Past of Shadows Page 3

  “Again, my apologies, Your Highness,” Falco gestured toward his horse. “I will not waste any more of your time. If it pleases you, I will take my leave.”

  “You are going nowhere!” King de Flour snarled. He pointed to the captain of the guard. “Seize him! A good flogging will teach him the price one pays for this misadventure!”

  The order had been given. Two horsemen dismounted.

  Falco waited no longer. He lunged toward the annoying Lord Falk, unsheathing his sword. Gripping the sword, he wielded it against the king’s chest. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I have no desire to be flogged today.”

  “Gods! Someone run him through!” King de Flour’s face had turned a deep red. “Kill him! Kill him, now!”

  Falco looked at the advancing men, cautious in their movements. Afraid, perchance, that Falco would harm their king before they had a chance to act.

  Falco smiled.

  Oh, Falco! There is no need to aggravate them further. Turstan has warned us not to call attention to ourselves.

  I do believe, my sister, that we have no other choice. This has gone well beyond a flogging.

  Throwing the reins around her pony’s neck, she mounted. Falco was right. The insolent man wanted her brother dead.

  The king’s guards rode horses of great stature, strong and muscular. There would be no outrunning them. The seasoned warriors slid forward and wielded their swords toward Falco.

  Kela drew little attention riding out from the woods. Only one glanced her way.

  He was not a soldier but had the bearing and appearance of one of importance. A younger man, he sat tall in his saddle under the banner of the Brixtone, marked with a roaring Lion. His surcoat bore the same royal sigil, the House de Flour.

  His yellow hair was cut short. His clean-shaven face bore a solemn expression. Turning his head, his emerald colored eyes caught Kela’s attention. He tilted his head to one side and then, back at Falco.

  “Father,” the young man called out. “Does not this ring strange to find one such as he here? Take note of his back. Is it not wings emerging? He is a Sordarin.”

  Panic surged within Kela. Falco’s wet shirt clung to his back outlining the full skeletal formation…along with his unmistakable mark transparent through the thin white threads. The hope that no one noticed dissipated when she glanced back at the young man sitting on his mount.

  The prince had.

  Oh, hang the devil! He knew. We are in danger! Turstan is going to kill us if these men do not.

  Falco! Her mind screamed. There was no more time for playing around. Now!

  Falco dropped the sword. He ran, gripped his horse’s mane, and swung himself on the back of his horse. Taking off in full gallop, Falco never looked back.

  Jerking back on her reins, Kela eased away slowly, never taking her eyes off the Brixtonens.

  The king’s guards pulled out their cross-bows. Before any had time to aim, Kela raised her hand, extending forth her shield. The arrows fired and fell harmlessly down to the ground.

  Turstan’s warnings forgotten, her only thought was protecting Falco. The mounted guards urged their horses to follow. She watched them hit her shield. The invisible wall sent them sprawling to the ground.

  Moans and groans echoed over the valley.

  Kela did not dare turn her back on the group. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the young prince. He hadn’t moved, but his face had changed.

  He smiled.

  King de Flour pointed toward Falco. “Seize him! He’s escaping!”

  The prince called no attention to her. Instead, he said, “It will do no good, Father.”

  King de Flour gave no heed to his son’s warning, calling for his men to remount.

  From the woods, Falco called to Kela. We are set!

  With her brother safe, she set to finish this game. Extending her hand, the king’s men were flung from their mounts by the force that hit them.

  Abruptly, Kela turned and galloped towards Falco as a dense fog rolled in out of nowhere. Entering the mist, Falco took hold of her reins. With his keen eyesight, he easily navigated through where no one else could see.

  “Falco, how foolish…,” she began.

  “Do not go there, sister. Was that not the most fun? Did you see the look on the King’s face?” Falco laughed. “They will think before confronting us again!”

  “One seemed to know, Falco. Did you not see? He saw your mark.”

  “You are letting your imagination play with your thoughts,” Falco dismissed any concerns, warning her in the same breath. “Do not let Turstan hear of this. You know it would not bode well for us if he did.

