Born In Flames
Born In Flames
Born In Flames is an Epic Fantasy short story that takes place between the events in my A Kingdom Divided Series
and my Strife of Souls Series. It shows the battle of King's Court from the point of view of Vera Sandrinas, the commander who led the assault for the forces of the Baron Gerwold.
Frankly I love her character and hope you enjoy her too.
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Born in Flames
S.C. Stokes
Vera charged through the shattered remnants of the Lion Gate. With Baron Gerwold’s elite, the pride of Belnair, at her back, she stormed through the breach. Steel rang against steel as her men swept the defenders aside like a tidal wave.
Flooding into a cobblestone square, Vera found the city watch rallying their forces to meet the Baron’s vanguard.
“For the Wolf!” Vera cried, raising her hammer aloft.
The voices of her battle brothers rang in her ears as she charged across the square. The first watchman thrust at her, his blade dropping low as he sought to drive it home.
With practiced ease, Vera swept her hammer down, driving the blade away. The watchman’s eyes went wide, as Vera brought the weapon back to crush his skull.
A flicker of steel caught her eye and she whirled to find the next watchman’s sword arcing toward her exposed throat. Vera raised her shield at the last moment.
The furious blow rattled up her arm, but she ignored it, her hammer already descending toward the man’s chest. He fell atop his companion.
A sonorous horn sounded from deep within the city. As its call carried over the fray, the watchmen turned tail and ran.
“Cowards!” Vera cried, her body singing from the thrill of battle.
As the horn faded, another took its place. This time it came from overhead. Deep and guttural, its intensity shook the street, rattling the shutters on the nearby homes.
Her heart stopped. Searching, she found its source, perched atop the Lion Gate.
A dragon.
Ruby red, with scales that shimmered in the sunlight, the creature of legend loomed over the square in terrible majesty.
Vera willed her feet to move, but they would not.
With undeniable fury, the dragon drove the Baron’s forces from the wall, sweeping the stone ramparts with each cleaving stroke of its claws.
Sweat ran down her brow as Vera and her companions stood, transfixed by the creature’s deadly splendor.
The dragon loomed over the courtyard. Its serpentine neck snaked down toward Vera.
It was then that she saw him. The rider.
Clad in scaled armor that matched his steed, his piercing gaze met Vera’s. Raising his spear, the rider shouted in a tongue she couldn't comprehend.
The great beast threw wide its jaws as a spark flickered to life deep within its dark gullet. The dragon roared, sending torrents of flame cascading down from the wall, bathing the square.
As the fire descended, Vera knew her armor would be useless against such elemental fury.
Falling to her knees, she cried out, “Allfather, protect me!”
The flames washed over the square, overwhelming heat surging all around her. Superheated air choked her as she fought for breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, her ears filled with the anguished screams of her battle brothers.
She waited for her end, but it did not come.
As the flames burned out and the screams ceased, Vera opened her eyes and found herself alone.
The creature was gone.
Sweat ran down Vera’s brow. Resting her palms against the cobblestone road, she sucked in a deep breath. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air. She fought the urge to retch.
Smoke rose from the devastated market square. The charred remnants of the vanguard lay all about her. Armor, flesh, and bone had yielded before the dragon’s wrath.
Glancing down, Vera found her own breastplate unscathed; her leathers too, showed no sign of the creatures’ fury.
How had she survived the deadly fire storm?
As if in answer, the clouds shifted overhead, allowing the sun's rays to beat down upon her. Had the Allfather truly answered her prayer?
God of the Valaar, the Allfather was believed to be the embodiment of light, the father of Creation. As a child, Vera had been taught to believe in the omnipotent being. A lifetime in the Baron’s service had taught her that faith was better placed in a blade than a deity. Never had the Allfather seen fit to make his influence felt in her life.
The rattle of steel against steel drew her from her reflection.
From the corner of her eye she spotted Skaeros, her faithful weapon, lying on the cobblestones. Cursing her carelessness, she clutched the haft of her hammer and scrambled to her feet.
Her heart pounded so loudly she could feel it in her ears.
Looking to the heavens, she searched the skies for the deadly beast, but they were clear.
Footsteps thudded behind her. She turned, raising Skaeros in anticipation. A platoon of soldiers marched across the market square. A giant wolf’s head was emblazoned upon each shield.
