The Flame of Wrath (47 page)

             
From the darkness of the stables, Angelos came. He tugged at the length of three long ropes. Wordlessly, he tossed the ends of each rope to his nearest brethren. He moved forward then rose atop his mount. His voice boomed into the air.

             
“Soren, if you're here hiding,” Angelos cried, “then suffer at your own cowardice.”

             
With a curt nod of his head, the Knights launched into the skies. The ropes' slack tightened with a loud throb.

             
Within the stables, the druids knelt. Their arms were pinned tightly to their bodies by a vice-like rope. Their wrists and hands were clasped to mock the act of prayer. Each pair of eyes grew wide as they witnessed the ropes beginning to tighten all the more.

             
“Mother, keep us,” Gabriel breathed shakily.

             
The words had scarcely left his lips before they were lurched forward with a hellish zeal. The disregard for their well-being was felt painfully as they clipped the top of the stable entrance, tearing off the beam forcefully at their impact. Splinters of wood sprayed outward to plead with the spectators for help, but none came. That is, it seemed never to come. One soul stepped forward. His hand reached outward from the shadows of the alley.

             
Gabriel's vision had been veiled by blood. He outstretched his trembling fingers, cursing that his hands were bound. His eyes voiced the pain, the love, the devotion he knew in his heart. “Soren, no,” he mouthed even as the Knights spirited him and the others away.

             
The hand balled into a fist of pain and rage before it shrank back into the shadows.

             
Tearfully, Gabriel looked away as the world he knew grew further and further away from him.

********

              The isolation coming from no contact with the rest of the Pyrosian Empire continued to weigh upon the exhausted soldiers at the front. Rather than continue to lose messengers to Lucidian interference, the Pyrosian army had resorted to using formerly forbidden magical tactics. It was their beliefs that the Empress would forgive their defiance of the law in order to allow communication. After all, some had come to learn that among the temples of Virtue, priests communicated through radiant pools of water. Though the army's dishes were far less grand than those of the church, they served their purpose nonetheless. After employing this new approach, reports again began flooding the palace.

             
The Empress soon came to expect the shallow dishes of water throughout the palace to sound with a gentle whine. Wherever she was, whatever she did, she could not miss the news from the battlefield.

             
Each day, she leaned over the rippling water. She took in the likeness of her messengers with heated eyes. News of her force's victories brought the Empress calm when all around her, fears began to rise. She cleaved to their news even as so many others began to rue the day they had crossed paths with the witches of Lucidia. The wrath of the Ice Queen, as many had come to fearfully refer to her, caused many to plead with Aurea to somehow renew the treaty.

             
Aurea recoiled from the idea of treaties and peace. She was beyond that now. In the beginning, she had set out to give Autumn the world. This had been the dream. Now Autumn was gone but the dream remained. Aurea would have the world because she deserved nothing less. It was hers by birthright.

             
A whine rang out into the evening quiet, waking the Empress from thoughts of grandeur. She ventured to the basin, awaiting tales of further glories in her name. She tapped the dish with a silver hammer before moving to sit within her plush chair. Her legs crossed enticingly as she leaned into her chair. Her head rested contentedly against her throne. She closed the intense beauty of her eyes while awaiting the familiar voice of the messenger.

             
A small bell tolled, warning her that a message was coming. When the voice filled the air, it was indeed familiar, but for a reason which sent her blood running cold.

             
“Empress.”

             
The blond tensed violently. She sat upright staring with disbelieving eyes into the water. “Autumn,” she exhaled softly.

             
Dressed fully in her armor, Autumn danced across the surface of the water. Her strength and beauty caused the Empress to momentarily look away.

             
“What do you want?” Aurea murmured at last.

             
“Send my men home,” Autumn voiced as a softly-spoken demand.

             
Aurea huffed a contemptuous laugh. “Yours are soldiers born, are they not? War is what they live for.” She smiled slowly. “And die for.” She laughed soundlessly into her chest. “Or so your people have often boasted.”

             
“Aurea,” the Queen warned.

             
The Empress turned to face the woman in bronze. She glared into her viciously. “What?” she snapped.

             
“Give the order.”

             
“Or what?”

             
“Or prepare to welcome the Lucidians to your door.”

             
Aurea arched her brow. “You're bluffing.”

             
Autumn lifted both hands to her head. She slowly removed her helmet. With its removal, the expression of her face was clearly seen. Her graying eyes were unwavering.

             
The Empress gripped more fiercely to her throne. Her shoulders tensed before she released a slow breath. “The soldiers now on reserve will be returning to active duty soon. When those soldiers arrive, you may send the exact number of soldiers home.”

             
Nodding, Autumn silently agreed.

             
“There is another condition,” Aurea added.

             
Autumn's eyes locked with the blonde’s mercilessly.

             
“You do not leave until your final division is set to depart.”

             
“Are you so eager to see me dead?” Autumn asked coolly.

             
The Empress felt those words like a cold wind to her face. Her stomach knotted savagely. “Then you do not accept my terms?” she asked hoarsely.

             
“No,” Autumn argued. “I accept.”

             
“And how do I know that you will keep your end of the bargain,” the Empress whispered. She winced, spitting her venom before she had realized its potency.

