hair, like a river of molten gold by the light of the lantern.  Even with all that he was dealing with emotionally, her beauty still took his breath.

He blew out a sigh, still amazed at their situation.  Tomorrow they’d fly into the teeth of danger once again, hoping to stop the shedding of innocent blood.

He slid into bed beside her.  She sighed and reached for him, smiling slightly in her
sleep.  He nuzzled her neck, allowing her smell and the warmth of her body to clear away the frenetic thoughts that plagued him.

Tomorrow they could save the world.  Tonight, they were simply lovers taking comfort in each other.  He was surprised to find
that he felt content with that.

Dramus looked up as men entered the chamber.  His tears had dried on his cheeks, and his eyes burned.  He stood a little straighter, on his guard.

Four soldiers entered, carrying a crate between them.  Behind came Calistra, Colius, and Erick.  The last to enter was the
eye patch-wearing warrior that seemed to take an undue interest in Dramus.  The young monk shivered as the man’s single good eye looked through him.

“Set it there,” the b
aroness directed.  Her guards put the crate on the floor next to the dais.  Dramus was surprised to see that it was one of the crates that had come with them from the temple.  He looked at Colius.  The man was sweating slightly, despite the dank coolness of the chamber. He kept his beady eyes on the baroness.

“Open it, and place it upon the dais,” she commanded.

The guards produced crowbars and began to pry open the crate.  Dramus watched closely, curious despite his peril.  A few creaks later and the lid came free. 

Inside was a black box constructed of a strange metal that Dramus suspected was precious.  As the soldiers raised the box, and placed it upon the dais, Dramus could see a small inset keypad.

Calistra looked to Erick, of all people, and the young aide whimpered.  He began to shuffle forward, and Dramus got a better look at his haggard appearance.

Something has happened to him
, Dramus thought.  The young man’s hair was plastered to his forehead, his cheeks flushed.  There was a feverish gleam to his eyes that reminded Dramus of some of the looks that the headmaster had given him.  He felt the inkling of his gift stir in the back of his mind.

Erick reached the device, and began to punch a sequence of keys.  After a few moments, there came a chi
me and the lid of the box split.  The two halves slid to disappear into the sides of the box.  A faint mist roiled out of the case for a moment, and Dramus strained against his bonds to look inside.  His view was obstructed by the sides of the container, however.

“
Headmaster,” the baroness urged. 

Colius, breaking his stare at Dramus, produced something from his robe and walked to the dais.  Erick slithered to the side, turning his watery gaze upon his friend.  The
headmaster laid something upon the dais, before turning to look at Dramus as well.

“I hope you’ve read it well,” he said, smugly.  Dramus looked past him and could see the fallout symbol clearly displayed on the book’s cover.  For some reason, this
latest invasion of his privacy rankled more than his imprisonment.  It was like some final betrayal that tipped his mind from fear into pure rage.

“I hope you burn in hell, Hogmaster,” he spat.

Colius reddened.  He took a step toward the young monk, before the baroness halted him with her voice.

“Colius,” she chuckled, “Don’t let him goad you.”  Her voice was like velvet, and seemed to reach the man.  He blew out a sigh.

“You don’t deserve it, you know,” he said, before moving back to Calistra’s side.  Dramus didn’t respond.  Turning his hate-filled eyes from the man, he was surprised to find Erick had moved within arm’s reach, looking at him curiously.

Dramus returned his look, feeling uncomfortable.  This wasn’t the man he’d spent the last two weeks with.  Something else hid behind his eyes, and his gift was buzzing in his skull.  When Erick spoke, it flared to life.

“If only I could access the gifts…” Erick’s voice was not his own.  Dramus immediately knew what he was saying, although his conscious mind struggled to put it together.  It was like competing voices in his brain. 

Something had taken up residence in the body of his friend, something sinister and old.  Very old.

“…I wouldn’t have had to go to all this trouble,” Erick was whispering now, and had moved within a hand’s breadth of Dramus’s face.  He reached out and touched Dramus’s cheek and the other man flinched.

