The Flame of Wrath (54 page)

             
“How many?” Autumn asked in a whisper.

             
“They are five thousand strong,” Zahara answered.

             
“Plus the Holy Six who lead them,” Echo chimed. “And each of them is their own army.”

             
“When do they attack?” Autumn asked.

             
“At dawn,” Myth answered.

             
Autumn uncoiled from the ground. She stood then began to pace while quietly contemplating the odds. She thought back to the men she had lost during the war. With their absence, their numbers were but a mere thousand. She remembered her men fondly. Each one of them had been a soldier she would have entrusted her life to. Indeed as the events played out, she realized that that was precisely what she was going to have to do now. Both, her life and the life of her child were going to depend upon the men who remained.

             
As she continued to pace, her every step was followed. The soldiers looking to her awaited their orders.

              Inspiration came as the clearing of stormy eyes. Autumn stopped then gazed over her shoulder to Soren. Something inside his trusting gaze gave life to the beginnings of a plan.

The druids
, she thought,
were about to be reborn.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Two hearts. One body. They are bathed in Sacred Fires. They will burn as the guiding torch for others to follow. They are warmth when the world is cold.

----The Book of Wrath

********

             
The moon reigned over the silent night. She had become a shining deity of gracious beauty. In all her glory, no ruler was ever so gentle or so loving. Yet, the splendor of her rule was nothing more than an illusion.

             
No amount of radiant stars nor gentle breezes could distract from the fact that all within the province of Angels felt the unmistakable grip of something ominous. It wafted in the air as a tangible element of choking force. All trembled beneath its weight. Shakily, they anticipated what horrors might soon be visited upon them. It was under this might that each restless soul fought only to be rewarded by nightmarish sleep.

********

              The Land of Eternal Flame was sheathed beneath the protective veil of night's blanket. That covering was drawn away by time's steady hand.

             
Wake, world. See what waits for you on this new day.

             
The new day tentatively took its first steps as a multitude of colors marking across the sky. Their soft colors bled together in a longing for completion. Each hue was of such gentle paleness that they rolled from first one shade into the next subtly.

             
Along the gracious beauty of Angels, a heavy fog blurred the lines between what was and what sleep-filled eyes might dream.

********

              At the very instant of dawn's arrival, the rolling Lucidian horizon held its breath tentatively. Long shadows fell over the untouched smoothness of new-fallen snow. Meekly, those shadows shrank away from the Pyrosians who menacingly advanced with the approach of the sun.

             
The banners of war were held triumphantly higher. As they clapped loudly in the winds, Whispering Winds' general gave the order. He powerfully motioned with his hand, commanding his troops forward. “The Lucidians are retreating!” he cried. “Drive them back into their cursed sea!”

********

“Vessel?”

“
Shh, listen.”

********

             
Majestic warhorses topped the proud hills. Their hot breaths collided against the cold air to create a demonic smoke near their mouths. Their hooves stamped the ground in a threatening drum, warning those below that they were coming. Upon their armored backs, the horses carried the golden generals of the Imperial army. Together they possessed a blaze like the sun. Though its light was bright and seemingly pure, to look upon it was like looking directly into the sun. The vision was a painful thing best avoided for the sake of one's own sight. 

             
At the generals' backs, a powerful army thunderously crossed the depths of the valley in allegiant pursuit.

             
Whispering Winds' general suddenly stopped. He felt the color drain from his face. Through his helmet's mask, his eyes reflected the horrors spread out before him.

             
Poised in readiness
within the lee of the hill, the Lucidians waited as a sleeping beast. They thrived with a newfound might. Their fathomless numbers flooded the horizon in a sparkling array of silver and purple.

              Suddenly the beast awoke. Their unified cheers rose as a mighty roar. With a violent lurch, the army surged forward. Vengeance thrived inside their faces as the Lucidian attack began.

             
“Virtue save us,” the General prayed hoarsely with the snarling faces of thousands reflecting inside his eyes.

********

              The Knights of Virtue traversed the Province of Angels from the omnipotent heights of the clouds. To the watchful eyes below, they were as scavengers circling above in the hopes of stealing from the weak. Their shadows swept across the land, bringing with them a distinctive shiver. Their eyes scoured the countryside for anything amiss.

             
What could they have been searching for? The entire province had bunkered down in their homes or in hastily-made shelters while others sought refuge inside the Virtuous churches. It was all done in an attempt to wait out the storm of war.

             
Did the Knights expect to see the advancing rebellion? Surely the rebels would not be so foolish as to take on the Imperial army? Then again if they did come, it would only mean their destruction along with the province. The Knights had their orders. The land was meant to burn with the intensity of the sins committed against the Empress and against Virtue, itself.

             
Only when the Knights felt confident that it was safe to join the others did they descended from above. They lowered to the ground where their generals awaited their orders.

             
The Imperial army was too far to take notice of a tiny rustling sound inside the seemingly deserted streets below. It was the small sound of a rock panel being returned to its home as the last few refugees stole away into the labyrinthine darkness running beneath the province. In a last attempt at salvation, they were using the tunnels to escape before the civil war could claim them.

********

              Angelos stared down into the province from the very same vantage which he had known so many times before. He took in his beautiful childhood home, the home of his ancestors, while detachment pulled at his being.

             
If he had cared for the histories his sister cherished, he might have known about the tunnels. He might have been able to discover the means of safe passage for the rebellion thereby dealing the rebellion a mighty blow, but he was not a studious man. He cared nothing for the past, only his future and ensuring his place within it.

