A Legacy of Nightmares Read online

  Mavka and Ingemar, the Ceasg who had stood by them since recovering their half of the Stave from the cave, looked at Sorin with sympathy.

  The Chief, too, looked at him with pity. He spoke with more sympathy than before, “With the Stave and the girl, they will want to find the second relic. They will control the Sword.”

  “Sword?” Sorin furrowed his brow. He had not even considered that they would want to collect the other relics. So focused on finding the Stave, it never occurred to him that the other two relics of the three brothers were out there somewhere waiting to be found and used for nefarious purposes. “If they find the Sword of the second brother, what will happen?”

  “With the Sword of the brother Roth, they will have the ability to cut down anything in their path. With the Stave and that girl you love, Shaye...” Sorin winced at the word, love. It was true, though he had not admitted it to himself until this moment. Chief Einar finished, “With the girl, I fear they will have the power to amplify the Sword’s ability by using the Stave, spreading that power throughout their army until every Nefari wielding a sword has the magical strength to cut through their enemies. They will be unstoppable.”

  It felt as if the world was toppling over. Any hope that Sorin had clung to, began to fade away. He was so consumed with fear and doubt that he could barely register the rest of the conversation. Thankfully, Mavka took control, making plans with her father to gather the other clans for a vote. It would be then that they could proceed with their plans to save Shaye and stop the Nefari.

  It had been only a matter of days before the other clans arrived in the Highlands. Sorin now found himself surrounded by strange creatures whose customs he was not yet familiar with. Men were shouting at one another in the large crowd; they had been carrying on like this all afternoon. A horn filled with sour ale slammed against the solid wood wall of the hall, and Sorin ducked as another horn shot past him as quickly as a loose arrow.

  The clans were a rambunctious lot who seemed to have old rivalries with each other. Sorin leaned back in his moss-covered seat. Another headache was coming on and he was in desperate need of a bath. His hair had grown longer, curling at his ears, and he could not remember the last time he’d shaved. He scratched at the rough stubble on his face and let out a long groan as Chief Einar attempted to grab the attention of everyone in the small hall.

  Mavka had been eager to get Sorin, Bron, and Ingemar settled, giving each of them their own private quarters. Sorin was grateful to her for it, but it still meant living amongst magical creatures who held a grudge against his father. King Allerick had taken magic from the land over a decade ago, leaving the Dwellers within the forest to fend for themselves as a band of dark Magi moved in.

  Sorin kicked at a dead leaf that had found its way inside of the Great Hall. He snarled at the thought of the Nefari who had brought them nothing but pain and sorrow, rotting the land from within with their sacrificial magic. They had taken all they could from the earth and, when that wasn’t enough, they took power from the life force of the magical creatures themselves, sacrificing them and using their blood as a payment for the dark magic they wielded. Even when they had nothing left to sacrifice, they gave a piece of themselves, resulting in the inky black marks that tainted their hands.

  Even now, looking down at the rotten leaf, Sorin was reminded of all the ways the Nefari’s blight had affected their home. His people could no longer farm the land and the trade strait to the east had been closed due to monstrous attacks in the Living Sea. Sorin had thought he could fix it all by putting the first relic back in place. The Stave of Leto. The damned thing that had started all this over twelve years ago and that had caused him nothing but grief since.

  Ingemar caught Sorin’s eye. She was sitting stoically on a nearby stump. It was a ridiculous sight, the elegant Ceasg sitting like a queen on a throne amidst all of this chaos. She adjusted her golden embroidered gown, and her dark skin shimmered with the hint of scales that glistened in the lantern light of the hall. The crown of golden stars upon her thick, black hair twinkled like the stars in the North Asterion sky. She noticed him staring at her helplessly as the clans bickered around them, and then nodded in understanding.

  She rose, holding her hands out to call upon her powers. Water splashed from a barrel and onto the unwitting Forest Dwellers within its reach. Several angry shouts sounded out, but the rest of the hall went silent.