“I know you
understand what the device is for,” he cooed.  “If you don’t do as your told, there is a lovely little meat puppet I could slip into up in Akilo.”  He let the statement hang. 

The dawning horror on Dramus’s face was answer enough for the shade.  Erick moved sharply away, giggling.

“Hiltsman,” the baroness called.  He looked at her, still bewildered.

“I want the device operational by dawn.  I plan on assuming the throne of my new kingdom by dinner,” she ended the statement with a peal of laughter.  She sauntered up to him and placed a gloved hand on his chest.

“If you cooperate,” she said softly, “I may have room for you in my…entourage.”  She offered him a sultry smile that turned Dramus’s stomach.

“My Lady,” Colius coughed.  Calistra, still facing Dramus, rolled her eyes.

“Shall we retire?” the headmaster sounded like a little boy asking for cookies.  The baroness winked at Dramus, and turned to face Colius.

“Hungry, you fat fuck?”

Colius blinked as if he’d been slapped.  No one spoke as the baroness slowly stalked the fat man.  With horror, Dramus noticed her emerald blade had somehow found its way into her hand.

“Y
ou’ve served your purpose, you odious excuse for a man,” she hissed, as Colius began to realize what was coming. 

He started
to blabber, trying to produce a coherent thought while he backed away from her. 

“You can’t imagine how hard it was to keep up the charade of being attracted to you, let alone disguising my revulsion at merely sharing the same room with you.”

He came up against Duln and let out a yelp.  Dramus couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  Erick giggled again, and a disgusted-looking Duln shoved the headmaster forward and directly onto Emberlock’s waiting blade.

There was a sucking noise that echoed through the silence.  Dramus could see Colius’s fac
e over the baroness’s shoulder, pale as a ghost, blood roiling from his gaping mouth.  He reached up to lay a hand on her shoulder, and she recoiled, dumping his writhing form to the ground.  The fat man gasped for air with blood-slicked lips, like a fish tossed upon the dock.

She immediately turned to face Dramus, sheathing the blade that now blazed a bright green. 

“You see,” she called, “A slot has just opened for you!”

With that she burst into laughter, stepped over the writhing form of the
headmaster, and left the room.  The four guards who had carried in the device went with her. 

Erick trailed along, but not before giving Colius a kick.  The only people who remained were Dramus’s original guard and Wielder Duln.

Wet, choking sobs echoed.  Dramus felt sick.  He stared as Colius died badly, face frozen in a last gasp for breath.  The man’s eyes were bulging, his hands clenched over a red blossom at his sternum.  The young monk was naïve, but he was learning fast.; he saw his own fate in that of the headmaster.

Wielder Duln stepped toward him and he stiffened.  He didn’t need his gift to tell him that this man wanted him dead.  He couldn’t, for the life of him, see why. 

It seemed irrational; Dramus had never so much as spoken to the man, and yet that one eye shone cold and hard.  The warrior reached up and unlocked his shackles.  Dramus immediately began to rub his throbbing wrists.

Duln placed a hand on the knife at his belt and there was a moment where Dramus feared the warrior would stab him.  Instead, Duln glanced quickly at the other guard and then back to Dramus.

“Get to work,” he said flatly.

With that, he turned and left.

Dramus puffed out a breath in relief.  He glanced at the guard, who stood with his face shadowed by a black helmet.  He then stepped forward and, careful to avoid Colius - or his pool of blood - came to the dais.

He picked up the book, thinking of
Gwyneth suddenly.  Would she understand, he wondered?  Would whatever wraith had possessed Erick possess her as well…or someone in her family?

He took a deep breath, looking at the symbol on the book.  A symbol, he noticed, repeated on the conical device that lay within the black box.  Beneath the symbol, he saw more archaic words.

WARHEAD NV-322  65,000TJ

Fear sliced into his gut, through the layers of shock he’d been experiencing.  The device in the box was powerful enough to level the entire city. 

