The Golden Cove

The Bear's Gift

Oran searched for her in the darkness. It was thick and palpable, the void having every element of a living being. It emitted a stench that placed a foul taste on his tongue, curdling his stomach. It was the smell of burning flesh, but the pain hadn't quite set in yet. The only thing he felt was fear, as tried to open his eyes but saw only blackness. He reached out, blind but relieved when he felt the curves of his wife's swollen belly. 

"Atta, you must go," he shook, falling haphazardly into her trembling arms. "Camor is taking the throne."

His right arm hung limp at his side, apparently broken. His weapon arm, she realized. She shivered in horror when he lifted his head. His face was black and blue, his eyelids red and swollen shut. If the swelling wasn't enough, they were shriveled and cracked, apparently soldered together. A mark of hot iron left a gruesome welt on his cheek, leaving his brother's sigil in a circle of blisters.

Camor has already taken more than the throne, she thought, keeping back the tears. She held them down, nearly choking as she reminded herself that it was not the time or place for weeping. The littling in her womb rustled about, springing forth with a kick almost too powerful to belong to an unborn. She propped her husband up, staring at a wall of guards that he could not see. 

"I will not leave you," she whispered, guards hovering. She rose her voice, making sure that they could hear her this time. "Come with me, dear husband. We will go to my quarters, and I will call in a dwarf healer to tend to your wounds."

She grabbed a torch from the wall, leading her husband toward the dungeon stairs. One of the men placed his staff before them. Atta closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath as she reached into her pocket and pulled out three copper coins. 

"Please, just to my chambers," she begged. The man was unmoved. Two more coins. Nothing. She pleaded again, and the man pointed to the amethyst on her diadem. She took off her headpiece and handed it to the man, the golden laurel glimmering in the torchlight. 

"To think, you would give me your rite! The one token that allows you to rule among us, for a man that will be dead tomorrow?" The guard snickered, examining it.

"Darkness can be purchased, but light is too valuable for possessions," Atta told him sternly. 

"'Light is too valuable for possessions,'" the man mocked. "Your words betray themselves. If light has no price, then it's worthless. Without your pretty crown, there is nothing protecting you from his same fate as he."

Atta held her tongue. Camor has no regard for the laws of the crown. He will not spare me because I am kin. With or without it, I am dead. She wanted to strike the guard, but she kept her arms around her husband. 

"Take the crown," she demanded. The man smirked. 

"Very well. Take the dead man back to your quarters. Enjoy the blade tomorrow, Water Elf."

He lifted his staff, allowing them to pass. They staggered up the steps laboriously, the palace guards observing them with eyes that were piercing but silent. When they emerged from the stony underground, the sky was dark red. 

This was the three-thousandth day of full moon, and each night seemed to grow darker than the last in both heart and senses. She remembered the day that Ruuf came back over the Bridge with his people. A pillar of smoke went ahead of them, chasing the light away as they walked. It consumed everything in its path, from the Great Gate to the dwarf lands. What it did not destroy with its might, it twisted to a fate worse than death. 

We should have left then, with Maris and his wife. She dared not whisper it aloud, for here even the walls had ears. She led him through the courtyard, beyond the hedge-maze and its thorny tendrils. She winced as one caught the fabric on her sleeve, tearing through it and slicing into her arm.