Vera breathed a sigh of relief. Reaching down, she lifted a shield from one of the fallen soldiers. It was battered and singed, but it would be better than nothing.
Shaking Skaeros, she cried out to the reinforcements. "Warriors of the Wolf, with me!"
Their captain, a grizzled veteran, glanced down at Vera’s breastplate. The insignia of the Baronial Guard, a wolf’s head surrounded by a laurel wreath, was etched in it.
The captain raised his longsword in salute and fell in beside Vera.
“The defenders flee before us,” Vera called over the din.
“What happened here?” the captain asked, gesturing at the ruined market. “Was it—”
“The dragon?” Vera interrupted. “Yes. We best be gone before it returns. Take heart, we are within the city, the battle is all but won. We have but to take the throne and the day is ours. Beasts or not, the crown commands. When Gerwold wears it, even the dragons will swear fealty.”
The captain’s head cocked a little to the left. He appeared unconvinced but didn’t voice his uncertainty. The Baron’s forces were disciplined. Doubts or not, they would follow their orders.
Vera led the charge out of the market. The defenders had been routed but Vera had lost sight of them during the dragon’s deadly intrusion. Its savage assault had lent the defenders a much-needed reprieve.
What had been a rout would now deteriorate into bitter street fighting. The Wolf had taken the walls swiftly, but the sprawling capital still provided ample opportunities for deadly ambushes to be sprung.
While Vera had led the assault on the Lion Gate, Baron Gerwold and his sorceress had breached the east wall, near the Citadel. The defenders would be facing foes on every side. The farther Vera could press into the city, the more defenders would be rallied to thwart her advance, giving the Baron a clearer path to the citadel and the throne.
The King’s Highway was wide enough for four wagons to pass side-by-side. Houses and stalls lined the thoroughfare, their occupants cowered within. They had nothing to fear, the Baron’s orders had been clear: anyone pillaging the city would be beheaded. He would not reign over smoke and ruin.
The Wolf pressed onward. As the highway climbed through the city, toward the citadel, wagons and debris had been drawn across the laneway, forming a makeshift barrier almost the height of a man.
Behind it the town guard mustered. They were regrouping. With every passing moment, they were becoming more entrenched.
The vanguard stormed down the King’s Highway, into the waiting jaws of the town watch and their cross bows.
"Shields!" Vera shouted, raising hers to guard her face and vital organs.
There was a series of twangs as the watch’s crossbows let their deadly bolts fly.
The first bolt was high, racing over Vera’s head, but the second punched into her shield. Its iron head protruded mere inches from her arm. The soldier at Vera's right was too slow and the volley took him in the chest. He collapsed, as did others along the line. Vera regretted their loss but there was no time to mourn. The Wolf strode over their fallen brethren as they stormed the barricade.
Any hesitation would allow the defenders to reload. As the Wolf closed, the defenders discarded their crossbows and raised their swords in readiness. Vera was close enough now to see their sword hands tremble as the vanguard descended.
Such a waste. The town watch were young, and their lives were being spent frivolously by a bureaucratic council that simply couldn’t recognize when it was conquered.
Reaching the makeshift barrier, Vera scrambled up into a wagon bed. From her new vantagepoint, she got her first look over the barricade.
Fifty town watchmen huddled waiting. They had done well to conceal their numbers. The first of the Wolf to throw themselves over the wall were beset on all sides, their retreat blocked by the wagons at their back.
A long sword lashed at her from the street below. Vera sidestepped the clumsy swing and the blade bit deep into the wagon bed. Too deep. The watchman’s eyes went wide as he panicked. Before he could extract the blade, Vera brought her hammer down on his helmet. The steel might've blocked the worst of the blow, but the man's neck snapped, anyway.
As the soldier fell, another took his place. He thrusted his blade up toward her belly. Catching the blow on her shield, Vera batted it away before driving a bone shattering blow to the man's shoulder. His sword clattered to the ground as his ruined shoulder gave in. He doubled over only to be rewarded with Vera’s boot in his face. He collapsed in a crumpled heap.
Dropping to her knee, Vera rested her hammer in the wagon bed and wrenched the sword free. As the next watchman charged toward her, she hurled the blade at him. The sword plunged into his chest. He joined his fallen comrades on the cobblestones below.