  “Come. We need to get back before Guilda sets supper.”

  Kela made no protest. It would do no good debating with Falco. He was probably right.

  Had they not been nomads for years? Moving upon every suspicion. Turstan had them leaving on any hint of presumed recognition. Any stranger’s remark or look had Turstan on edge that they might betray their location and send down hell’s wrath upon them.

  They had never settled down. Never made friends.

  Falco wanted them to stop running and go into Scarladin, proclaiming the Calledwdele birthright. He said others would take it as a weakness to continue running. Turstan said it was not cowardice, but vigilance until it was time to return.

  Falco was right. If she made mention of today’s events, they would be on the move once more. She had no desire to leave.

  No, she would keep silent.

  Witheleghe Birthright

  For seven years, the siblings had lived on the run. Since that fateful night that Nottesdone fell, their small band had not been able to find sanctuary. Thrust into a foreign land by their mother’s last act, Guilda, mother’s loyal servant, had been forced to fall upon her knees and beg a foreign king for mercy.

  Guilda had no choice. In her care was three small children, one an infant, and a badly wounded Sordarin. To ensure all of their safety would had been no small feat.

  Withelegheans were renowned as a passive people, but as Kela knew, prideful. For Guilda to take a knee for one she considered beneath her, she had to be desperate.

  Emerging into the throne room, Guilda calmed a crying Sareta and comforted two distraught children, all the while facing down armed Azmarion guards with Turstan lying unconscious by her feet.

  Confusion rang within those walls. Fear overwhelmed the Azmarions with strangers appearing from out of nowhere. Moreover, fright almost incapacitated their small band, not knowing what lay ahead for them.

  For Kela, those moments of uncertainty had faded to faint remembrances. Her heart cried out for her mother…who was not there…who would never be again.

  All she had were memories of the moment Falco stepped forward in the midst of the confusion and broke the language barrier. Words of the Azmarions rolled off his lips. Despite being only half-Witheleghe, Falco had been born with a gift, as Guilda called his ability— his Witheleghe birthright. Also part of his birthright was his ability to communicate with both his sisters with his mind.

  The ruler of Azmarion, King Niska, had been called. In the past, Azmarion had been an ally to Nottesdone, which Princess Eufamia had hoped would be of some help.

  The island lay in the Endless Sea in a place where winter did not come. Their ships came often to Nottesdone to trade with the north. Kela’s mother had laid her hope on her friendship with King Niska’s daughter, Laylah.

  King Niska offered shelter and food. Laylah found the precious Sareta a wet nurse. Turstan’s wounds were cleaned and bandaged. A light of joy surfaced when it was announced he would survive. Though there was nothing to be done about his damaged wing. He was told he would never fly again.

  The king honored them with a villa not far from his residence, a place that suited all their needs. The doors were long and wide; the ceilings, vaulted, a necessity for any Sordarin to live there. The wealthy in Azmarion’s homes were elaborate and large with a mult
itude of rooms, indoor courtyards, gardens, and beautifully painted walls of the landscape.

  The kitchen lay off of the entrance while the vestibulum led to an atrium, which branched off to bedrooms, a dining area, and a tablinum. They had no wants, but Turstan had been wary of the Azmarions…with cause.

  Azmarion was not a large island, laying a month’s sail off the coast of the closest mainland, Tarrin. Less than three months stay, Laylah sent word that they were to leave immediately. Her father had betrayed Kela and her siblings. With the fall of the great castle, the alliance between Nottesdone and Azmarion was no more.

  A Tarrin Army had arrived, intent on taking prisoners…Laylah said hostages, but the title of what they called the siblings mattered little. It would have been a death sentence.

  Laylah begged forgiveness…begged them to leave.

  After the messenger left, Guilda made straight to the carved box Princess Eufamia had given her. There was no hesitation, Guilda began sprinkling the box’s dust throughout the house. She told the words to Falco for him to utter.

