Villains (18 page)

Chapter 4

Valtor waited by the tree line for the others. They appeared over the rocks, holding the girl by the arms and dragging her across the mud. She was pretty in the daylight, but dull. Her dark yellow dress was stained with mud and limp strands of blonde hair hung around her in varying shades. Unlike the other fair maidens they found, she was sodden.

“They did us a favor, binding her hands,” Delotha said as he pushed her to her knees. She bowed her head, and closed her eyes so they couldn’t see the Flames’ fire in them. Valtor didn’t know why she’d try to hide, she’d already been outed.

Lorac reached them, Azdrach falling behind. “Get the lantern out, we need to transport before the villagers come.” He stood tall above Delotha and gave him a hard look.

Delotha rummaged through the inner folds of his cloak but his eyes widened. “I—” He reached deeper into the pocket, hung his head and swore under his breath. “I must have dropped it somewhere.”

Valtor smirked.

“Primitive!” Lorac screeched. Azdrach sunk to his knees and shook his head in frustration.

“Lle nava, lle nava callee, lle nava callee vee dunn dunn, vee dunn dunn.” The incoherent mass of incantations passed by his lips without intent and Azdrach shook his head. Valtor sized up the girl. She was peculiar, different from the others, harder. She didn’t play games the way they others did. Maybe she thought she was being saved from whatever the villagers were planning.

Valtor wanted a victory. He was sick of Azdrach and the rest of them; he could have resurrected Crestaos on his own. He relished the thought of the challenge, knowing Crestaos would be happy to rise to the occasion and smite out anything in his way. Despite Lorac’s earlier fear, they found the Flame on Terra, and the Ferryman was no match for Crestaos. He would fall.

Lorac turned and turned in circles, then stopped and growled at the air. Delotha and Azdrach’s faces drained of color as he squared his shoulders and stretched his neck out. He held his hands up in front of him and closed his eyes. The energy formed from the base of his feet, spiraling upwards as though Lorac was a conduit. Lorac looked like he was in pain, the tips of his fingers cramping as he pulled at the fabric of reality and ripped it apart, creating a small vortex. He gasped and fell onto his knees coughing. “Get the girl through, we have no time to look for the lantern.” He shot a disgusted glare at Delotha as the burly elven pushed the girl through the gaping hole and followed. Valtor gracefully stepped through.

They emerged in the caverns of Angrenoth, not far from the fortress. The girl let out a cry as she landed. The caverns weren’t known for light, but pools of water glowed and created an artificial dim greenness. Valtor squinted in the dark and tried to assess their location. He stalked in a direction behind the rest of them while Azdrach and Delotha pulled the girl to her feet and pushed her through the tunnels.

There was tension between them but as they walked in silence none of them spoke. Valtor thought about the fight at the beach, what the Ferryman said to him. He would deliver the message to Crestaos, he wanted to savor the moment. There was something different about this Ferryman, something darker. His blood ran black, it wasn’t a good sign.

When they broke the surface, a faint light shone in the distance from the far away sun. The land was curving towards nighttime and as they approached the fortress from the backside Valtor heard the rumble of feet. Valtor exchanged a warning glance with Lorac as they neared the back entrance and slipped into the stony halls of the Angrenoth fortress. They wound through the hallways, passed the galley, continued up the stairs and emerged in the hall.

Crestaos turned from the top of the grand staircase, and scowled at the lot of them. Delotha pushed the girl to the ground and her face planted into the hard rock.

Crestaos stared at the girl with disdain. He turned from the sound of growling and howling outside and took a look at the precious gem in front of him. “You brought me another one.” He didn’t sound as happy as Valtor wanted him to sound. He crouched at her side and pulled her blonde locks away from her face. “Is this the one you sought?”

“She’s the only one on Terra,” Valtor explained. He bowed diplomatically and approached both Crestaos and the girl. He smiled wide as the ancient lord rose to his feet and stared at him with cold white eyes. Valtor noticed Crestaos’s fists covered with scaly claws. He was in flux of transforming.

“Will you take the honor?” Crestaos asked.

Valtor bowed again his eyes never leaving Crestaos. He drew back and stood stiff as a board. “I will not, however, I was confronted with a challenge.”

Crestaos stared at him, bloodlust dotting his eyes, the Flame insatiable now she was next to him. Valtor felt little pin pricks of wrongness with this one, and the lack of purity made him want for answers.