The Wolf continued to swarm over the barricade. More than a dozen had died as they hurled themselves on the ambushers, but the weight of numbers was quickly turning in the Baron’s favor.
Vera dropped to the street but soon found herself being pressed by two town guard. The first swung his blade at her left flank. She deflected the blow with her shield just as the guardsman on her right thrust at her with his blade. She moved to parry, but he was faster. The blade sliced through her leathers, biting into her right arm.
She grit her teeth against the pain. To hesitate was to die. With an angry bellow, she drove the shield into the first guardsmen's face. His nose broke as the shield struck home, blood pouring from the wound.
The second drew back his blade again. Vera swung her hammer and caught him in the chest. As he sank to his knees, her second strike shattered his skull.
The Wolf swarmed over the barrier overwhelming the town watch with sheer weight of numbers.
The town guard fought desperately. Vera admired their courage. Their misplaced loyalty to their masters was noble but had ultimately placed them on the wrong side of this war. Gerwold would usher in greater prosperity than had been known in a hundred years. History would remember her as the hero who had led the charge.
Their ranks thinning by the moment, the town guard faltered. Less than a dozen remained. Their fallen comrades littered across the street. The seasoned veterans let out a cheer as the defenders ran for their lives.
Vera looked down at her arm. Blood ran from her wound. Dropping her shield, she examined the cut. It was shallow but would need stitches. For the time being, a binding would have to do.
Crouching down, she tore a stretch of cloth from the cloak of a fallen watchman. Wrapping it twice around her arm, she tied it off. With a stifled groan, she pushed to her feet.
Up ahead stood the imposing gates of the Golden Citadel.
“Onward!” she bellowed.
As the Wolf advanced, a deafening crack rolled down the highway followed by a gurgling scream.
Vera turned seeking the source of the cry. She gasped as she found three of her men, awkwardly impaled on an immense steel bolt. The missile had punched straight through their ranks, pinning the three of them together like a macabre roast on a spit. Their wailing cry waned as the men collapsed in a gurgling heap.
Ballista.
Raising her eyes to search the citadel’s walls, Vera found a weapons crew busily reloading the war machine perched on a mount above the gatehouse. Before it, row upon row of archers lined the citadel’s curtain wall, their bows raised, arrows nocked.
"Take cover,” Vera cried as the cloud of arrows was loosed.
The sky darkened as hundreds of shafts arced through the air. As the rain of death descended, Vera threw herself under the nearest wagon.
Pained cries filled the air as the storm of arrows cut down those who couldn't find cover.
As arrows slammed into the wagon bed, Vera assessed her options. Up ahead, the citadels gates were firmly sealed. Without a battering ram, there was no way for her to press forward. Charging into the defenders’ fire without the means to breach the gate was suicide. Neither could they remain where they were. Pinned down by the archers and siege weapons on the walls, they would be picked off one at a time.
Vera was loath to retreat but without greater preparation, they would spend their lives needlessly and achieve nothing.
No, she would regather the vanguard, find something to use as a ram, and then lead the charge that would secure the Baron the throne. Failing that, she would wait and combine forces with the Baron for the final assault. Bolstered by the magic of the sorceress, the gates would prove little obstacle to him.
The Baron will be here soon enough.
A war horn carried over the city. Its deep sonorous note rang loud and clear. It was an unfamiliar pitch, its note unlike any of the Wolf’s.
Vera dragged herself out from under the wagon and strode back the way she had come.
"We cannot take the Citadel without the means to breach the gate. The Baron was to provide those means,” she said. “If we advance alone, we will be cut down. We have the greater numbers; but we must wait for our Lord. Let us rally our forces so that we are not cut down like dogs in the street. When he arrives, we will seize the citadel.”
She caught the anxious looks the soldiers exchanged. The Golden Citadel was formidable, and the defenders more numerous than had been anticipated. The Baron had expected to catch the city unawares and force their surrender. Instead, they had found the city watch bolstered by the presence of the King’s Guard. The walls had fallen, but even now the assault faltered as the town watch fell back to the Citadel.
“Take heart, the Baron will be here any moment,” she said. “Do you wish for him to see your hesitation for himself?”
The soldiers gathered, eyes downcast, shuffling their weight from one foot to the other.
“I said, do you want the Baron to behold your cowardice?” Vera shouted.
“No!” came the resounding response.