  The winds gusted; the walls shook. The ground trembled beneath their feet. The wet nurse ran screaming out the front door. Guilda held tight to Sareta in her crib. There was time for nothing else, except to fall to the floor. Sliding one way and then another, Kela felt like a rag-doll, tossing and turning until at last, the house stilled.

  Their small band landed in the midst of the Bittervale. They faced an uncertain future, but their path was clear. The siblings had only themselves to depend upon. There was no one to trust.

  That had been their fate.

  They were not without their own defenses. Turstan had recovered sufficiently enough. Determined, he set out to find help. Fortunate indeed, he discovered a small village and returned with a young woman, Hulda, to serve as a wet nurse for Sareta.

  For three years, they lived within the woods. The house camouflaged to suit the village. Witheleghean magic gave the home a thatched roof and stone walls. A single wooden door served as an entrance. A chimney was added to heat the home. No native would give it a second glance.

  As was their fate, in the third year, Hulda betrayed them. Before Turstan ran her through, Falco uttered the words needed for their home to once more transport the siblings to another land. In total, they traveled eight times until they landed in the Black Forest—the closest they had come to Scarladin.

  The siblings lived a different life than if their parents had lived, but they were protected by two loyal servants, who served them well as guardians and protectors along with their mother’s Witheleghe magic.

  There, though, lay an issue.

  The magic within the box had been drained. Their home had begun to suffer, leaning to one side. Stones bulged out in the center. The journeys had taken its toll.

  There would be no more transporting their home.

  Turstan stated that magic was not always the answer. They would have to learn to live without the protection the magic box offered. A hard lesson to grasp.

  Guilda tried to teach the siblings to respect the magic of Witheleghe. Above all else, she instructed, never take magic for granted.

  She did this by reciting the teachings of Elohim. When the worlds were formed, he gave to each realm gifts to ensure their prosperity. He gave to Witheleghe magic, but the gift came with a price. Respect and care for the people of the Realm of Witheleghe came before all else. If the laws were upheld, magic would reign.

  The magic of Witheleghe was legendary, coveted by all who did not possess it. After the Reckoning, all was well until a thousand years ago. Witheleghe had been threatened by the Dark Wizard, Asmeodai, from the desert realm of Arachnida. To protect themselves, the Withelegheans conjured a wall between the world around them and their land. They left only one way through—the portal at Nottesdone.

  Asmeodai never ceased in his desire to conquer Witheleghe and the Siochanta Realm. His attempts were many, none worse than the Arachnidan Terror. Witheleghe aligned with Scarladin to defeat Asmeodai during the Terror. It sealed the desert devil within his own desolate realm.

  All changed for Witheleghe the night Nottesdone fell…

  Questions abounded for the small band. They were ignorant of how Asmeodai and his mate had entered Witheleghe.

  What was known— was their world had changed.

  What was once was lost.

  Worse, Asmeodai had trapped himself within Witheleghe, but his quest for power had not been satisfied. He waited for his opportunity to emerge, stronger than he had ever been, with his eye upon the whole of the Siochanta Realm.

  Guilda wanted the siblings to understand the importance of Nottesdone. She told the story of their parents. Their marriage had been arranged, part of the alliance between Scarladin and Witheleghe. Their mother, Eufamia, had been the chosen princess, the one to make a great sacrifice.

  For with her marriage to an outlander, Eufamia lost her magic.

  One of the sacred laws of Witheleghe.

  Eufamia had done her duty and became mistress of Nottesdone. Guilda said that their mother had been prepared to be a loyal and devoted wife, but quite unexpectedly their parents’ marriage took an unusual turn.

  The two fell in love.

  “Bound by the needs of their fathers, your father and mother married without laying eyes upon each other. The Princess Eufamia never set foot into Nottesdone until the day she wed. She lost her magic and title from Witheleghe the moment she took her vows,” Guilda explained. “She regretted nothing and loved each of her blessings.”

  What Guilda did not say with her lips, she spoke with her eyes. She had been given the task to oversee the children’s upbringing. In this, she had been successful.

  The hope Guilda had in her weary eyes lay with Sareta, a true Witheleghean. An aura shone around Kela’s little sister.

