Book of Kinsey: Dark Fate (The Dark Fate Chronicles 2) (35 page)

Kinsey looked away from his grandfather at the throng of dwarves that circled them. Many eyes were upon him, questioning and eager. His gaze finally settled on Jocelyn. Freshly shed tears ran down her cheeks, hope gleaming in her bronze eyes. She appeared on the verge of speaking but said nothing. This choice would be his and his alone.

Kinsey realized that he could no longer call these people “strangers.” They had treated him with respect and reverence. They had become his friends and more. They had become his family and his people. He had found more purpose here than he ever had in Waterfall Citadel. He had found his home.

Kinsey got to his feet, Mordekki in hand.

Thorn’s broad smile parted the stained beard and mustache that covered his weathered face. He slowly bent a knee to Kinsey. Like a rolling shockwave, the crowds of watching dwarves also knelt. When he looked to the heights, he could make out the dwarves above also sinking to their knees. High in the early evening sky beyond the last of the vanishing, unnatural clouds, the double full moons shone bright, marking the Feast of Corin and the new year.

New beginnings for all, it would seem,
Kinsey thought. “So be it.”

A
choking gasp escaped the messenger as he was lifted into the air. His gnarled fingers clawed at the pale, beautiful skin of the hand that was clutched about his throat. Even had he been able to pry the fingers loose, it was far too late for the unfortunate goblin. His tender throat had been crushed in the first instant. The goblin’s callused feet kicked at the air spasmodically until finally they hung still.

A stench rose in the cabin as the messenger died and his bowels emptied onto the dark wooden planks of the mistress’s cabin floor.
Stupid fool,
thought Gobblesnot, clenching his jaws in annoyance. It was not uncommon for messengers to meet their end while delivering news to the mistress or to be graced with the reward of her deadly kiss. “Should have come prepared, yes,” he mumbled scuffing his bare feet across the floor.

Everything in the ship’s cabin was made from the same dark, polished wood as the flooring. Soft golden candlelight illuminated the room. The smoking wicks left a smell of burned beeswax in the air that competed with the smell of the former messenger and the sea that surrounded them.

The mistress released her grip on the expired goblin, dropping the body unceremoniously into its own waste. She glided away from the reeking heap to the open balcony just off her private chambers.

Gobblesnot waited, careful not to approach too soon. He had seen many make that mistake after she had killed in anger—or killed in any mood, really—only to pay the price for their foolishness with their own meager lives. It was best to approach a god with caution and reverence. Gobblesnot had come to understand that this sometimes meant not approaching at all.

She stood quietly, though the sea wind whipped her normally straight, pale-blond hair against her smooth shoulders in frenzy. Even if Gobblesnot had not known to watch a potentially lethal creature closely, he would have watched his mistress no less intently. Her beauty was majestic, and he found himself often just watching the perfection of her form with open-mouthed envy. How he hated his own stupid, short body with its mottled flesh and twisted limbs. He longed to stand tall and regal, the way his mistress did now.

She had clothed herself in sheer ivory silk that gently cupped every perfect curve of her long, smooth body. Pale lunar light spilled over her, painting subtle shadows where the lacing pressed light indentations into the flesh of her back. No creature could deny her grace. Even elves with their presumptuous condescension had found themselves overwhelmed and knelt before her to worship, as was fitting.

In all his years of service, Gobblesnot had seen only one creature not be humbled by the mistress, but that had been no real surprise. Gobblesnot’s newest friend, Bealoke, was a god as well. Powerful and sleek like the mistress, his friend was immune to such influence. Even though Selen seemed to think of Bealoke as an enemy, Gobblesnot knew in his heart that it was not actual truth. Gobblesnot would never—could never—tell the mistress that Bealoke had promised that her safety would be seen to in return for his service. Gobblesnot trusted his friend. He had been promised.

“Come to me, my minion,” Mistress Selen’s silken voice drifted on the night air like cobwebs.

Gobblesnot started, fearing for an instant that his mind had been read. Shaking the thought away, he hurried across the room to the open doors.

He tiptoed around the dead messenger, avoiding the pooling urine, and came to a halt at the hand-carved mermaids on either side of the doorway to the balcony. The salty smell of the ocean washed away the stench of death from Gobblesnot’s broad nose, and he took a thankful breath. He glanced up at the double moons that painted every surface in pale light.

The second moon, Taalugu, only showed itself once a cycle. Even though smaller than its mate, Taalugu sparkled twice as bright. The humans, dwarves, and elves celebrated the appearance of the moon with festivals and merriment, but the goblin-kin were called upon to provide blood sacrifice during the shy moon’s dance across the sky. Even at sea as they were, the ritual would be honored. The deep waters would run black with goblinoid blood these next few nights.

