Chapter 6

Vereux

            I will kill them. I swear, by Taurus, I will kill each and every one of them. I thought wrathfully as I scowled at my now empty weapon cases.

            The bastards had taken them, everything, every last one. Every blade and instrument of combat that had ever been in my possession stolen from me. Lady Peril, Fearkiller, Wolf's Fang, Dawnbreaker, all gone. They had even stripped me of my favorite sword, Starlight, before thrusting me into my office with a black eye and the wind knocked out of me. My belly still throbbed where the jackarse had punched me. At least I had the satisfaction that he would be singing falsetto for the next day or two. I resentfully spit a bloody gob, then wiped my mouth, wincing at the tenderness of my split lip. I muttered bitter curses as I shakily lowered myself into my seat behind my desk.

            You are not doing yourself any favors by working yourself into a rage, Fleurette, Borealis counseled me, her internal voice strained, yet soothing as it often was. Anger clouds your judgment.

            And I am supposed to be calm? I retorted, clenching my fists.

            My home for the past several years had been overrun by both mage and Memorium alike, those who had betrayed their orders. I had been overwhelmed by numbers and tossed into my own looted quarters to await their master's desire. Gods only knew what had become of Danyr and his apprentice. Borealis and her fellows had been chained and restrained, unable to fly or fight back. And my king had been taken from me, probably locked inside his own room as I had been.

            I swear, if they so much as touch him...I internally growled.

            Then you will make them pay for it later. Until then the best thing you can do is steel yourself and make plans. As we have always done,  my dragon responded before my anger could start to consume me.

            As we've always done, I repeated as I inhaled deeply, then let it go. She was right, as she often was. Somehow she was always able to calm me when I was at my worst. So long as I had my wits and my connection with Borealis, I was not completely without weapons. Together we had proven to be a match for anyone before.

            By all rights, I should have been keeping a cooler head. I was a general, for gods' sakes. I had taken insults and jibes and mistrust for being Lance without saying so much as a cross word, bottling up every nasty thing I could have said. I had led and plotted military operations without so much as batting an eye. I had commanded my warriors in the midst of battle bleeding and near defeat, yet still with a clear enough mind to come through in the end. And now, here I was, wanting nothing more than to scream and fight. This was the greatest indignity, the greatest humiliation. To have won so much in battle only to fail to protect my own home and that of my king. It hurt and enraged more than anything.

            Are you alright? Did they hurt you? I asked, feeling ashamed for neglecting to ask her in my fury.

            Only in pride. It is humiliating being chained and collared like a dog, she responded with irritated vexation.

            What's it like on your end?

            See for yourself.

            I suddenly felt my consciousness shift. It drifted from my body to rest within my dragon's. Hers did the same, entering mine as I did hers. In but a moment I could feel my spirit settle into her immense scaled form. By now this was no longer a foreign sensation. We had done this so many times that it was practically second nature.

            It was an ability all Riders had with their dragons. We called it spiritshifting. Through it, they were able to possess and take control of the other's body. Once could initiate it on their own, but it was usually done in accord. Though there were rarely any questions asked if it was truly an emergency. Should there be a life or death situation and either was on the brink of consciousness, the other took over and kept on. The practice had saved Borealis and I on multiple occasions.

            Borealis had decided to sleep in the hatchery as she usually did, surrounded by the eggs safely cradled in their nests and the energetic, rambunctious hatchlings and before the large fires that warmed them all. Yet the infant dragons did not play or beg for engaging tales of the older dragon's exploits. Instead they pathetically squirmed and writhed with all their meager might against once invisible chains that flashed with the white-gold light of enchantment. The poor things shrieked and squawked and cried, pleading in fear for their mothers who couldn't answer their calls. Either they were in an exact same position with the torture of hearing their babies' lamentations or they were out on mission, too far away to hear. All this, combined with the futile flapping of their small wings, created an incredible cacophony of fear and chaos. My heart twisted at the sight of them, imprisoned in the very nests meant to be their greatest safety. I felt sick, infuriated at the audacity, the cruelty. They were only babes. What threat could the hatchlings have posed?

            There was but one other in the hatchery with Borealis. A young cream-colored dragon by the name of Kirsa who had decided to take on the task of nursemaid until she chose a Rider. She faired no better, struggling to placate her frightened charges while incapacitate. How had this even happened? How could each and every dragon have been captured so easily?

            Magic. How else? Borealis answered from my body, sensing my thoughts. They must have used some sleeping spell to get the chains on.