             
This would be the last time,
he told himself.
After this battle, there would be nothing left. Nothing. Angels would be a dream....  His father's forgotten dream. 

             
The King donned his golden helmet. The transformation took him. He was again Aurea's most trusted Enforcer. His only loyalties were to the Empress and his own life.

             
Angelos lifted his sword to the sky, inspiring his men to the ready. His lips parted to release the command when movement caught his eye. 

             
Through the denseness of the fog, a shadow began to take shape.

             
A sole voice began to sing her haunting song. From the wistful realms of dreams, her voice knew its most commanding strength. It wrapped around the soul, speaking to it with intimate whispers. All were victim to its spellbound beauty.

             
Angelos shivered within his armor. Once, that voice had commanded their people to many victories. He blinked hard, struggling to make sense of it.

             
No
, he told himself.
It was a trick.
His mother was dead. And yet, he heard her song. He heard the war chant spurring the ghosts of the past to rise up in defense of Angels.

             
The shadow remained just within the blanket of obscurity, but it was close enough so that the enticing line of a woman could be seen.

             
From within the swirling fog, more voices came. They joined the ethereal siren in a chanted song as primordial as the very act of war. Voice by voice, their collective strength grew. And as it did, the very earth began to tremble.

********

“What do you hear, Vessel?”

“
The beginning.”

“
Of what?”

“The end.”

********

             
The lavender-gray of swirling fog offered up but a solitary gift. It birthed a figure anointed in bronze armor. She stood with unwavering firmness against the might of the Imperial army. The dark waves of her hair caught in the wind. Long thick strands played across her bewitching face but never concealed the beautiful slate-blue of her eyes.

             
Autumn drew her swords with a force that ripped at the air. She pointed her father's blade with no uncertain terms to her traitorous brother.

********

              The most powerful women in all of Lucidia walked with a confident sway. The wintry world around them bowed to their glories. The sun sent its light kneeling at their feet. The wind caressed them lovingly. The fluffy drifts of snow cleared away respectfully to reveal a long narrow carpet of green. They followed its winding path, forever observant of the small child who ran before them.

             
Vessel's flowing black hair danced merrily in the winds. Her magical blue eyes glinted like the icicles dangling from the trees. She wielded a big stick inside her tiny hand. With swiping motions against imaginary foes, she spoke. “I am coming for you, brother,” she said, her small voice doing its best to muster a booming strength. “I am coming for you and I will not stop until you are kneeling before our ancestors in judgment!”

********

              Clenching his teeth, Angelos could feel the eyes of all others upon him. He might have known. Only his sister could have personified their mother so precisely. After all, it was Autumn who embodied the hopes of both their parents.

             
The dark-haired King cleaved to his resentments, to his jealousies, knowing that he would need their bitterness to perform the acts he must.

             
Kill Soren and the abomination, he remembered.

             
The last act joining the siblings came as the sound of their voices crying out their growled commands. Theirs was a morbid harmony. It would be their final tie as together they spurred on the battle of ages.

             
Glories of the past and promises of the present would each lock heatedly together in a clash to determine the nature of a fledgling future.

             
“Long live the Empress!” raged powerfully against the furious cry, “The Dragon is with us!”

********

              With a forest of ancient trees looming proudly around her, Vessel pointed her stick into the air. Her body defied its young size. She was suddenly tall and proud. She was wise and courageous.

             
Imaginary sword in hand, she let loose a ferocious cry.  She raced forward, leading the charge for her envisioned army.

********

              A mighty clapping of wings beat back the air as if it were a foe. The birds of prey let loose furious screeches then zealously took to the skies. 

             
The Knights ruled the skies as wrathful lords. It was from these heights that they would send their mighty fury to rain down upon their enemies. In their wake, the Imperial army began their charge forward.

             
Across the broad battlefield, Autumn alone moved into action. She drew in a deep breath then released it in a controlled current of copious smoke.

             
It fanned wildly across the plane. From the tendrils of smoke, forms began to take shape. The snarling faces of dragons' heads sprang out from their wispy ends. The vaporous phantoms snapped at the horizon.

             
Soundlessly, Autumn stepped backward into the haven of her child's breath.

             
Peering down into the thickness, the Knights glowered. Nothing could be seen within the accursed fog.

             
Angelos drew back at the reins, guiding his mount in the direction of his soldiers. He swooped down within earshot of his archers. “Burn off the fog,” he commanded savagely.

             
A great wall of archers drew back their strings. Together, they sent brutality's shooting stars streaking across the sky. The blazing arrows thrust into the murky field, hoping to shed some light. Much to their horror, the flames were swallowed up.

             
“Again!” Angelos shouted. “Again!”

             
A series of chants spoken in perfect unison were lowly voiced from within the smoke. When the merciless onslaught showered down upon the rebellion again, the arrows were repelled by an inexplicable force. One by one, they ricocheted sharply off the protective barrier.

             
The archers lowered their weapons slightly. Disbelief washed over their faces collectively. Nothing could withstand their arrows. It was impossible. “Magic,” they gasped fearfully.

             
Angelos chomped his teeth together. He grit them with a bestial flush rising inside his cheeks. His fisted hand motioned his men forward. “Into the fog,” he bellowed. He glared hatefully to his Knights.  “Everyone into the fog!” he ordered pointedly. The Knights would be no exception.