“A challenge for whom?” Crestaos asked, his eyes tight.

“You.”

Crestaos twitched his lips up in mock humor. “Go on,” he urged.

“The Ferryman,” Valtor began.

Lorac let out a protested snarl of disgust. He pulled out his sword and lunged towards Valtor with precision. Valtor was swift, and Crestaos was even quicker. The ancient lord stepped forward and grasped Lorac by the neck in a vice grip, causing Lorac to choke. He took a shallow breath not realizing the talons for hands Crestaos was sporting. The Valtanyana’s eyes bore into Lorac’s. Valtor knew what this was about, why Lorac hated Ferrymen of all sorts. Lorac encountered a Valkyrie before, Orli Oroshole of Nazole. Her fierce warrior-like qualities and intelligence made Lorac respect her authority, but she brought death, she brought Vultures. If the King of Nazole had seen it … Crestaos thrust him away. He stood over Lorac who was now sprawled over the body of the exhausted girl. “Valtor will rule the Daed from this point forward.” Crestaos snarled.

Lorac rolled away from the girl, panting and clutching his throat. He seemed frustrated as Delotha and Azdrach backed into the hallway, even his own warriors would no longer follow him. He was nothing but a coward.

Crestaos turned to Valtor with a lethal gleam in his eye. “What does the Ferryman want?”

Valtor licked his lips in silent victory and cleared his throat. “He wants to kill you.” He laughed out loud the moment he said it and stopped when he spotted Lorac slinking into the shadows.

“Why does he want this?”

Valtor felt pride, despite what he knew. “He seeks the Flames.”

Crestaos let out a roar and Valtor watched scales crawl up his skin. Tiny horns protruded from his ashen skin as he narrowed his eyes and grabbed Valtor by the throat. “And you accepted the challenged?” He hissed, a hint of brimstone hitting Valtor. The new leader of the Daed smiled devilishly and Crestaos let him go.

Valtor smoothed out the collar of his cloak and sighed. “I wouldn’t let you down.”

The Flames were safely tucked away in their orbs, hiding in the locked chambers of the cabinet. Turon paced. He wanted to touch her again, hold the Iolite Flame in his hand, the Flame of Death. The energetic pulse coursing through him the first time he held her made her lust after her. He kept his head down as the others murmured about the dangers in the Lands of Men.

“And what we came upon was the Citrine Flame,” Delotha explained. He glanced around at the others, Lorac, Hortis, Azdrach and Turon surrounded him.

Turon stopped pacing and his eyes snapped to meet his. “The Citrine Flame?” His heart sunk as he frantically opened the cabinet and pulled out the long scrolls of maps. Incomplete tracings of the Lands Across the Stars. He shuffled them around on the table and groaned out loud.

“Aye, she wasn’t easily acquired,” Delotha grunted.

Turon stared at him. “She was on Terra?” Fear clogged his throat.

Delotha nodded.

Lorac glared at Turon. “He didn’t trust my judgment. He wanted to follow the boy and like sheep you all listened to him.” His eyes moved to the others, the two injured ones and the others holding onto sanity by threads. Turon heard second hand about the business with Valtor, but their new leader didn’t feel like showing up for this meeting.

“He was right,” Azdrach sneered.

“I turned you from scum into something honorable, and because of that … abomination we serve, you’ll follow Valtor?”

Azdrach stood his ground, a dram of necra powder rushing through his veins, the poison holding. “Valtor found the Flame,” he said evenly. Lorac heaved in fits of anger, threatening to lash out. “And he confirmed my thoughts that a Ferryman was present.”

“Traitor!” Lorac screamed as he left. Turon placed a hand on his arm.

“You didn’t make me who I am, Lorac. You made me remember it,” Turon said, his voice cold.

Lorac wrenched his arm from Turon’s grip, muttering something incomprehensible as he left. When he was gone, Hortis shrunk away to the corner of the room, sinking to the ground.

“Valtor will want to know how to best torture her for information,” Turon said when Lorac was out of earshot.

“You believe he’s better than Lorac?”

Turon shrugged. “I don’t care who’s better than who. What bothers me is this Flame. Sallas is in the Lands of Immortals. Terra is impossible to travel to from there.” He tipped the measuring instrument and showed Delotha and Hortis just how impossible it was. The Lands of Immortals were completely hidden from the Lands of Men, impossible was an understatement. He took a deep breath. “I think we need to proceed with caution.”