            I tried to crane her neck to get a better view. The moment I did, the hcains stung and burned, as if someone had dipped a hot fire poker in poison. I bit back a cry, flinching and shuddering. With all this misery, I was surprised that the fires had remained lit and brightly burning. But what that meant made my blood and Borealis's boil.

            They want the eggs, I said coldly, gritting my dragon's sharp teeth.

            Yes, and the hatchlings, replied Borealis.

            They'll have to break them first.

            And who knows what will become of the poor dears then.

            We won't let that happen.

            I know we won't.

            It seemed like infinite hours later before anything else happened. I had returned to my body and had gone about picking up the room that had been ravaged. Of all my possessions, only my weapons and armor had been taken. All the jewelry my father had ever fashioned and sent me had gone untouched. The portrait of my parents had not been slashed or destroyed. All the damage done had been methodical, collateral, a side effect of their search for more weapons, anything I could use to fight. Books had been tossed and splayed across the floor. My heavy seal had been confiscated. The drawers of my desk had been left hanging nearly all the way out of their slots. The door to my bedroom was ajar, my bed with its sheets tossed about in plain view. Clothes lay strewn across the floor so messily that my mother would have fainted at the sight of them. Throughout the day, I had managed to reorganize things as much as I could, though I still seethed at what I saw in the hatchery.

            At what had to be noon, judging by the sun's position in the sky, when they came to get me. Two tall sturdy men in gray with those strange shadow creatures growling and leering at their heels.

            “Lord Dareth requires your presence,” one of them said, looking down at me with hollow eyes.

            So the bastard has a name, I thought. He had refused to give one when he was in chains. Not a very intimidating one, is it?

            “Lord, huh? I would have thought he'd be naming himself king by now.” I scoffed, expecting them to hit me.

            As much as they might have liked to, they restrained themselves. But the one who had spoken glared down at me, displeased with my remark. The other only watched with cool observation.

            “Our Lord has ordered us not to harm the hostages unless we must. He is merciful.” the latter spoke formally. “Should you lash out, however, we will use violence, if necessary.”

            “I would hardly call this unharmed,” I replied sourly, pointing to my black eye.

            “It was necessary,” the first one answered. His thick neck was covered by his collar and he wore gloves on his meaty hands. A Memorium.

            “Of course it was,” I grumbled sarcastically before they each grabbed an arm and led me to wherever they wished to take me.

            They brought me to the throne room, where all the servants and advisers had been gathered and the king on his throne. He was tied there, unharmed, but his expression was fit to kill. But he kept himself contained. He must have felt absolutely useless. Roland struggled not to look at me, his hands clenched into fists.

            They'll pay for this, love, I wanted to assure him, wishing he could hear my thoughts. I promise.

            Before him stood our former prisoner. No longer did he wear tattered rags. In their place was fine clothing of black velvet and rich green silk. They were finely made and appeared as if they had been made yesterday, yet the style was form hundreds of years ago. Danyr had said hew as old, he'd never said how much. And yet he appeared to have aged no more than his late thirties. His hair, smooth and black as oil was now neat and left loose, his short beard trimmed properly. His face was clean, washed of dirt. He swept his imperious gaze slowly across the room. It lingered on me for one moment too many for my liking. So this was him, the Lord Dareth as his minions had called him. I'll bet I've faced worse than you.

            The shadow creatures slowly collected around him, almost seeming to affectionately and loyally press against him, like dogs would their beloved master. He reached to stroke them, wisps of smoke slipping through his fingers. They formed a great dark, billowing mass about him, nearly cloaking him in a black cloud strewn with yellow orbs. He smiled, reveling in their presence. What I wouldn't have given to put them down.

            Calm, Borealis reminded me.

            I know, I answered begrudgingly.

            Wordlessly, he gestured with his hand and the doors swung open by unseen hands. In came a group of Memoriums carrying a large heavy bundle wrapped in a tarp. I felt my stomach churn at what it must be, whose life had been ended. They dropped it unceremoniously before their master. Then, with a breeze that none could feel, its burden was revealed. My heart sank faster than a metal weight.

            On the floor lay Corim Danyr, a corpse. His clothes were ripped and torn, his face a scratched and bloody mess, his salt-and-pepper hair in disarray. And blood stained his front from his gullet to his belt in a crimson tide. He was pale as death, lips tinged blue and a defiant smirk on his face. Someone dropped a knife next to him, blood-stained. Already his body had begun to stiffen and turn pale and sickly. Only one of his hands bore a glove, the other was bare, with tiny scars and calluses that I hadn't thought the Memorium possessed. He had done some fighting in his day, I'd known that from the skilled, efficient manner in which he had taken out three intruders to reach his apprentice. Had he even a chance to fight back with the gash in his side? Unlikely. But if his body was here...