Vera placed her left hand over her heart. “Then take courage and form ranks, sons of the Wolf! Let us gather our strength and be ready when our Master comes.”
The horn call rolled over the field once more. Vera led the remnants of her Vanguard north, toward the relative safety of the market square.
As the horn carried over the city, it was drowned out by another sound.
The rising cadence of horse hooves signaled not a single rider, but many. The growing din was deafening.
But our cavalry were left to guard Belnair.
The Baron had only brought his foot soldiers with him.
The heavy drum of hooves grew louder with each passing moment. As Vera retreated toward the Lion Gate, the din had risen to a deafening stampede.
Her heart stopped as she realized the truth. The stampede was coming from beyond the city’s wall. With the Baron’s cavalry left behind in Belnair, the horn call could mean only one thing. It was a signal for the flagging defenders of King's Court.
Reinforcements had arrived.
But from where? Vera's mind raced. The nearest reinforcements should have been days away still. Gerwold’s brutal assault had been a well-guarded secret. They had marched from Belnair under the cover of darkness.
We should have had days before anyone learned of the siege. Something is wrong.
The hairs on her neck stood on end, but Vera pushed on. She needed to know what forces were arrayed against them. As the Lion Gate came into view, her heart sank. The immense war machine that had shattered the gates was ablaze, a steady plume of smoke rising from it. What should have been a steady flow of allied soldiers from Fordham and Belnair had dissipated. Only a handful of men were making their way into the city.
Vera waved them down, but the soldiers ignored her as they bolted past her.
Moments later, riders burst through the Lion Gate and into the city. Sitting astride mighty warhorses, hulking Northerners rode axe in hand, fur pelts swinging from their shoulders. As their eyes settled on Vera and the contingent of Wolf, they raised their axes aloft and let out their feral war cries.
The Sisaron. Nomadic savages, they had stubbornly refused to lend their support to the Baron. If there was one thing the tribesmen hated more than the bureaucracy of the King’s Council, it was the Baron.
The Baron was easily one of the most powerful men on the island, and he’d been zealous in driving any roaming north men off his verdant lands and back into the steppes they called home.
Now it seemed they had decided to return the Baron’s hospitality, throwing in their lot with the rebels.
Gerwold had hoped they would simply ignore the conflict and keep to themselves. Vera had not been so optimistic, but she had counted on more time.
As the cavalry poured through the Lions Gate, Vera realized her retreat was entirely cut off. With the Sisaron before her, and the steel gates of the Citadel behind her, she was surrounded.
She beheld the wall of flesh and steel barreling toward her. The Sisaron charge filled the breadth of the expansive cobblestone thoroughfare. Vera had no delusions of grandeur. She had witnessed the north men in battle before; to stand was to die.
Her arms dropped hopelessly to her side. She had her orders—duty demanded she bear them out—but to do so would be death. As a recruit, she had been regaled with stories of the valor of the Wolf Guard, the men and women whose shoulders had carried Belnair to greatness. Men and women who had given their lives for the greater glory of the Barony. It always sounded so noble in the bard’s tales. A worthy and glorious end, a death worth aspiring too, or so she had always told herself.
Now as that death bore down on her, its appeal had faded.
“I’m not ready to die,” she said aloud to herself. “Not now, not like this.”
“Pardon captain?” the soldier at her side asked. “What are your orders?”
Vera looked to the Sisaron. It felt like only moments ago she had been staring into the gaping maw of the red dragon, as its oily flames descended. Had the Allfather truly spared her for this? Was her miraculous survival simply a passing joke for the omnipotent being?
“Why spare me at all?” Vera asked herself.
The soldier at her side shook his head before backing away. Vera glanced over her shoulder to see her ragtag cohort fleeing to the four winds. Orders or not, they had chosen their fate.
Her blood boiled as she gripped the haft of her hammer. If the Allfather wished for her to live, he would have to act.
Staring at the heavens, Vera cried out, “What do you want from me?”
The answer came as a voice, not her own, shouted inside her mind. “I want you to live. Run, you fool!”
The voice commanded obedience.
As she looked at the closing Sisaron, her heart trembled. Tearing her eyes from the fearsome sight, she searched for an escape. Many of her soldiers were fleeing deeper into the city.
There was no way of knowing if the Baron had made it to the Citadel, or if he would even reach it at all. Every moment that passed made his victory less certain. Fleeing to the Citadel was a gamble she was not willing to take.
