Tales of the Vangen: The Dead King of Danic (Book 3)

Chapter 51: A Woman's Wrath

Elba stood by the window, watching as all seven hells broke loose within Kel Dracon. A great bell tolled from outside, torches flickering into life like stars in the night sky. She heard the muffled sounds of people shouting, a continuous, grinding tremor felt beneath the soles of her shoes.

It was happening. It was finally happening. Libro had come for her, and he'd brought an army of devils with him. She smiled and placed a hand over her ever growing belly. No, she had to remind herself. He'd come for them both.

There was the muffled sound of rattling keys, of a door being hastily opened, frantic boot steps over stone and carpet.

Elba peered into a glass panel, saw the reflection of a Chosen standing behind her. Her hand slipped ever so gently into the pillowcase beside her, fingers brushing over a rough lump of metal.

"What is the meaning of this?" She demanded.

"My orders were to protect you, my lady," the Chosen said, rather begrudgingly too by the sound of it. "I apologize for my disturbance."

"As if your apologies mean anything. What's going on down there?"

"Rebels are attacking the castle, but you have nothing to fear. Somehow they got one of the gates opened, but they'll soon be dealt with."

Elba smiled despite herself. She gently palmed the lump of iron, bringing a hand to her mouth in feigned shock.

"How awful. How were they able to get inside in the first place?"

"Some old tunnel in one of the kitchens by the sounds of it. No one knows how they figured it out though."

Elba thanked her lucky stars. The man they'd sent to protect her was a yammering idiot. She dropped her hand, her other slowly reaching for the wooden handle in her pocket.

"And here I thought you Chosen were meant to be superior to us pathetic mortals. Ever vigilant and all that? Or were your boys sleeping on the job when it all happened?"

She'd meant to anger him, throw him off his game, but the Chosen looked scared more than anything else. He turned away, jaw muscles flexing as he gripped one of the chairs for support.

"Doesn't make any sense," he muttered. "I knew those men at the gatehouse. They were good men, solid men, they wouldn't abandon their post like that, but then how could..." He trailed off, his mind unable or unwilling to come to terms with the very real possibility that they were all dead.

"You know," Elba said. "There are things far worse than rebels attacking the castle tonight." She clicked the lump of iron into place on the wooden handle. Two parts joined together as one. A perfect fit.

The Chosen snapped his gaze up. "You don't say? Know something I don't, my lady?"

"I believe I do. Have you ever heard of the Vangen Royal Guard?"

"No, never heard of them."

"I thought not. Your little country has kept itself isolated for some time now, like a fish swimming in its own little pond, unaware of the bigger creatures lurking in deeper waters."

"Are you trying to insult me, my lady?" The Chosen's voice was cold and calm, but there was an edge to it Elba couldn't mistake.

"Of course not, I'm merely painting a picture for you. The Vangen Royal Guard are a company of soldiers who serve the greatest Empire in all the Cont. The Empire, in fact, hand picked from the mightiest warriors across the land, and battle hardened from years of constant warfare. They are, to put simply, the best of the best."

Elba stared out the window. A fire had broken out somewhere, smoke blooming over the horizon and mixing with the miasma above. She could here the faint clash and clamor of battle down below, bodies surging, rushing, racing over the snow churned mud.