“Your kind has failed me once again,” Mistress Selen said. Only her lips and the barest shifting of jaw showed her speech. The rest of her body was so motionless that it could have been an exquisitely carved and rendered part of the ship. “After all the years I’ve spent training you filth, I should not be surprised.”

“I begs for forgiveness, my mistress.” Gobblesnot bowed, bending almost to the floor.

“As you should, maggot,” Mistress Selen replied tersely. She looked out at the open water. Many vessels surrounded the flagship, and many more stretched out beyond in the distance until they appeared only as black specks on the moonlit waves. “Why must you constantly defy me? Am I not a strong mistress?”

“The strongest, my mistress.”

“Am I not fearsome?”

“The most terrible, my mistress.”

“Then why?!” She spun around to face Gobblesnot, eyes blazing bright red in her pale and flawless face. “Why is it my general is dead?!” she screamed.

Still bowing, Gobblesnot looked down at the deck quickly. “Because we’s is fools, my mistress.”

“Yes, Mot curse you. You are!”

The ship fell away as Gobblesnot was seized by the collar of his vest. His mistress had insisted that he take to wearing the thing. No other goblin had ever had such a fine thing, but he regretted it now. The collar began to dig into his throat as he was dangled above the rolling midnight waves.

The mistress’s teeth were clenched in rage, and her next words leaked between the growing fangs in an almost sultry, throaty voice. “I should go from ship to ship and dispose of every single one of you filthy, stinking scum!”

Gobblesnot did nothing as she shook him to emphasize her words. No desperate scrabbling at her wrist to prevent him from falling into the shark-filled waters below. No cries of mercy to beg for his life. Not even an attempt at eye contact. He just let the mistress vent her frustrations upon him. He had always known that his life might end at any moment in her service. This didn’t mean that he wanted to die; no, it just meant that he was willing to give his life if she wanted to take it. The longer he lived, the longer he might serve, so he remained still even though his thoughts rolled with terror at the possibility that tonight he would find his death.

Minutes rolled by with the steady persistence of the waves that rocked the boat as she held him there in silence. His body began to ache as the cloth of his vestments continued to bruise the soft skin of his throat and underarms, but he schooled himself to stillness. He knew that she needed time to think, to contemplate the death of Maharuke and the decimation of his forces. If he spoke or struggled, it could cost him his life.

Finally, without warning, the mistress threw him back onto the deck. He rolled through her chamber’s opened doors, coming to a halt against the dead goblin messenger. Urine and worse began to soak into his fine clothes as he lay there attempting to regain control of his stiff limbs.

“There are still enough,” Mistress Selen whispered, mostly to herself. “Enough for the distraction I need.” She moved from the terrace past Gobblesnot and the dead messenger to the door of her cabin. Just before the door closed behind her, a peremptory command of “Clean that up” drifted back into the room.

Gobblesnot breathed a sigh of relief as the latch clicked shut. He rolled off the corpse, getting to his feet. He quickly searched the messenger for things of value and pocketed the tiny chips of sparkling stones he found in a filthy pouch tied under an armpit. After securing the treasure with a small chortle, he dragged the goblin’s lifeless body to the terrace and heaved it over the side. No words need be said. Mot understood sacrifice, regardless of what form it took.

At least I live,
he thought, still shaken from the encounter with his mistress. Eventually, as he cleaned urine from the hardwood floor, his thoughts drifted to other matters beyond the reminders of his own mortality. He would have much to tell Bealoke when the god called. Much indeed.

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About the authors

Matt Howerter

Matt is one of those guys who grew up loving to draw, watching cartoons and playing RPGs
(the kind where you sit at a table and the other players are generally in the same room with you)
. When deciding what direction to take in life, Matt was torn between illustration and storytelling, both forms of art he truly enjoyed. Illustration and design won out and became his career for nearly two decades, but storytelling always remained close to his heart. Finally, Matt has used his pencil to write as well as draw, and he hopes to continue to do so for the rest of his days.

Jon Reinke

Wandering has always been a hobby for Jon Reinke, but one thing has always been a constant. A love of fiction. Whether it’s getting lost in a fantastic world of his own imagining through RPG’s
(see a theme here?)
or reading dozens of books populated by wizards and warriors, heroes and villains, this genre has always been a fixture of his life.

Glossary

Artifacts

Harundin
- (Ha • Roon •Den) The stone of power.

Mordekki
- (Mor • Dee • Key) Symbol and weapon of the ruling family of the dwarven people.