To her right stood a merchant’s store. Its shutters and door were closed but the building itself was expansive and appeared to back onto a warehouse.
Vera raced to the door and tested the handle.
Locked.
Leaning back, she kicked for all she was worth. The door rattled on its hinges but refused to yield.
She glanced over her shoulder. The Sisaron were closing. They were almost on top of her.
Raising Skaeros, she sized up the door’s hinges. With a skill born of years of practice, she slammed the hammer home against each hinge in quick succession. The blows rattled up her arm, as the tortured hinges twisted beneath the hammer’s wrath.
The thundering charge of the Sisaron was deafening. Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest, but it was too late to change her course now.
Leaning back, she kicked the door right by the battered hinges.
With a groan, the door gave way, buckling into the store.
Vera felt rather than heard the whinnying snort of the Sisaron steed as she dove into the merchant’s store. She struck the floor, driving the wind from her lungs. Gasping for breath, she rolled onto her back and watched in wonder as north men by the hundreds thundered past down the King’s Highway.
As the horde moved down the King’s Highway, two of the riders reined in before the store.
There’s no rest for the weary.
As she scrambled to her feet, she looked for somewhere to hide. The store was filled with bolts of fabric, ready for the markets. Another door led deeper into the building.
The first Northman dismounted and strode into the store, pushing aside the broken door that still hung awkwardly from the chain that had been used to lock it.
His face was hidden behind a steel helmet and a brown beard that was barely contained by a wrought iron circlet. In his hand, he clutched a broad-headed axe.
His companion followed behind him. He wore no helmet, and his blond hair hung down to his shoulders. He carried a long sword with an ease that concerned Vera. Both men were broader than her by at least two spans.
These were no city watchmen. These were warriors, born and bred to crush the life from the Sisaron’s enemies.
“What have we here?” the first said as his eyes roved over her.
“A little girl playing at being a soldier,” the blond-haired warrior replied. “How adorable.”
Vera’s rancor rose. “Playing, you say? You two pups were still at your mother’s chest the day I took service with my master. Fear not, you won’t be the first I have sent to the ancestor’s halls, there will be others to dry your tears when you too are bested by a woman.”
“You? Besting a son of the Sisaron? I think not.” the man with the brown beard said as he ambled to his right.
“Best not to think,” Vera said, backing toward the doorway behind her. “It’s never been your people’s strongest suit.”
“You have spirit,” the blond warrior said as he maneuvered to the left. “We’re going to enjoy this.”
“That’s what your predecessor thought too. Now he rides in the heaven’s and I still have his hammer.” Vera brandished Skaeros before them, so that they could make out its markings.
“You stole a dead man’s steel?” Brown beard’s hand tightened around his axe until his knuckles turned white.
“Why not?” she said with a shrug. “He didn’t need it anymore, and it’s such a fine weapon, utterly wasted on a mongrel pup like the Sisaron.”
Brown beard growled as he lumbered forward, his face flushed with rage.
Vera smiled. Her taunts had struck a chord. The brute raised his axe and swung for all he was worth, a brutal blow that would separate Vera’s torso from her legs if it could reach its mark.
She darted back through the doorway as the axe passed mere inches before her, burying itself in the timber door jam. Brown beard wrestled with the axe. Vera launched forward and drove her hammer into his face, breaking his nose. The brute grunted as both hands went to his face. Vera brought the hammer around, striking his right cheek with enough force to snap his neck.
As brown beard fell, Vera turned to look for his companion. Only to find the warrior’s steel gauntlet closing rapidly. The fist caught Vera with a brutal backhanded blow that sent her sprawling across the store.
Her face was on fire as she tumbled to the ground. As she rolled to a halt, she clutched her cheek. The skin was torn, and it was already swelling. She considered herself fortunate the blow didn’t seem to have broken her jaw.
The blond warrior loomed over her. Her hand searched for Skaeros, but the hammer was gone. She’d lost it during her fall.
“Not so smart now, are you?” he said. “Yaekar might have been a fool, but he deserved better than that. I will make you wish you were dead.”
Vera had little doubt of his intentions. Given the choice, she’d rather die.
Summoning her strength, she drove her boot toward his groin. He turned at the last moment, and her boot simply clipped his thigh.
