Knights and Dragons of Avondale Read online

  PRESENTS

  KNIGHTS AND dragons

  OF

  avondale

  Copyright © 2019 by Kai Kazi

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Dark Stories Press

  Kai Kazi Studio

  Ottawa, Canada

  www.kaikazi.com

  Quazi Investment

  2019

  KNIGHTS AND DRAGONS OF AVONDALE

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER I

  CHAPTER II

  CHAPTER III

  CHAPTER IV

  CHAPTER V

  CHAPTER VI

  CHAPTER VII

  CHAPTER viiI

  CHAPTER IX

  CHAPTER X

  CHAPTER XI

  CHAPTER XII

  CHAPTER XIII

  CHAPTER XIV

  CHAPTER XV

  EPILOGUE

  FREE NOVELLA

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  FINAL THOUGHTS

  A NOTE FROM KAI

  A BIT ABOUT KAI

  OTHER WORKS BY KAI KAZI

  One Thousand Year

  PROLOGUE

  “Woman be born in blood, and die in blood child, so shut your mouth.” The first words spoken in a human tongue to reach her ears, and she found more comfort in them than she should have. She stopped crying,

  “My mama no woman.” She said, throat aching to speak so low and soft. The still, stony giant behind her had taught her to speak in roars and growls; to speak with the voice of Gods and Goddesses. But the blood of a giant soaks the ground like any other. The women gathered nodded,

  “No, but you need to be.” The tall thin one said, her tanned face stoic, “So hush your mouth and remember this. Every woman walks in a circle. Take than and make of it what you will. Every woman walks in a circle from blood to blood, but you be meant for better things.” She swallowed and blinked slowly,

  “Say who?” She said, “Says you?” They spoke so low and fast the words slipped by like water and fire, but she caught them and dragged them to herself,

  “Says Pallas.” The woman said, “And Chei.”

  “And who they?” She jutted her chin. The woman stepped forward, slapping her smartly,

  “Them who can teach you to wake your people.” She hissed, “You want to die here, take your kind with you? No human around here take in a Weyvren bitch, no use, no good, and bad luck. Pallas and Chei want your kind back, and they be the only ones.” She shivered, the woman sighed, “that disguise no good, either, so let it be and come as you are, child. We don’t mind.”

  She let the half-formed flesh, made in haste when the voices came near, slide from her bones and shivered in the torch-light. The women nodded approvingly and parted to welcome her in. The cloak they threw around her was a gesture or so she thought, but when one lifted her and she felt the soft flesh beyond it she realised it was not for her. She would strip the flesh from their bones without meaning to. For the first time she looked at her claws and saw them for what they were; weapons. She wanted her mama.

  When the frozen grass gave way to warm, dry heat and scorching, malleable hills that gave way beneath their feet she was placed on her own.

  “The child will need shoes.” A short woman said, but she buried her feet into the hot ground and purred in pleasure.

  “No.” The tall woman said, pulling her hood back, “she don’t.” The women were all different, she realised. She didn’t know humans could be so different. The tall one was dark and shining, her hair like an eruption of midnight, the short one almost golden with strange wide eyes, another pale with fire on her head. The pale one pulled her hood over her face again and they walked on like they were one mind, one body, and one spirit. Every weary step was in sync so that she skipped and staggered by them like an unwanted tag-along, her dark skin shining in the sun.

  The big, white building that came into view was so beautiful that she blinked and did nothing else for seconds uncounted. It got bigger as they neared, and strange desert flowers waved from the cracks in the sandblasted stone. Inside was quiet and cold and loud and dark; no sounds came from the depths, but every one she sent in came back like a slap in the face, so loud and clear it rang. The women who waited were as different as night at day. One dark as night and small and so thin she could have passed as a shadow, the other big and pale and shining, everything about her screamed for attention.

  “This is her, Sheron?” The dark woman said,

  “Yes.” The pale woman pulled back her hood, letting the fire loose,

  “Good.” She said,

  “Chei what-” Sheron began, but the dark woman, Chei, held up a hand,

  “Pallas,” she looked up to the pale woman, “Will she do, do you think?” Pallas nodded, baring her teeth strangely,

  “Yes. She’ll do well. She’ll have to, the mother is dead, isn’t she Chimanda?” Pallas said. The tall woman who had found her first started,

  “Yes. The hunters found her a day before us, it seems.” She said, but she didn’t seem surprised that Pallas knew.

  “Take her for food and bathe her, sister,” Chei said, “and we’ll speak in the morning.” They discarded their cloaks and she saw that they were all dressed in red but Chimanda and Sheron. The red women slid away, leaving her with the other two. Sheron glided to her side and kneeled,

  “Do you have a name, child?” She asked, laughing when she told her; the syllables were old and dusty. They were not meant for her tongue. The laugh was like moonlight, “Can I call you Shaitani? It was my sisters name.”

