Caprion's Wings (6 page)

Caprion and Talarin landed just
outside the circle of stones, clinging to the tree line at the base
of the high cliff. They stared up the length of Fury Rock. Caprion
stood stiffly in the shadows, his expression grim. He tried to stay
focused on his goal, but the thought of facing his brother
intimidated him—what if he ran across Sumas in the dungeons? He
would have to tread softly and remain well hidden.

"There," Talarin murmured. Specks of
light appeared on the horizon. They rapidly grew larger until a
band of Harpies appeared overhead, flying smoothly toward the top
of Fury Rock. They spoke animatedly, unconcerned that others might
overhear.

"Remember last week when that blind
one kept coming at me and I struck her twice in the jaw, but she
just kept standing up? Remember?"

"With the gash on her cheek? She's a
fierce one...."

"Are they very strong?” a third chimed
in. “Do we use our weapons? I was told only to bring my
saber…."

"We use our wings, feather-head! Don't
you pay attention?"

"Easy on the baby bird,” the first one
laughed. “He will find out soon enough!”

The Harpies moved out of earshot
toward the top of Fury Rock. Then, one by one, they dove out of
sight below the cliff, toward the pounding surf of the
ocean.

"There must be a cave entrance along
the cliff face," Talarin murmured to his left. She adjusted her
helmet firmly, watching the Harpy soldiers with eager eyes. "Looks
like they’ve mixed the group with some more advanced soldiers. I
should fit in easily."

Caprion nodded. He hoped she was
right, for her own sake. He would have to stay unseen in the
shadows. Easy to do in his case, since he had no wings to emit a
glow, and Harpies didn't see well in the dark.

"I'm just going to have a look
around," he murmured. "I'll make it quick. An hour at most, then we
can leave."

"Stay away from Sumas," she
cautioned.

"Don't worry about that,"
he replied stiffly. As Captain, his brother would most likely stand
in charge of the practice. Sumas hadn't arrived with the rest of
the soldiers; he was probably already on site. Part of Caprion
relished the thought of a confrontation—a chance to draw swords and
face his brother in the dark underground where their footing might
be more even, but his wiser self knew it wouldn’t end well.
I'm doing this to find my wings,
he reminded himself.
Nothing else matters.

"Ready?" Talarin asked, as the last of
the soldiers disappeared over the cliff.

Caprion nodded.

Talarin took his hand again. Silver
light encased Caprion's skin as the power of her wings enveloped
him. They floated up through the trees, above the shadestones, and
along the steep hill to the edge of Fury Rock. They dropped over
the cliff, plummeting away from the stars and into the dark abyss
between ocean and air.

Chapter 4

The entrance to the prison was barely
visible along the cliff face. A long, narrow tunnel split through
the rock with hardly any landing space outside of it. They hovered
at its edge, a half-dozen yards above the turbulent ocean.
Fifteen-foot swells crashed against the cliff face, climbing the
rocks, then gasping and sinking back into the midnight
sea.

Caprion and Talarin landed
precariously inside the tunnel. A woven basket of sunstones
illuminated the rocky entrance. After that, the way became steeped
in moonless shadow.

He glanced at Talarin, then started
forward cautiously. Her wings cast a halo of light around her
shoulders and she tightened them against her back to fit through
the narrow passage. They traveled deeper into the crevice until the
tunnel widened and they entered a long series of maze-like
corridors. They walked in silence for several minutes.

Suddenly, Talarin pulled back. She put
out her arm, blocking him from moving forward. “Hush,” she
murmured.

Caprion came to a halt. A low-pitched
voice reached his ears, echoing slightly off the rock walls. He
recognized it and sucked in a quick, nervous breath.

"New arrivals?" Sumas said from around
the corner, an edge of surprise to his tone. "How long have they
been imprisoned?"

"A week now," a higher-pitched female
voice replied. "Just a handful taken from separate Hives. You could
break them in tonight if you'd like." She sounded eager at the
prospect. Caprion felt a chill move across his skin.

Sumas paused, then replied, “We have
new recruits tonight. First-timers. I'm going to start them off
against the older ones that won’t fight back.”

“If you insist,” the woman
said wistfully. “But the old ones are so
boring.
I wish you’d
reconsider….”

“No,” Sumas said flatly. “I won’t
waste new blood on fledgling recruits. We’ll use the fresh slaves
for tomorrow’s practice with the lieutenants.”

The woman’s voice grew soft with
disappointment. "But I have other duties tomorrow, Sumas,” she
cajoled. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you otherwise?”

Caprion frowned. The woman didn’t
speak like a soldier. She sounded overly familiar with his brother,
like close friends...or lovers. Caprion edged forward slightly,
curious.

The conversation continued with
decidedly more tension.

“Don’t plead favors from
me; it’s beneath you,” his brother intoned. “And in these prisons,
I am
Captain
Sumas.”

“And I’m the warden,” the woman
rebuked. “Shall we call each other by title now? I thought we’d
grown past that….”

“Watch your tongue,” Sumas hissed. “We
use the weakest slaves tonight. I can't have another incident like
last week. I almost lost my promotion because of your sloppy work.
The Matriarch might be slumbering, but the Madrigal watches us
closely.”

Caprion could sense the
woman’s displeasure. "Yes,
Captain
,” she sneered. “I assure
you, our slaves are firmly under control. There’s no chance of them
slipping loose."

“I am more concerned with the
stupidity of my new recruits,” he said sourly.

“Then I’ll let you do your job,” she
growled.

"Good," Sumas grunted. Then, without
wasting a breath, “Prepare ten prisoners, only the broken ones. I
want them on chains in fifteen minutes.”

"Yes, sir," came the cold response.
There was no salute. Then a bright light illuminated the hallway;
Caprion sensed a vibration pass over him. The Harpies had spread
their wings. A moment later, the light faded down the corridor. The
tunnel returned to shadow.