“You little wretch, you’ll pay for that,” he bellowed, as he dropped to his knees, straddling her.
Vera fought back, but the brute grabbed her breastplate and lifted her body off the floor. Grinning like a man possessed, he drove his forehead into her face. Vera’s head reeled as she fought to keep consciousness. Blood seeped down her face from a split above her brow. Utterly drained, she collapsed.
The blond warrior smirked as he let her fall back to the floor. “That was for Yaekar.”
Shaking her head, Vera mumbled. “Yaekar was fortunate.”
The man set down his sword, but Vera lashed out with her bare hands, gouging at his eyes.
Shifting his weight, he pinned Vera’s arms down with his legs, before wrestling with the leather straps of her breastplate. Flexing her fingers, Vera reached for his boot.
As he tore the front plate of the breastplate free, Vera managed a weak smile.
“There you go. It’s not all bad, is it?” The warrior gloated as his eyes lingered over her.
Vera struggled to speak, but little more than air escaped her lips.
“What was that, dear?” He leaned closer.
Vera’s fingers closed around the knife tucked in the sheath at his boot.
“I said, Yaekar was fortunate… his death was swift. You’re going to suffer.”
The warrior raised an eyebrow.
Pushing off the ground with her feet, Vera gained enough room to move. Yanking the knife from its scabbard, she plunged it deep into his thigh. Her tormentor cried out, shifting his weight. As her other arm slipped free. She yanked the knife from his flesh. Before he could register his mistake, she grabbed a fistful of his hair in her left hand and with her right drove the knife straight into his chest, just above his breastplate.
His eyes went wide as a sickening gurgle escaped his lips. Reaching up, Vera pushed the man off her. As he collapsed to the floor, she pulled herself to her feet. After a few deep breaths, she bent down and picked up the man’s longsword.
“That’s the difference between the Wolf and you barbarians,” she said, staring down at him. “We know better than to mix business and pleasure.”
With practiced care, she drove the longsword through his stomach, pinning him to the floor, ensuring a slow but certain death.
The two halves of her breastplate laid to the side. In her weakened state, it was more than she could manage to lift it. Moreover, with the city in turmoil, she stood a better chance of surviving if her allegiance wasn’t immediately recognizable.
Reaching down, she lifted Skaeros from the floor. “Come, old friend. Let us be away from this place.”
Staggering through the store, she passed into the warehouse. Bolts of fabric were piled high throughout it. Huddled in the shadows of the merchant’s goods waiting to be shipped, she found a mother crouching with two children. The youngest, no older than five years old, saw Vera and screamed.
Vera raised a finger to her lips. “Hush, little one, I’m not here for you.”
The mother clutched her daughters tight, shaking her head as she stared pleadingly at Vera. “Please. Take anything you want. Just leave us be.”
Vera touched her hand to her face; it came away covered in blood. Not all of it was her own.
“Rest easy,” she said. “I want nothing from you save directions to the nearest temple. I need a healer.”
The mother’s hand shook as she pointed at the rear of the warehouse. “The door out back opens onto the Chapel Way. Turn left and follow it until you reach the Chapel Keep. It belongs to the order of the Allfather. You won’t do better for a healer.”
“Thank you.” Vera turned to leave but paused. “The men out front are dead or dying. Leave them to their fate.”
The mother nodded, covering her children’s eyes as if to spare them the horror.
“You won’t want to be here when their comrades come looking for them,” Vera said. “If you have friends nearby, you best seek shelter with them until the danger passes.”
With that, she trudged off through the warehouse. Leaving the woman and her children defenseless pained her, but she could do little for them in her current state. If anything, her presence put them in greater danger.
Reaching the back of the warehouse, Vera found the door and pushed it open. The road was clear but the sound of battle still carried through the city. She stepped out onto the cobblestone thoroughfare. Following the mother’s council, Vera turned left and worked her way down the street. Each step was agony as the pain from her wounds wore her down. She was faint from the loss of blood, and only her willpower kept her moving forward.
A glimmer overhead drew her gaze, and for a moment she feared the dragon had returned.
Instead, she saw a man soaring through the sky, carried as if on the wind itself. Even more bizarre was his companion who appeared to be flailing as he was dragged along through the air. The pair hurtled toward the Golden Citadel, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared.
Vera shook her head. “I must have lost more blood than I thought.”