  Shaitani nodded, baring her own teeth in response.

  CHAPTER I

  The warm sands were so unfamiliar, now, to her cold-bitten feet that when the dragon, her blessed and cursed Galerion, ploughed into the dunes she lay in an uncomprehending heap; how could she have known he had brought her home when she had not known it for so long? When she had first come here she was a vital dark child. Now she was weary; bleached bone in the sunshine. Shaitani coughed, agony lacing its way through every weary, grinding bone and joint in her battered body. The ages caught up with her at once; the energy spent in vain would not return without sacrifice. Through the smooth, pale skin bony protrusions were beginning to form. Shaitani swallowed and let the flesh slide from her in a rancid puddle before touching Galerions head.

  “Sleep, love,” she rasped, “I will wake you when we can feed.” He rumbled, a sound s
o low it shook the top layers of sand loose and closed his great eyes without protest. For five hundred years they had sought for some way to claw back the time. All undone by a silly little bitch and her ancient lackey! That cunt would pay in blood and flesh for the damage to her love… her prince. She touched the scaled side of his body, now motionless and cold. Soon the sand would cover him. Her too if she stayed still enough.

  The call of the deathless sleep was so strong. It was where her mother before had gone, never to return, and where Galerion had slipped too. If she slept would anyone blame her?

  If she slept who would wake her?

  Shaitani struggled to her feet and pushed to the top of the dunes, tilting her nose to the sky. Blood and bones and burning flesh, faint on the wind; the smell of home. She leapt, unfurling her wings and began the ragged journey. The winds that held her aloft tore and pulled at her screaming muscles and aching bones. Blood dripped from her feet to the shifting sea of dunes below.

  “Woman be born in blood and die in blood…” the words were old as her, old and hard. Shaitani remembered the blood on the stones and the heavy sickness in her belly as it heaved and wriggled with promise. “Woman walk in a circle, child, and it be drawn in blood.” So much blood, so much blood spent and shed and spilled that it had lost its colour over time. So much blood had been taken from her that she seemed bleached, too. Once she had shone like ebony. Now she was marble pale. The worn white stones were a blur in the distance at first, and then an impression, and then a monolith. The desert flowers waved in the scorching breeze, and, as the world darkened and narrowed, they were all she could see. The sand that flew and stacked up as she skidded to the bottom cut stone stairs was wet and matted with blood. She lay in it for an eternity before smooth dark hands pulled her to her feet,

  “Chimanda?” She asked, but it was not. The young girl knew of her, but she was not Chimanda. Chimanda was long dead, her blood was dry on the stones. “Pallas.” She said, “Chei.” The girl nodded and called in some bastard tongue that had grown in the region while she was away. A tanned man joined her, and they dragged Shaitani inside as the world faded once more.

  CHAPTER II

  Zennah squirmed in her arms, soft ears pressed back to her skull; she was afraid, but chafing under the hard grip that kept her so close,

  “I love her.” She said,

  “No,” Pallas said, “you don’t. You think you do because she gives you comfort, child a day will come when you devour such things without thought.” She shook her head,

  “No. I won’t.”

  “You must,” Chei said, “or you will never please the Prince.”

  “I don’t want to!” She screamed, and the room fell silent.

  “Then we will take you back to your mother, child.” Chei said, and she thought of the stone giant, cold and lifeless in that frigid cave. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she hugged Zennah so tightly that she whined.

  “I don’t want to.” She whispered, throat aching and dry.

  “But you must, nonetheless.”

  “It’s not fair,” she said, eyes on the cup of water Pallas was holding. Pallas snorted,

  “Life is not fair.” She said.

  She swallowed, looking to the knife she had discarded.

  “Will it hurt?” She said,

  “That depends on your skill.” Chei said, and she swallowed. Hard and fast, straight to the heart, and all the pain would be hers, or so she hoped. She looked at Zennah as she lifted the blade, and a heavy, oily, churning took up in her stomach. The large brown eyes that found her were so trusting, so utterly full of love that the guilt faded. She wouldn’t mind, if she knew what was at stake. Zennah wouldn’t mind giving her life so that Shaitani could live on. She had to believe that, but when she thrust the blade forward that belief faltered and the blade missed its mark, slipping down Zennahs ribcage to tear at the skin of her belly. Zennah screamed and writhed as her guts spilled onto the thirsty, black floor,

  “No. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry Zennah,” the brown eyes were rolling in her head, foam and blood spilled from her mouth, “Zennah.” She tried to push the shining entrails back into her stomach, but it was too late. Zennah fell still, now only a dog, and the scream that tore from her own guts was so loud it seemed to shatter the world-

  “Avondale!” Aiden shook her from the sweat drenched stupor she was in, but the screaming continued until Fiona burst into their bedroom and slapped her smartly across the face,

  “Avondale, darling, what’s wrong?” Fiona said and hugged her close while Aiden struggled to cover himself. He excused himself with a sullen mutter and left them,

  “I had a terrible dream,” Avondale gasped, “I was a child, but not a child, and I wasn’t me. The women were so cold and, oh there was a dog.” She pressed her hands to her face and sobbed, “the blood was everywhere…”

  “Hush,” Fiona hugged her, “the last few months have caught you, that’s all love.” Avondale nodded and swallowed. Fiona looked over her shoulder and sighed, “Have you told him?”

