Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (32 page)

Eyes other than Barden’s regarded him. The waitstaff and soldiers alike, alive and happy just an hour ago, now bore frozen expressions of accusation, mutely blaming him for his part in choosing this place and thus bringing their end to pass.

Heat flushed through Kinsey’s body. Sorrow and loss vied with rage, and a hunger for vengeance surged within him. People he cared for were dead. Good people. Above that, the
one
person he was duty bound to protect above all others was gone. Taken.

He began to turn from the bar, the need to hunt and kill the invaders driving his feet. Before he took two steps, the room blurred before him and he stumbled along the bar. He knocked stools aside until one tangled between his legs and sent him to the ground with a crash. Pain burned through the length of his body, making his muscles quiver and limiting his breath to sharp gasps.
What’s happening to me?

The call of a Pelosian horn sounded from the outside, cutting through the fog of pain that clouded his thought.
The princess has been taken
, his mind screamed.

Kinsey grimaced in pain. He knew it already, but the call of the horn seemed to cement the knowledge. He staggered to one knee and clutched with a grasping hand at the top of the bar before a fresh surge of fiery agony sent him once again to the floor. His last thought was to tell someone what had happened, but the searing pain that coursed through him prevented even that hope from escaping his lips.

Thought fled him, and he lay twisting amongst the fallen furniture, unable to move.

Erik looked away from the bloody corpse.

“You disapprove?” Bale stepped from the body, wiping hands and blade with a corner of ragged cloth cut from the unfortunate Wildman’s ratty trousers.

“Does it matter what I think?”

Bale chuckled mirthlessly. “No, not really.”

Erik thought as much. The Pelosian hated him. Hated anything elven, for that matter, and he had few compunctions about showing it either. Erik had kept a close eye on the man since leaving Pelos, watching for unprovoked attacks. Thus far he had suffered only glaring looks and tasteless jibes, but upon laying eyes on Bale’s “work,” he would be certain to never relax his guard around the man.

“Did you learn anything?” Rouke asked as he knelt beside the deceased Wildman and picked through his meager things.

Bale sheathed his knife, crossed his arms, and leaned against the same winewood that had held his prisoner fast during torture. He looked down at Rouke with equanimity. “I know why they cross our borders.” He gave the body a slight kick as he spoke. Rouke looked up from his rummaging.

Erik turned to face the Pelosian. “Why would that be?”

“And why,” the big man smirked, “would I tell the likes of
you
?”

Rouke jumped to his feet, anger suffusing his usually patient features. “Enough! You worthless, piece of maggot sh—”

“Rouke!” Erik stepped forward. “Let it go. We’ll find out soon enough.”

Bale continued, his distasteful grin still in place, “You may… Shit always rolls downhill. Eventually.”

Rouke’s eye twitched. It always did just before he proceeded to pummel someone senseless.

“Let us go.” Erik took hold of Rouke’s shoulder. “We are needed elsewhere.”

Bale remained leaning against the tree. “Yes, run along now.” His hand waved dismissively.

Erik squeezed Rouke’s shoulder to get the man’s attention.
First Kinsey
, he thought,
and now Rouke
. He had definitely gained plenty of experience in dealing with other people’s anger as of late. This situation was hardly different from any other dogfight he had broken up in the past few months. He spoke firmly in an echo of his thoughts, “Now, Rouke.”

Grudgingly, Rouke walked away from the smirking captain.

Stepping carefully, they made their way through the small encampment that housed both Basinian and Pelosian soldiers. The Ice Lake storm had been strong enough to put a thin layer of slush on the ground. Tent cords and the occasional makeshift laundry line threatened the unwary foot. This late, the only unlucky souls were those unfortunate enough to have drawn guard duty. Erik could see them, posted in orderly, predictable distances along the perimeter of the camp, shuffling and stamping against the cold and weariness.

Rouke’s breath trailed behind in a moon-silvered cloud that dispersed in the harsh wind as he walked. “Ya can’t be so unaffected by his words.” He shook his head. “Ya just can’t be.”

“He is beneath my consideration, as he should be beneath yours.”

Rouke snorted. “Must be an elven thing, because I can just see my hands chokin’ the life out of ’im.” His hands went up to mimic a strangling gesture.

Erik laughed. “That may be so.”

In order to group their entire force together, they had to take over a field the townspeople had cleared to house the various livestock that was occasionally brought here for trade days. The clearing was situated on a flat portion of the upper bank and overlooked the town.

Nestled between the banks of the Tanglevine and the edge of the Winewood, the town of Riverwood possessed thriving trades in both fishing and lumber. The twin businesses had caused the town to grow beyond its humble beginnings as a wayport, feeding trade routes between the human cities, into a destination unto itself. Structures spotted the landscape between creeks and trees that disappeared into the woods up and downstream. In contrast, Rapid’s Rest had been built during the founding, so its surrounding geography was densely packed with buildings that housed shops, grocers, granaries, and the like.

Minutes passed as the pair walked and eventually came within sight of the inn. Rouke looked over at Erik as they approached. “So you reckon he’ll tell the princess what he knows?”

“I believe he has to. But even if I am wrong, Bale will have to reveal what he’s found to someone of authority once we reach the Citadel. Then we will have our answer.”

