Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 39

Moonlight glimmered in the spilled wine running in amethyst rivers along the marble floor.

Drops of blood joined the spiced wine and the river swirled darker, drawing winding courses around the bodies of the fallen warriors who were rejoicing but moments ago. Starlight now shone in their lifeless eyes, faces twisted in dead horror.

The great hall was unlit, all torches and braziers extinguished. Moonlight streamed in through a circular window in the middle of the high, domed ceiling. From the walls on either side, portraits of previous rulers stared down with depthless eyes, their faces pallid in the low light.

And there she stood amidst the massacre, dressed in the darkest black, hair loose and flowing, bathed in the silver night. Blue-flamed candles burned low in a circle around her.

Waves of dark sorcery washed over Emric as he stepped into the great hall, her presence overwhelming his frayed senses yet bringing him calmness-- a feat only she had the power to accomplish, she who was the Wielder of Chains, she who was announced dead by her own kingdom, yet here she was-- alive and well and brimming with sorcery. She was Avalyn Loneblight, Royal Sorceress of Drisia.

Dark swirls of raw power surrounded her, a smell of storm lingering in the crisp night air. The corpses had been arrayed in neat rows all around her. The sorceress liked order, whether it was papers on her desk or dead-bodies waiting to be brought back to life.

Hushed incantations, words of a long lost Drisian dialect escaped her wine-red lips, arms stretched skyward-- offering the sacrifices Pertheran had finished slaughtering for her, down in the dungeons.

"Go forth, take their places in the Realm of the Dead."

King Krugmann watched her in silence from his throne, his handsome, square-jawed face resting upon one hand lazily, dark eyes fixed on her lithe figure. His Majesty might watch her all day, but he saw nothing. Only Emric knew the true Avalyn, down to her very soul.

Yet he loathed how the king's eyes roamed down her body, taking in hungrily every bit of her presence in the room.

The rage he felt inside him was vicious, but rather silly. What use was there holding a grudge against someone who would soon be around his finger?

Just you wait, Your Majesty.

"Ah, Captain. You're back." King Krugmann offered him a smile, drinking deeply from his silver goblet, as though he had not just witnessed his friends get slaughtered right before his eyes. "I was beginning to worry you might miss this grand moment."

He brought his hands together and bowed deeply. "I would remain with you through this all. After all, that's the least I can do, for you have so generously offered us your help."

"I'm simply helping myself, am I not?" The king chuckled, twirling the goblet about, watching the crescent moon twist and contort on the wine's surface. His eyes, thankfully, left Avalyn and travelled over the bodies littering the floor opposite him. "This mess wouldn't have happened, had they only agreed to my offer. A simple, almost painless death could be delivered to each of them, and they could be raised again, like a gentle awakening from a brief slumber. But they refused this divine gift of immortality."

"You are not to blame for this situation, Your Majesty." Emric's hushed voice was like silk. "You called them your friends, honoured them no less than heroes, showed them such hospitality-- yet they had the audacity to refuse such an offer! I insist you do not feel guilt over this. They left you no other choice."

The king acknowledged him with an indulgent smile, looking not much burdened with guilt.

Yet he repeated to himself quietly. "...they left you no other choice."