He looked at the book with dawning realization; it had been no mistake that the manual had come into his possession.  But how?  He picked up the tome, as if trying to find answers from its heft.

“You think that your little lamb’s father found that all by himself?”

Dramus wheeled to see the Erick-that-was-not-Erick had stolen into the chamber and was hovering behind him.  Dramus quickly moved around to the opposite side of the dais.

“Who are you, really
?” he asked.  His eyes were narrowed, and he felt as if all of his muscles were on edge, ready to bolt from whatever this thing that had been his friend.

Erick giggled, “I am a nightmare made real, my little pawn.”

The thing moved around the dais, and Dramus moved to match its speed. 

“I am the doom of the Van Uther line, here to show them the folly of betraying me.  I am the Lord of the Moon come home.”

Dramus stopped, and his eyes widened, “Lord of the Moon…” he breathed.

The Erick-thing let out a guffaw.  “Yes, Dramus Hiltsman, some children’s tales are true.  I am the shade of
Malavarius Drejth, and I’ve come for a reckoning.  With your help, my revenge will bloom and spread its vines to infest the whole of the world.”

Dramus regained his composure, and straightened.

“I won’t help you,” he said, “I’m dead anyway.  I’d rather die with a clear conscience.”  He hoped that he sounded more confident than he felt.

“Don’t be a fool, Dramus,” the thing said
conspiratorially, “I have further use for you.  A man with your gift comes along once in…well, once in several lifetimes, if truth be told.  I won’t allow such an asset to go to waste.”

“So you’d make me a zombie shell, to traipse around in, like you did with Erick?”

Dramus sneered, “No thanks.”

It moved around the dais and this time Dramus held his ground.  The thing draped a lanky arm over his shoulder and waved the other across the room, as if sweeping a grand vista.

“Hardly,” it said.

“Think of it.  The world set before you.  No longer shut in a stone prison to scribble away day after day for
men who grow fat on the fruits of your talent while hating you for it,” it gestured to the corpse of the headmaster.

“In my
empire, there would be room at the top for one such as you.  You could have a hundred girls, each one as pretty as your little Gwyneth, each one more willing.”  The thing smirked lewdly.

“If it’s not girls you’re looking for, gold, gems, magic…it could all be yours, if you just.  Serve.  Me.” 

It leveled a stern glare at Dramus.

“I think you can imagine what I’ll do, not only to you, but to your lady, should you refuse. 

“I won’t kill you,” it said quickly, feeling Dramus stiffen, “Oh no, that would be too simple. 

“
You see, I’ve had a thousand of years to dream up what I would do to those who had crossed me.  I really am eager to try some of my especially sadistic ideas out.”

With that, the Erick-thing disengaged, and whirled around the dais, “Get to work, Dramus.  Time’s a’wastin’.”

It cackled with glee as it swished out of the chamber, its laughter echoing down the corridor.

Dramus stood silently, struggling with himself.  He couldn’t see a way out.  If he failed to activate the device, Drejth would make him and
Gwyneth pay.  He probably wouldn’t stop there.

But, if he made it work, he’d be responsible for annihilating the largest city of the Realm.  Maybe he could find a way to sabotage the whole plan?  He turned around, mindful of the watching guardsman
, and hunched over the device as if to begin working.  He thought about what Drejth had said, and what the baroness had intimated the device was for.

It looked to Dramus like the b
aroness was being duped.  Could he bring it to her attention?  Would it matter? 

He couldn’t put his thoughts in real order.  All he could think about was his love, and what the world would be like for her if he allowed this device to go off.  What would it be if he didn’t?

He went around in circles for a time before he finally cracked open the book and began to work on arming the warhead.  He couldn’t allow Drejth to hurt Gwyneth, and if he survived, perhaps he could work against the wraith in the future. 

He felt weak for thinking that way, as if he were a coward for choosing life, but he started work just the same.

In the shadow of the corridor, Wielder Duln stared at Dramus’s back, fingering the blade of his knife.