Erik could make out the large, angular silhouettes of Rapid’s Rest and the smoke that trailed from the many chimneys atop the tavern and its neighboring buildings. As he approached the rear of the inn, he sensed something was wrong. He stopped and quickly scanned the back and sides of the building. The sentries he had posted at the entrances were no longer in sight. Rouke hadn’t noticed yet, but laying a hand on the soldier’s forearm, he whispered. “The guards are missing.”

Rouke immediately crouched and placed his hand on his sword hilt, his head swiveling in search of threats.

“Go back and tell Bale. Bring everyone up to the tavern.”

Without a word, Rouke turned and ran back to the campsite.

Erik began to run, light-footed, into town and drew his two short swords. They were thin, maybe two fingers in width at their widest point. The blades were decorated with embossed images of intertwining honeysuckle vines being harvested by hovering hummingbirds. The winewood hilts were wrapped in leather and long for such short blades; he could easily fit two hands on each if necessary. Heirlooms left by family he had never known, the swords possessed an edge that would remain forever sharp. Not once had he used a stone on the pristine blades.

Gaining the alley on the eastern side of the tavern, Erik slowed to a careful creep. There was still no sign of the guards, but several ropes that had not been there earlier in the evening dangled from upper windows. He kept an eye upward as he moved through the alley to the front of the inn. The whicker of horses and clinking of metal could be heard before he reached the thoroughfare. Carefully, he peeked around the corner.

A large, open-topped wagon waited at the entrance of Rapid’s Rest. Dust obscured a second wagon that was already disappearing into the darkness in the distance. The two powerful workhorses of the waiting cart pawed at the ground and shook their manes as if anxious to catch up to the pair that had already made their escape. Covered in studded leather and a heavy cloak, the driver craned his neck to look at the tavern entrance. The lower part of his face was covered by black cloth, but his breath puffed before dissipating in the night air. Three masked figures hurried out of Rapid’s Rest carrying a fourth. The naked, unconscious form of Princess Sloane dangled from the hands of the shady group as they rushed to the wagon.

Biting back an oath Kinsey often employed, Erik darted from his hiding place. He had to kill or disable at least two of them immediately, lest they overwhelm him and add his own corpse to the pile of bodies he was sure to find within the tavern. He ran low and was almost upon the trio as they wrapped the naked flesh of the princess in a burlap sack and hurled her onto the bed of the wagon. The driver looked up from their work and stared with wide eyes.

“Look out!” the masked driver screamed, but it was too late.

Erik’s blade took the first rogue in the neck, cleanly loosening the head from the shoulders. The second kidnapper attempted to jerk back, but his action came too slow and the hard steel of Erik’s second blade bit into the man’s face. The sword cleaved through the facial bones into the skull, dropping him to the dirt with a cry. Erik spun to pierce the heart of the third but came up short.

Princess Sloane’s last abductor had abandoned his fellows, scrambling into the bed of the wagon. He held a knife to the throat of the unconscious woman. “Keep your distance. Or I cut her!”

Erik lowered his blood-stained swords, breathing heavily.
So close
, he thought.

The masked rogue pounded the wagon driver’s seat, startling the man out of his gaping stare. “Get us outta here!”

Yelling, the man cracked his whip above the horses’ heads, spurring them into motion. The wagon lurched violently against the hand brake that had been applied to the front wheel.

Erik tensed, sensing a possible opening.

The kidnapper pressed his knife into the princess’s exposed flesh, dimpling the skin. A bead of blood rose, black in the moonlight. “Back!” he cried, his breath fluttering the cloth of his mask.

Erik held both hands before him and raised his fingers from the hilt of the weapons placatingly.

The wagon driver cursed and released the brake. The wagon lurched violently and carried the wagon down the road in a loud rush of air and dirt.

Erik’s heart seized in his breast as the lurch of the carriage almost caused the rogue’s knife to plunge into Sloane’s throat.

The kidnapper just managed to pull the blade back enough to allow for the motion of the cart, only to hold it threateningly once more as they began to pull away.

Erik took slow, deep breaths, preparing himself to follow. If he could keep within a few miles of the cart, he was certain he could track them. Hopefully, he could do so long enough for Rouke to catch up. He looked at the entrance of Rapid’s Rest. More than anything, he wanted to go into the tavern to see what had become of Kinsey and the others, but if he did so, the princess would be lost.
Eos watch over you, my son
. Once the wagon disappeared into the same distance that had claimed the first, he sheathed his swords and set off at a brisk pace.

Reaching into one of his pouches as he ran, he pulled out a small handful of flush moss. Retrieved from the deep basin of the Tanglevine, the small, spongy vegetation would glow a bright green when wet. He popped a small piece into his mouth for moisture and resisted the urge to spit it out immediately. The moss was horribly bitter, so much so it brought tears to his eyes. Once it was soft enough to roll into a ball with his tongue, he spat the vile plant to the ground, where it landed and glittered brightly on the dark road. He popped another into his mouth and repeated the process, leaving a glowing beacon at every turn or cross street.

The sound of a Pelosian horn echoed through the formerly still night as Erik sprinted past shops and cottages in pursuit of the wagon.

Hope swelled in his chest. Perhaps he would have support more quickly than he had expected.

Something was in the road ahead, to one side of the fresh muddy ruts that he followed. It was small, not more than a foot in length, and glinted in the moonlight. He didn’t slow as he approached the object, but focused on the item as he passed. A dagger. Actually,
the
dagger. At least, it was the same type of blade that had been held to Princess Sloane’s throat.