Of Phoenix Tears and Demon Blood

8 - Scheme

The horse was breathing hard. Its flanks rose and fell beneath me as its ragged breaths cut through the air. It was warm, a stark difference to the cool air – which could only be an indicator of night. The horse was moving fast, it had already been galloping for a while, but now, a whip crackled, spurring desperation into its run.

Shouts echoed – indistinct but they carried within them that same desperation. We were being pursued, that was all I knew – the blindfold secured tightened around my head made sure of that.

"The shifters are catching us!" someone cried out into the night. They were close.

The whip cracked again and the horse leapt forward. "We're almost there. We must make it," a man replied – Captain Ozakan. His front pressed into my limp back, ensuring that I wouldn't fall off of the horse.

Brays erupted behind us but were abruptly cut off. The horse skidded to a stop and Ozakan grabbed my arm as I was flung forward. The horse shuddered. Metal clanged and chains rattled. Voices broke out as footsteps pattered on the ground.

Ozakan slid off the horse and I slumped forward against the horse's neck. Two other sets of hands lifted me off the horse.

"Careful!" Ozakan warned. "She's too drugged to stand by herself."

The sets of hands held me up as someone removed my blindfold. I blinked, confronted by a wall of blackness. Shapes slowly formed, shades of gray lightening as they blurred with movement – floating in the border between dreams and reality.

I stood in the bailey of the Taergoria Stronghold. It was night, the fortress was illuminated by a multitude of flickering torches held by the many people that crowded inside the bailey. The steep walls of the fortress on one side and the towering iron gate on the other leered over me, trapping me. It all seemed so different now – the last time I was here, Gen, Ella, and Audrey were by my side. I had been prepared to fight and die on the battlefield to pay for my sins. It seemed so different – and yet, I was still a prisoner, still bound to fight for and save my nation. Perhaps it wasn't my circumstances that had changed, but instead it was me.

The crowd surged around me, dozens of people were crammed in the bailey. I scanned the crowd, hunting for familiar faces – my friends or even acquaintances – but the shadows of the night kept their secrets. Everyone peered at me, intrusive eyes scouring every part of me to determine if I truly could be the last of the Eight, if I was worthy, if I looked the part. Two soldiers clothed in ochre Xufran uniforms held me up. My legs trembled, barely able to hold their own weight. The people pressed in closer, hands and eyes darting and reaching. They murmured and spoke in low voices, a solid wall of sound in which I could only catch snippets of words. The crowd hummed with a sort of energy – whether anticipation or distrust, I couldn't tell.

Ozakan turned to stare at me; he lifted my head up to look into my eyes. "She's drugged enough to not be a problem." His face was cloaked in shadows, with just one of the faint moons in the sky – perhaps Cristal – his face was only visible from the orange glowing light of the torches. "Take her to the great hall," he commanded.

The soldiers nodded. Several other soldiers surrounded us, separating us from the crowd. They led the way in the fortress.

The hallways were cloaked in their familiar darkness and the air carried a faint mildewy musk – although we could never find the source of it. The stone brick walls were moist and void of air. A rat faintly squeaked somewhere before scurrying away. The movements of the soldiers were hurried and the sound of their many boots clanked against the ground. Ozakan watched them warily as they navigated through the twisting labyrinth of halls. The corridors of the stronghold had little sense and no pattern to them – it had taken me months to learn them.