  Sareta was most beautiful. Her hair was dark, black as a moonless night, thick and straight, falling down her back to her hips. Her eyes were a mystic green, shining like an opening of heaven, sparkling in the stars; her skin was as white as freshly fallen snow.

  Moreover, everyone had come to comprehend that Sareta held tremendous powers. A wish would become reality if Sareta felt the need…this truth was the source of Guilda’s anxiety.

  Guilda cuddled her favorite. Nothing came before her Sareta.

  To be sure, Guilda made little effort to hide her feelings. She made it known she held little regard for Sordarins, who she blamed for her mistress’ death.

  Turstan laughed off her beliefs. “Ain’t no different than your blasted Withelegheans. Them betrayed us all, too,” he said to the children’s nurse. “Gonna come a time when the children’s existence will have to be made known to Scarladin, old woman.”

  Guilda raised her eyes. The coif around her gaunt face emphasized her large, sharp eyes. Her lips thinned, frowning. “To do so without knowledge of who betrayed them would be death.”

  Turstan huffed. His nature rebelled against inaction, but he held to his oath.

  He had no knowledge of childrearing. A Sordarin warrior had little to do with such, but he held no pity for himself. His once proud wings had been damaged beyond repair, not even Sareta could heal them.

  Never again would he fly in battle. But he relived his battles through his tales, stories told in great detail, especially when his tongue had been loosened with ale. Falco and Kela were guilty of encouraging his talk when he was in such a state.

  During these sessions, the two learned much about their home in Scarladin, the glorious Scarladin.

  Born with a desire only to fly in the Royal Wings, Turstan succeeded in his quest with his valor and bravery. He served their grandfather, King Edulf. In his prime, Turstan was taller than most other warriors with a wing-span of twelve feet and able to soar faster than any before him.

  As with all warriors, time stole his speed and strength. A fate he denied until the day he fell from rank. His pride wounded from an oversight of his commander, giving to another an assignme
nt he thought his. The clash that ensued cost Turstan his position within the Royal Wings. He was thrown into Torni, known as the Black Tower.

  Once one entered, few were ever seen again.

  That was where Kela’s father had found him. Prince Mithelk offered Turstan an escape to the throes of Nottesdone, a place of whispered rumors. Turstan gave the whisperings no thought, entering into the Nottesdone Guards, pledging his sword to Nottesdone for life.

  “I gave my oath to protect and serve my Lord Mithelk. I have kept my word and will do so for his children.”

  Turstan had no family, though he had married once. His wife, Frieda, whom he confessed he loved dearly, died in childbirth along with his son. His life had become his service to Prince Mithelk.

  Though if the truth be known, more than once Falco and Kela had dragged him out of local brothels. Guilda would have been mortified to learn that the wet nurse, Hulda, had been a whore. Turstan had discovered her in one of the brothels, having recently lost her own baby. Kela knew this because Hulda talked often to her about her life before she came into their service.

  Kela had not been shielded from the world as Sareta had been.

  Turstan instructed Falco in the Sordarin ways. A necessity for Falco bore the mark of the Sordarin heir, a glorious hawk with his wings sprawled wide, on his shoulder. Despite his holding Witheleghe magic, his fate was that of a Sordarin…as was Kela’s.

  Kela had been born a Euchoun—one that protects. Her failing, in the sight of Guilda, had been Kela had not been male, nor had Kela shown any sign of Witheleghe magic. A dubious fate. For a Euchoun had never been a woman.

  Euchouns had always been male. They had been used for centuries to protect the mightiest Sordarin warriors. A path impossible for Kela to follow. Yet, Kela listened and learned while Turstan instilled Falco in the Sordarin ways.

  To be true, Guilda had tried to instill in Kela the Witheleghe’s ways. But to most ends, Kela was afraid Guilda had been met with bitter disappointment.

  Kela, as had Falco, was born to be a Sordarin as their father. Turstan boasted the fact often. In turn, Guilda took comfort in Sareta, her true Witheleghean.