"Imagine that," Talarin muttered.
“Warden Dahlia in bed with your peacock of a brother. I should have
seen that coming. Can’t wait to spread this news around the
barracks.”

Caprion frowned. “Warden
Dahlia?”

“A spiteful hawk of a woman,” Talarin
said. “Watch out for her—she has talons.”

“Sounds like Sumas’ type,” he
replied.

They sniggered at that.

They waited a half-minute longer to
ensure the tunnel was empty, then continued. Caprion followed her
pace and tried to step silently. Because of her wings, Talarin
could glide a few inches off the ground for several paces, making
stealth much easier, but he didn’t have that luxury. The tunnel
branched off into numerous directions, creating a maze of passages
that could very well continue across the entire island—but they
remained on the main path, moving steadily forward.

Eventually the tunnel connected to a
large, open chamber. He and Talarin paused again, clinging to the
shadows and peering out.

Caprion blinked in surprise. A massive
underground stadium stood before them, carved entirely out of
granite. The ceiling arched far above, inlaid with rich veins of
malachite. By the style of the hard-stone carvings, he could see
that it dated back to the founding of Asterion, long before the
island ever crashed into the sea. Large, jagged chunks of sunstone
had been hammered into the walls at uneven intervals, casting light
every few-dozen meters. Even then, the majority of the massive
chamber lay steeped in shadow. The chipped, worn floor appeared
discolored in places, and Caprion's eyes lingered on the dark
stains. Blood, sunken into the rough rock after centuries of
spillage.

A group of forty soldiers lingered at
the center of the chamber, Sumas not yet among them. By the shape
of their helmets, Caprion could see that most were second-year
soldiers, the new cadets his brother had mentioned.

"I'll mingle at the back," Talarin
murmured. "Be quick, alright? An hour tops, before anything
potentially dangerous happens."

"Of course," Caprion murmured, already
spying a corridor toward the back of the room, barred by an iron
gate. The most likely route to the prisons. He could slip through
the shadows between the jagged sunstones and make his way, unseen,
as long as the soldiers remained distracted.

Talarin left his side and strode
casually into the room, coming to an inconspicuous stop near the
rear of the soldiers. No one seemed to notice or care about her
arrival. A few of the cadets nodded to her, but they all seemed too
nervous to say much. Caprion watched from the shadows of the
corridor, waiting for the ideal moment to slip along the back
wall.

Then the distant iron gate slid open.
Caprion crouched low to stay hidden. He recognized Sumas' large
wings and barrel-chested armor. His brother strode through the gate
and into the room.

A tall, angular woman entered after
him. Warden Dahlia, he assumed. She had a sharp face with a pointed
kind of beauty—as Talarin described, a hawk of a woman. She wore
armor embedded with sunstones, her wings folded tightly against her
back, a long leash in hand. Behind her, ten slaves entered the
chamber with their heads obediently bowed. A thick iron chain
linked them together at the neck, with sunstone shards embedded in
their metal collars. The slaves looked terrifying: old, skeletal,
grimy and underfed, with sunken cheeks and claw-like hands that
were discolored by permanent scars. More like corpses than
people.

Caprion stared. He could barely
identify them as the Sixth Race. Premature gray flecked their hair,
their life seeping out with each ragged breath. Their eyes were
completely white, totally blind.

The soldiers fell silent. They moved
to stand at attention, falling naturally into rank.

“At ease,” Sumas said casually, then
paused for Warden Dahlia to take her place at his side.

Caprion's eyes moved to the open gate
that led to the dungeons. Two granite pillars stood between himself
and the gate. They would offer enough cover for him to slip past
the soldiers and into deeper shadows where he could continue to the
hallway. Still, too many eyes roamed the chamber. He would need to
wait for a distraction.

Sumas cleared his throat assertively.
"Before you stands a line of the Unnamed," he began. “The Sixth
Race, the children of the Dark God, creatures of Shadow and Fire.
None of you have seen one before.” Sumas smirked. He began to pace.
“Back at the conception of our race—when we were molded by Wind and
Light and placed under the care of our God, the One Star—we were
given a duty. A duty to preserve peace and order in the world. To
vanquish evil from the land and to destroy the Dark God's
children.”

"Tonight," he continued,
"we initiate you into the sacred practice of our kind. These
methods were passed down long before the Great Fall, before even
the city of Asterion was built, before the Island of Aerobourne
ever took to the skies. Tonight, you become true soldiers—defenders
of the realm of Wind and Light.” Sumas’ voice echoed around the
chamber, gaining strength and volume. “You will become deft with
magic; you will use your voice in battle and learn to blind the
Sixth Race with your wings. You will learn to kill them, and do so
efficiently, before they can kill you." Sumas gave the soldiers a
long, hard stare. "These slaves are weak specimens of their kind,
but do not be fooled. Our enemy is dangerous, deceitful, and highly
skilled. These broken puppets were made so new recruits like you
can practice—so that one day, as a true soldier, you can defend
this great city. When that time comes, you will know how to kill
the Sixth Race, and you will
want
to." Sumas glanced around the ranks. His eyes
locked on Talarin and he slowly frowned.

Caprion sucked in a nervous
breath.

Then his brother turned
abruptly and walked along the first row of soldiers. “These slaves
are like most of the Unnamed—unskilled
savants,
in their tongue. But their
warrior caste, the Named assassins, are masters of treachery. They
will slit your throat faster than you can summon breath for a
song.” Another long, ominous pause. A thick, spellbinding energy
slowly accumulated amongst the soldiers, their eyes riveted on the
ten slaves.

Caprion took note of this.
He could probably march clear to the center of the room and no one
would turn to look.
Now is the
time.