Lowering her gaze back to the street, she spotted her destination looming ahead: two large steel gates. Embossed on their surface was an immense image of a blazing sun. The center of the sun had been fashioned into a smiling face.
The symbol was known throughout Valaar.
The Allfather.
It had to be the Chapel Keep, home of the Order.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Vera staggered up to the gate. She pushed against it, but it didn’t budge.
Raising her fist, Vera summoned what strength she could and rapped on the heavy gate.
From the gatehouse above a voice called, “The Chapel Keep is a place of peace. Begone at once!”
Searching for the source of the voice, Vera raised her eyes but the glare from the sun made it impossible to see the speaker.
“I mean you no harm,” Vera called back. “I need a healer.”
“Perhaps,” the voice replied, “but that hammer is no blacksmith’s tool and you’re drenched in blood. Call on your own kind for aid. The Chapel Keep is closed.”
Vera dropped Skaeros. The hammer was not helping her cause. “There you go, I’m unarmed. As for the blood, most of it is mine. I am no threat to you.”
There was a lingering pause before the voice replied, “Most of the blood, you say? Most, but not all?”
“I’m a soldier not a saint,” Vera cried. “Will you leave me to die for doing my duty?”
“The Order does not intervene in the politics of the great houses. Come back when the fighting has ceased, and we will do what we can for you.”
Vera sank to her knees before the gates. “Sorry, friend. I have not the strength to go anywhere. I shall wait right here. Rest assured, if I die, your master is going to be furious.”
A hint of confusion was evident in the voice as it replied, “The Prelate? What do you know of the Prelate? It was him that ordered the Keep sealed.”
Vera shook her head. “Not the Prelate, you fool. The Allfather. He didn’t spare my life so I could bleed out on the Keep’s doorstep. Now, open the gates or fetch someone with the authority who can.”
The gatehouse went silent. Vera sat silently with her hands resting on her knees, fighting to keep herself upright.
After what felt like an eternity, there was a creak and the gates swung open.
More than a dozen soldiers marched out. Each wore a shining silver breastplate embossed with the smiling sun of the Allfather. The soldiers took up position around her. As they parted, they revealed an older soldier. His steel armor was embossed with gold detail, and his lengthy brown beard was streaked with grey. Deep-set creases at the corners of his eyes spoke of a hard life of service.
As he studied Vera, his brow furrowed.
Vera raised her gaze to meet his. “If you are going to kill me, get it over with.”
His eyes seemed to bore into her soul. “Why the hurry to die, young Wolf? A moment ago, you wanted a healer.”
“Wolf?” Vera asked, wondering how the man had identified her allegiance so readily. With the city on fire, it did not bode well for her.
He nodded. “Your battle leathers betray you. That is the Baron’s sigil, is it not? Before you consider lying, you should know that I both see the tattoo on your right forearm and know its meaning. You are no ordinary Wolf. So, I ask again, why are you here?”
Vera met his gaze. “Earlier today, I was bathed in dragon’s fire. Of my entire command, I alone survived the devastation. All because I called upon your God to spare me and he did. I should be dead and I’m not. I want to know why.”
He slowly stroked his beard. “Dragon’s fire, you say?”
“Yes,” Vera said. “I was entirely immersed and yet I did not burn. What does that even mean?”
“It means you’re in luck.” He motioned toward the Chapel Keep. “You’re going to see the Prelate.”
Vera breathed a sigh of relief. Leaning forward, she went to stand but her knees gave out, and she tumbled onto the cobblestones, barely clinging to consciousness.
Two of the guards closed in and hauled her to her feet, taking her weight as they carried her over the threshold into the Chapel Keep.
From behind her, the veteran called, “We best get you a healer, young Wolf. After all, if you are lying, the Prelate will want to kill you himself.”
Vera tried to reply, but she found she no longer had the energy to speak. Collapsing against her support as the guards dragged her into the keep. Battered and bleeding, she was lucky to be alive, she knew most of her brethren had not been so fortunate.
Before her, two wooden doors bore the image of the Allfather, as they swung open Vera managed a small smile. Grateful as she was to be alive, there was one thing she wanted more.
Answers.
Vera only prayed the Prelate would be capable of giving them.
The End
You can continue the adventure in the Strife of Souls Series
here, or enjoy the trilogy that came before it here.