  “Aye, what is the meanin’ of this?” A gruff Dweller man pushed his soaked, bark-colored hair from his round, stout face.

  Chief Einar laughed at the sight of one of the fiercest clan chiefs as wet as a cat caught in a storm. The rest of the hall followed suit, Dwellers from clans all over the Raven Wood bellowed in laughter.

  Sorin did not find humor in the time they were wasting. He stood, adjusting the leathered jerkin he wore. “Now then. If you are all done arguing, I would like to get down to business.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.” Chief Einar bowed his head toward Sorin.

  Sorin knew they saw him as a young and inexperienced king, but that did not make the situation any less urgent. Chief Einar set his drink down. “Please understand, friend, it has been nearly a decade since the clans have had to come together like this. We are strong here in the Raven Wood, and we’ve been successfully living in peace —”

  “Aye, by staying out of each other's way.” The stout chief dried his face with the woven plaid cloth at his waist.

  Sorin suppressed a sigh. The Lowland’s clan chief had been difficult to sway thus far and Sorin knew he would need to tread carefully where he was concerned. “I understand, Chief Herald, and I respect your laws and traditions here, I do.” Sorin adjusted the scabbard he wore on his back, buying himself time so he could word this without starting another argument. These men were angry, and he didn’t blame them, but he needed them to band together under his leadership if they were going to march on the Nefari forces that were gathering near the Norbrach valley as they spoke.

  A hushed silence fell over the room as Sorin went on, “You already know the threat the Nefari pose to your people. You do not have the numbers to face them alone. Nor does my army possess the magical abilities to match them. Only together do we stand any sort of chance.”

  Chief Einar walked to the fire in the middle of the long hall. “We take it to a vote then. The seven clan chiefs of the Raven Wood will cast their gemstones into the fire, should they choose to stand with King Sorin of Asterion. To do so will mean setting aside any past grievances, to forge a new pact going forward.” He held an emerald stone high above his head. “The Highland Clan will stand with King Sorin against the Nefari.” He threw the precious stone into the fire, and it erupted with a bright green flame before dying down again to embers.

  A beautiful woman stepped forward next. Her hair was so black it shimmered with purple like a raven’s wing. It reminded Sorin of the crow that had called out to Shaye before she unleashed her dark magic on them in the abandoned Nefari camp. His heart ached at the thought.

  She held up an amethyst stone. “The Eastern Clan will stand with King Sorin.” The fire burst into purple flame as she dropped the stone into it. She winked at Sorin as she passed him to rejoin her sons in the crowd.

  Following her lead, the Western, Central, Northern, and Southern Clans stepped forward one by one, each declaring their allegiance to Sorin and throwing their gems into the fire. That left Chief Herald. Sorin could swear that the entire room held their breath as they waited for the stubborn, old chief to make his choice.

  “For Mother’s sake.” He puffed his broad chest up as he finally gave in, “The Lowland Clan will stand with you, King Sorin, but I swear on our sacred gem, I will personally destroy you should you not live up to your word.” He threw a jasper gemstone into the fire, bringing to life an orange-red flame like that of a tiger’s coat.

  That made seven—seven Raven Wood clans that would dedicate their men, magic, and strength to Sorin’s cause. He turned to Mavk
a, who stood at his side jittering with excitement. “I will not let them down, Mavka. I can’t.”

  She grabbed onto his sleeve and smiled warmly. “I know.”

  Chief Einar let out a jovial roar, cutting through the quiet, anticipating crowd. “Now we feast!”

  Men and women, Forest Dwellers of all sizes and colors, began tittering around. They dragged in long tables and chairs made of uneven, raw wood. There were no servants here, so each clan member did their part in setting up for the feast. They brought in bowls of wild berries, smoked meats, and strange foods that Sorin had never seen. Sorin felt a twinge of guilt at the sight of such a magnificent feast. It must have taken the Dwellers days to accumulate such ripe and bountiful food when their stores were dwindling from the blight.