             
“Because,” Autumn countered sadly, “I was never the one to lie.”  She stared pointed into Aurea's eyes before rising to leave.

             
The Empress' chest heaved wildly as she suddenly fought to breathe. Angrily, she splashed her hand against the surface of the water, ridding herself of the enchanted images.

********

              Within the ruler of Pyros there existed the greatest capacity for obsession. No one thing proved this more than Autumn of Angels.

             
It had been weeks since Aurea had heard the tragic sweetness of Autumn's voice, weeks since they had struck their bitter bargain. Still the Empress found herself stirred by thoughts of Autumn's war-flushed face.

             
Aurea heard the distant tolling of bells sounding the late afternoon hour. She rose from behind her desk silently. As she walked around its edge, she thought to the news she would surely receive by tomorrow's end.

             
Autumn and the last of her men were finally departing for home.

             
It was only a matter of time now before she heard those words spoken. She would both, rejoice in their existence and recoil from them as well.

             
Aurea crossed the great distance of her library. Her hands reached out to possessively grip the doorknobs in her hands. She held them as her eyes stared unseeingly to her hands.

             
Was all she had planned for ready, she wondered.

             
Autumn was a baneful reminder of Aurea's opposition. The Queen's return to Angels would mean a return to hopeful resistance from those who had supported her father.

             
The Empress clasped more fiercely to the doors. “I must eliminate them before she can interfere,” she whispered.

             
She pushed open the doors. As she moved through the halls, she hurried toward the stables where she knew her horse would be awaiting her departure.

             
As she reached the royal stables, a curious gaze fell upon the blond expectantly awaiting her just outside the stables.

             
Maven sat patiently atop her mount. “Empress,” she greeted softly.

             
Aurea nodded curtly in greeting. There was no time to argue Maven's presence. Frankly, Maven had become a constant she had come to rely upon. A quick-met gaze granted the captivating blond permission to join her.

             
Together, they departed from the palace grounds. As they descended upon a protected road from the royal mountain, a convergence of guards engulfed them. Aurea hastened their pace, now confident in her protection from righteous assassins.

             
The caravan rode for hours. They passed through treacherous terrain, hearing the loud crumbling of earth beneath their horses' hooves. Still, Aurea led the way down steep embankments and up along a staggering rise. When the dangers along their course evened out, it was to a hidden ravine. With a weakly trickling brook underfoot, the horses followed the water to its mouth.

             
Long ago the side of this mountain had sunken into itself, leaving little more than a pursed mouth. All along the wall of massive boulders and earth, patient waters wound their way down as mournful tears. When at last the waters reached the ground, it snaked down the path as little more than a winding creek. Yet it was not the brook which held Aurea's eyes transfixed. It was the daunting cave.

             
The ominous aura emanating from its mouth warned outsiders not to step any closer. It spoke in howling whispers of the horrors which awaited any who were foolish enough to enter.

             
Aurea lifted her head to scour the horizon. Her lancing eyes made certain that she and her team had not been followed. Once she was self-assured, she fearlessly led the way into the mountainside's dark heart.

********

              The greatest of mankind's atrocities were birthed of dreams. Those dreams may come from a distorted nightmarish mind, but it is from one's vision which they must be born. Let it be said that Aurea's nightmare was that of towering darkness. It was a place where a frightened child felt dwarfed by things beyond her control. She created that world for those she hated in the form of a hollowed mountain.

             
In its very heart, a prison breathed in tragic existence. Along the walls, various smiths worked at creating weapons for the war, or horrible devices meant to torture both, Lucidians and Pyrosians. To Aurea, it did not matter which as long as she possessed what she sought after the object had been implemented. However, it was what dwelt within the very center of the stone floor which gave the place its haunting air.

             
A massive circular pit was home to darkness and mournful sobs. The little light provided was from the torches and lanterns above as the smith's toiled. Its nature was as hard and uncaring as the stone from which it had been carved. It remained dank, offering up no comfort regardless of how small.

             
Inside this gaping pit, desolate druids fought their hunger. They fought their pains and their cold with little more than their dwindling faith.

             
Creating the watchful halo around the pit were grotesquely beautiful gargoyles. The Knights of Virtue towered over the druids ominously. They glinted in the torch-light. To the druids below, they wondered how visions of such seeming innocence and beauty could succeed in being so incredibly putrid and vile. They were responsible for so many deaths. How was it that their garments of white and gold could remain so pristine with so much blood on their hands?

             
One Knight removed his golden helmet. His dark hair fell over his armored shoulders. The intensity of his eyes matched the dark fullness of his beard. His square face was hardened by duty and his duty was to serve the Empress. Whatever beliefs he may have harbored had long since grown silent.

             
Angelos nodded his head. He watched silently as a new batch of prisoners, from another internment camp, was thrown down into the pits with their brothers.

             
Gabriel weakly opened his eyes. He searched around him, amazed at what he saw. So many druids had been cut down by the sword. And yet, to his disbelieving eyes, he was witnessing that their numbers ---though greatly diminished--- had not entirely succumb to murder. Some had managed to elude death only to find themselves here in this prison, the final destination to all captured druids. That is, the final destination before the ultimate one of death.