Dark Fall (3rd Book)

Chapter 20: Rising Flames

The fire burned low. Shadows danced across the cavern walls, black shapes twisting and trembling. Steel clacked against stone a fair-faced men and women in gilded gold patrolled about, holding weapons more suited to being hung on a wall than in battle. The cave was very wide, abtle to handle the girth of two young dragons or one full grown one with ease, but even then, the Disciples of Dawn, with their huge numbers, made Fendrel feel enclosed within a tight space.

Fear pierced him when he heard a low growl emanate from deep inside the cave, and more than one Disciple tore their blades out their sheaths when a roar burst from within, but Fendrel figured it was just the dragon having a dream. The others made the same realization, and they continued their rounds in silence.

He's lucky, He thought bitterly as he turned his head to look back at the black throat that lead to the slumbering dragon, he can still sleep soundly at night. Many a night had passed with him shivering under the covers, begging for sleep, yet none gave him such a comfort. He turned back to Morgana.

"Ask what you will," She told him in a soft voice, eyes cast down against his glare. "I shall answer them as best I can."

The Disciples of Dawn were austere and obedient, never slacking like a glutton, but even then, Fendrel could feel the hate they harbored for him. He could even think their thoughts. And he shivered once more as he imagined a blade poking his chest. They were implacable, that he knew. So ruthless when it came to two things: protecting their gods and goddesses, literally ensuring that a single hair of theirs was not bent.

The other, he knew, was fighting against the darkspawn, their maker, and his own maker.

"Why now." His voice was raw, as if it were unused for quite some time. "You could have come earlier, when the threat was merely a parasite. Instead you come when it's a plague."

His words forced her to look him in the eyes with that same fire from before. Fires of mortality. A saying he knew very well. The fuel of the soul. He doubted that this lot still possessed it, much less knew its meaning.

"And what could we have done?" Her voice seemed to echo against the cave walls, and what was once a soothing and gentle tone became hard and filled with enmity. "We had as much chance as you all did against the demons. Our powers are not our own."

"And Merec?" Fendrel countered, scowling at her as she did to him. "His powers, they were stolen. Surely you could combat a thief? Or are you all too fat and lazy to get your arses off your thrones?"

I stand before a goddess with my tongue running as wild as a beast. He thought to himself as he watched Morgana's mouth curl. Perhaps we are like dragons, then. Quick to anger, quick to show your pride, and slow to forgive and forget.

"Here I am before you, Fendrel, and you tell me that?" Blue specks seemed to glow around her, an aura that Fendrel dared not ask. "Insolent fool. The Princess stands with him. We are holding onto a slick end, and the Princess stands, able to stomp on our hands and kick us. She can make us fall."

You'd think I had not thought about that?

"I had thought in my young stupidity that gods are the valor and strength all mortal men sought for." Fendrel's tone had gone so low that Morgana strained her ears to hear it. He was filled with loathing, so much hate they seemed a feast that can fill his belly for weeks. "Now, I know." Fendrel shook his head and scoffed. "You all are a weak lot. I'd wager that you're only power i..."

"Do not presume to know everything about us," She hissed, her hand rushing towards his face. It was so fast that Fendrel had no time to react. It did not even cast a blur was his only observation before a drum beat in his head.