  Now that the tension of the vote had begun to wear off, the room filled with laughter and good cheer. Dwellers from various clans mingled with one another in celebration of their newfound alliance. They filled their cups up and made toasts with wine that was strong enough to rival Rolland’s brew. Sorin rubbed his temples. The thought of Shaye’s family and the inn brought back the sting of losing her.

  Sorin turned his attention back to the clan chiefs. Even they seemed to be enjoying themselves, talking eagerly with one another at the long table at the head of the hall. He supposed it was all worth it to give them any semblance of happiness before the inevitable battle that was to come.

  Sorin found his seat beside Bron, and gladly accepted the drink that Ingemar offered him from across the table. She was sitting straight-backed as usual, taking in the sight of the celebration around her. Mavka sat on the other side of Bron and began explaining to him what the strange dishes on the table were. The massive Mortal Knight listened intently, hanging on her every word. Every once in a while, Mavka would say something to make him smile broadly at her, causing his dark eyes to crinkle at the corners. Sorin smiled at the sight of his best, and oldest, friend, next to the girl who adored him. He knew Bron returned Mavka’s affections, even if he was too bull-headed to admit it.

  Sorin watched the guests in the hall dance and laugh together. It seemed so easy for everyone to lose themselves in the festivities. Summer was fast approaching and Sorin felt himself sweating under his jerkin. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, wondering when he would be able to politely excuse himself to his private quarters. Since losing Shaye to Bastian, the dark Magi who had disguised himself as their ally, Sorin had not been in the mood for laughter and cheer, or much else for that matter.

  “Here, Sorin, you must eat.” Mavka pushed a dish his way; it was a plate of wild greens, and flowers that he had never seen before. Bron came to the rescue, piling a tender cut of venison on top of it. Sorin picked at it. He hadn’t eaten since that morning, but he wasn’t hungry.

  The pit in his stomach had been growing since the moment Bastian had manipulated Shaye into using dark magic against them. There had been no sign of them or where they had gone, and Sorin had been forced to focus on other matters. He prayed to the Fates that this alliance would be enough—that organizing a force to go south to Norbrach would be enough to find her and to save her... To save them all.

  Sorin asked, “Ingemar, has word come yet from your friend in the Nefari encampment?” After they arrived at the Highland village, they had sent word out to the other clans, as well as magical creatures on the coast. One noteworthy response had come from the Ceasg Lagoon to the east of them, where Ingemar had been taken by the Nefari; after which, they had sentenced her to guard the Stave in the Raven Wood cave.

  The letter claimed that the Nefari had also taken a handful of young Ceasg, though they did not know why, or where they had taken them. Ingemar had spent the following days reaching out with her magic in search of them. She could not detect the Nefari because of their dark magic shields, but she could detect the magic that was linked to hers—to the magic of her people.

  They were still waiting, in hopes that Ingemar’s call would be enough to communicate with the Ceasg in Bastian’s custody. She shook her head regretfully. “No, Your Majesty. However, I did sense them in the South, near the hunting village, like you suspected. If the Ceasg are with the Nefari, then it has to mean that Bastian has sent his forces there as you planned.”

  Sorin smiled in satisfaction and took a long drink from his cup. It was a small victory but one he would gladly drink to. Before Bastian had revealed himself for the monster he is, Sorin had given orders to Bron’s second in command, Anik, to send Asterion troops to a hunting village north of Norbrach. What Bastian hadn’t heard, however, were the new orders Sorin had given Anik in private: to send General Tyrell and his forces to surround the hill on either side of the valley, in which Bastian would no doubt station his troops for battle.

  He stood to take his leave. “Please come find me if any word comes in.”

  “You’re not going to stay and have a drink with us?” The deep concern in Bron’s eyes made Sorin’s chest tighten with guilt. He knew his friends were worried about him; he hadn’t been eating or sleeping since they had lost Shaye. He also knew they were trying to understand why he was having so much trouble thinking clearly—they had grown to love the Druid girl too. But it wasn’t the same. Sorin felt as if a piece of his own soul was missing, and he still could not forgive himself for letting her go... For not doing more to stop Bastian from worming his way into her mind.