            Where is the girl? I silently questioned, apprehensive, yet keeping a mask of obstinate obedience.

            She wasn't among the group that had come. A girl with red-gold hair would have stuck out among them. Nor was there a corpse beside that of Danyr. The fear that they might have killed her and left her in the snow, seeing no use for her, quickly set in. No, surely they would have found some way to take advantage of her abilities, attempt to persuade her to join them. She was young, malleable, or at least they would believe her to be. Somehow I doubt she would be that easy to turn. If there was anything I'd gotten out of Belwyn, it was loyalty. I couldn't imagine her siding with those that killed her master.

            Dareth frowned at what had been presented to him. He looked disappointed as he prodded Danyr with his foot. The yellow eyes watched hungrily, held back only by their master's will.

            “Mockingbird killed himself before we could get anything out of him,” scowled a tall, balding man who then spat on the floor next to the dead Memorium.

            Dareth looked up, a strange combination of hollowness, pity, annoyance, and authority, all colored by some subtly manic light in his eyes, on his fine features. His cold eyes never left the man.

            “And the girl?” he questioned, a tone of neutrality laced with warning.

            The man paled, losing his wrathful bluster. He pursed his thin lips, but was saved from answering by a woman who stepped forward, her brows arched severely and her hair done in a tight, strict fashion. She couldn't have been much older than Belwyn.

            “The apprentice got away, my lord. The wind started to pick up when we searched and the wolves lost the scent. Danyr managed to give her his memories before we got to them.” the woman relayed succinctly in a business-like manner. “Belwyn is most likely alone and wandering aimilessly. She can be found quickly.”

            Dareth nodded, not even a trace of worry showing. He looked somewhat pleased at her conduct, as if considering her for promotion.

            “Basleigh, take a team and locate her. Take your pick of the men. Do not lose track of her.” he instructed her.

            “Alive or dead?” she pressed coolly.

            “I want her brought in alive. I will take her memories myself. Besides, she may yet be of use to me. And if she has a knife,” he answered, stealing a sharp glance at the man, then back to her. “Relieve her of it before she follows her master's example.”

            “As you desire, my lord,” she said with a bow and a quirk of her wickedly red lips that suggested a smile. She then retreated, smirking at her balding elder as she passed, he glaring at her.

            Dareth turned his attention back to the dead man. The room was so silent that the drop of a pin would have been deafening. Every man and woman held their breath, the king and myself included. A shadow fell across his face, his lips pressed tight into a thin line. I could read the guilt in his features, as if he'd committed a betrayal. They'd taken his memories. That's how they would know what Belwyn looked like, her name. What else had they learned from them? How much would they use against him?

            He dismissed the rest of the team before him with a look. They slunk off like the weasels they were, leaving me wondering if the distance was too great to spit on their boots. He looked down the body again and sighed.

            “Such a waste. You could have been a great ally.” he spoke almost wistfully. “But there is no point in dwelling on lost opportunities.”

            The imposing man smiled lovingly at the shade creatures floating about him.

            “Take care of him, my dears. I detest the smell of putrefaction.” he ordered them.

            Within a moment, the creatures were on Danyr's body. They writhed and swirled all about him, enveloping him in a thick black cloud. There were growls and yips, the sound of snapping jaws. People pushed back to the walls, crying and gasping in shock. Mothers hid their children's faces in their skirts and men trembled with ashen faces. I watched with a mask of stone, not allowing myself to appear frightened before this Lord Dareth. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. A general could not show fear. Fear was weakness. Fear was death.

            I mentally relayed the events to Borealis. I could feel her bristle with newfound hatred for our captors. However, she was better at concealing her anger than me.

            No one could see the flesh being ripped from the Memorium's bones. No one had to. We already knew. The shadows spun and churned like an inky vortex so thick that none could catch a glimpse of poor Danyr. But not a soul could block out the ripping and tearing of savage jaws. What was probably minutes seemed to take hours. How long did it have to take before not a trace of the man remained?

            As quickly as they began, the shades left him like ashes in the wind to return to Dareth. All that was left of the Memorium were his bones, picked clean and white, cracks where the marrow had been sucked out. The blood froze in my veins and my body went numb. I clenched my hands into fists to hide their trembling. He was exercising his power, daring anyone to defy it.

            He turned to Roland, smiling.

            “Tell me, little king. Will you yet deny my offer?”

            To my king's credit, he mustered his courage, though his face was a sickly pallor, and rallied his pride.

            “Always, you twisted son of a bitch.”

            “Pity,” sighed Dareth, then made a gesture in my direction.

            I was pushed forward and forced down onto my knees.