“Turon?”

“Hortis will work well. Have you recovered?”

“Aye,” Hortis squeaked. “What do you need me for?”

“Another test with the Flame,” Turon said. The last tests hadn’t gone well; Turon spent hours using him as a guinea pig. The explosions they learned how to cause were easy to induce, even without carrying two of them, it was like instant magic; magic without incantations or tools or ingredients. The sheer ease of it made Turon lick his lips. They knew nothing about the Citrine Flame, and they were clear, she was in a body. He wouldn’t be able to feel her power encompassing him. It made him wary.

“You want me to torture her?” Hortis asked meekly.

“Aye, we will consult with Valtor first.” He was satisfied Lorac was given his rightful place within the hierarchy of the brethren. With Hortis and Azdrach near to incapacitated, and Delotha as smart as moss, it was clear the Daed needed to preserve their strength and give power to those who could endeavor to keep the Valtanyana lord content and keep the rest of them alive. He moved to Hortis and pulled him up. He planned on leading him back to his room so he could sleep, the apprentice couldn’t stay in the place of arms at night forever. There was another cot in his quarters, he would keep him there.

“Turon?” Delotha asked, looking pale in the face.

Turon flexed his eyebrows as a gesture for Delotha to continue. Delotha cleared his throat. “How important was the lantern?”

Turon froze. “It was the only of its kind. I created it myself.”

Delotha swayed on his heels as Turon rounded the table and grabbed the burly elven by the collar. “What about it?”

Delotha blinked. “I—” he stuttered.

Turon threw him against the wall his eyes blazing with anger. “What did you do to it?”

Delotha closed his eyes and waited for the blow. “I lost it.”

Turon let go, smoothing out his robes and then, without warning he turned and landed a right hook to the Delotha’s jaw. “It was the only one!”

Delotha backed to the door rubbing his jaw. “I know.” He fled the room.

Turon let out another cry of rage as he shoved the maps onto the floor. He laced his fingers together and pressed his palms against the back of his head. “So much failure,” he grumbled as he turned and turned. The prospect of sleep was gone. He’d spend the night awake devising a new way to travel through the Lands. It was hard enough with the gateways closed, without the lantern, they would have to rely on Crestaos to get them through the rifts.

He pressed his forehead against the edge of the table and took a deep breath. “Hortis?”

“I’m still here.”

“We have more work to do.”

Her eyes flashed a golden brown as they chained her up against the wall and removed the gag. Whispers fell from her mouth, but they didn’t speak as they left her in the catacombs. The little cage was full of the putrid smell of death and the girl stopped. Laurelin felt them there, the others, and she narrowed her eyes at the treachery. She kept her eyes open as she refused to let sleep take her, no matter how hard it was begging her to let go.

Hours passed and there was a light plunk of a step on the stairs. Her elongated ears perked up as she listened for more sounds. Hesitant steps clambered towards her, slow, but fearful. She twisted her lips into a smile and began chanting under her breath. She caught sight of a torch. The fire made her beam. She reveled in the moments her prey came to find her, the damsel in distress.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” the young Daed whispered.

“Aye, you won’t be harmed,” another Daed responded. It sounded like he pushed the young Daed forward and retreated into the stairwell. There was a low rumble of a laugh echoing through the walls. She felt the one that chained her up standing in the stairwell watching the young apprentice.

Laurelin hung her head to hide her eyes and waited. Their footsteps tread along the ground carefully. There was a clatter at the bars and a jangle of keys. The girl pressed her lips together but the words circled her mind, etched into the fabric of her being, she would never forget the incantation.

“C-can you hear me?” the young Daed stuttered as he swung the iron gate out of the way. It creaked on its hinges as it moved and the girl hunched her knees to her chest. “You shouldn’t be afraid.”

Laurelin smiled to herself. She wasn’t the least bit afraid of him; he seemed weak, careful, unskilled. She threw her head back against the cobblestone wall and let the Flame’s fire fill every part of her.

The young Daed stepped left, and she noticed his eyes. Blind. This was merely a preliminary game, to see what tricks the Flame had up her sleeve. If she was anything like … Shezeel, there was danger another of their faction could be lost. She read the young one like an open book, stealing a glance at the staircase, at the leader watching.