  “I’ll see you all in the morning. Enjoy yourselves tonight. The real work starts tomorrow.” He clapped Bron on the shoulder and found his way through the crowd. Dwellers stopped to bow to him as he walked to the door.

  The show of respect did not go unnoticed by Sorin. He knew these people had suffered under his father’s rule, yet they were here, putting their faith in him to set things right. He wasn’t sure he could ever repay them for that trust, but he would do it. Or die trying, he thought harshly.

  It was dark outside of the hall, the Dweller village sat still and peaceful in the silence. Sorin looked at the dim stars peeking through the dying treetops, and wondered if Shaye was looking at the same night sky. He ignored the pain in his chest at the thought of her, and at the memory of her long auburn hair and burning golden eyes.

  Mavka, with the help of Chief Einar, had set up tents for him and the others, giving them privacy from the rest of the village. It was a modest set up, with a comfortable bed of furs and a simple desk. It reminded him of the tents he and his father had slept in when he was twelve, and they had marched north to Brenmar, ready to storm the Winter Palace.

  Sorin removed his jerkin and leather boots; and, laying on the bed in his linen shirt and trousers, he put his hands behind his head and shut his eyes tight. He prayed to the Fates and The Mother that he and his allies would be successful in the weeks to come. He wanted nothing more than to be able to hold Shaye again, to never let her go. He wished desperately that he had told her how he felt about her—that he was in love with her and had been since the moment he had seen her standing helplessly in the ballroom when they were children. It didn’t matter if she did not return the sentiment, he just needed her to know that she was loved. He needed her to know that it didn’t matter what happened in the abandoned Nefari camp, he still cared about her and believed in her.

  Before he drifted to sleep, he whispered into the night, praying that somehow the wind would carry his words to her, “Hold on a little while longer, Shaye, we’re coming.”

  Chapter Three

  Shaye

  Shaye tossed and turned in the large bed, throwing the furs off of her and onto the floor. She sat up with a start, sweat beading at her temples. She looked around frantically, trying to remember where she was, there were so many voices echoing in her mind. Bastian, ordering her to answer his call, and Sorin, pleading for her to stay strong. Hold on. He had said, but she couldn’t decipher if it had been a dream or if it had really been him.

  Bastian had assured her that her friends were alright. She grimaced, No. They’re not my friends. They only
wanted me for the Stave and my magic.

  “That’s right, my dear, and now that they no longer have the Stave, they have no use for you,” Bastian cooed from the corner of the large tent. He was dressed immaculately, like a king in his own right. His black leather waistcoat glistened in the morning light that was peeking in through the tent’s entrance. His dark hair was let loose down at his shoulders, only one simple braid at the side, and he no longer wore his gloves.

  Instead, he showed his black hands off to the world as if it were a badge of honor. If only Shaye felt the same about her own fingertips, now tainted with the same mark of black magic—as was the price of wielding such power.

  She sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. She wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep, but it felt like she had spent a lifetime in the darkness. There had been no nightmares to plague her this time, only the safety and warmth of nothingness. Bastian sat on the bed at her feet, putting a hand boldly on her leg. This time she did not flinch away at his touch, as she’d done the day they had trained outside of the Winter Palace.

  He smiled, flashing bright white teeth. “I know you were confused before, but everything is now as it should be. If you cooperate with us, then things will go much more smoothly. I can feel you fighting me still, but let me assure you, if you just give in to that primal part of you, then you will find happiness here.” His hand slid further up her leg, hunger lingering in his eyes.

  She thought for a long moment, her mind still felt clouded, like there wasn’t enough room in there for anything, or anyone, but Bastian. She nodded but did not speak. It seemed to be enough for him as he stood abruptly and snapped his fingers. Guards appeared at the entrance of the tent, and with them, a very frightened girl, struggling to break free of their hold.