  “No.” Avondale said with a stifled sob,

  “You must do it soon,” Fiona said, “it will become unavoidable.”

  “I know.” She nodded and rubbed her palm across her sweaty forehead, “I know, but it… I think it would break him, Fiona.” She said. Fiona nodded and rubbed her shoulders,

  “Come, love, tomorrow night you’ll be at home with your father again,” Fiona said, “he will be so glad to see you. It will perk him, I am sure.”

  Aiden re-entered their room with a mug of water,

  “It’s as cool as I could find, love,” he said, and she took it gratefully. Fiona gave her a meaningful look and stood,

  “Call me if I am needed,” she said,

  “Thank you, Lady Fiona.” Aiden said, but his smile cracked when Sonja slipped past Fiona into the room,

  “I heard screaming?” She said, and Aiden sighed,

  “A night terror, Lady Sonja, nothing more.” He snapped. Avondale grimaced apologetically at her,

  “I am fine, Sonja, thank you.” Avondale said, “A night terror.” Sonja nodded and slipped out; her armour-clad form was becoming a necessity for Avondale to be calm and relaxed, and though Aiden didn’t know, not really, she could tell he was beginning to resent their attachment. An attachment that must have stood in stark contrast with the lack of intimacy in their own private life.

  They sat in silence punctuated only by the sound of her tankard clattering against her teeth with each sip,

  “Do you wish to let me in on the secret, Avondale?” He said eventually, voice low and tight, “I know that Fiona and Sonja know something I do not, and I do not appreciate being left out.”

  “Aiden, it’s not so simple.” She said, voice almost lost in the dark room,

  “Of course it is!” He said, “I am your husband.” It was proprietary, angry, entitled. She grimaced and said in anger what should have been delivered with love,

  “I am… with child.” She said, looking at the patchwork quilt their rustic hosts had provided. He was silent, for a few moments, and then he let out a barking laugh, gripping her by the shoulders, and pulling her into a huge, warm, hug,

  “That’s wonderful, Avondale,” he said, dragging her back against him despite her rigid back and stiff muscles, “Isn’t it?” Her silence must have been a blow to him; he jerked backwards, “Avondale? I thought you wanted children?” He said, and she gaped. Could he be so dense; they had not lain together since before her kidnapping…

  “I do. Our children.” She said, swimming in the sudden panic, desperate to claw it back as voices rang loud in her mind,

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

  “Our children?” He repeated, “Is this not our child, Avondale?” He said with a nervous laugh. She remembered the cold air and the searing fireside. The tearing pain, the seeping, wet humiliation. The ache that lasted for days. She turned to look at Aiden, his face blurred by her tears
,

  “Oh Aiden.” She said, “it’s his.”

  “His?” Aiden said,

  “The Vlad. Drakho… when I was… when he…” she broke into sobs, “he…” she pressed her head into her hands. The bed shifted gently and she tensed, waiting for a touch, a word, something to tell her whether he believed her, still wanted her, was angry with her. For moments without end there was nothing, and when she raised her head he was gone, door slightly ajar.

  Avondale covered her mouth, pressing a hand to her chest as a grinding pain seemed to grip her heart, squeezing mercilessly. The first sob sounded like a whine, the kind of sound a dog made when kicked. She staggered to Sonja’s room; Fiona’s kind forbearance she could not bear, but Sonja was a well of understanding silence. True to form she said nothing, just led her to the bed and made space. They lay together, Sonja hugging her tight while she sobbed into her hand,

  “He hates me.” She said eventually,

  “If he does he’s a fool.” Sonja grunted. “Go to sleep, Avondale, everything seems better after a nights rest.”

  “I doubt that applies here.” She said,

  “Maybe not,” Sonja said, “but it won’t hurt.”

  “He’ll notice I’m gone when he comes back.” She said, sniffing against the wet pillow,

  “Serves him right.”

  CHAPTER III

  He didn’t notice that night, and he seemed to avoid her for the next day, holding her hand only when they arrived to her father’s castle. Shannon stood in the great, echoing hallway of Avondale castle, hands clasped firmly behind his back,

  “Where is he?” Avondale rushed to Shannon,

  “This way, my lady,” he said, young face no longer as smooth and unmarred as it had been; the battle at Bledd Castle had left its marks as much on his skin as in his eyes, “he has been asking for you.”

  “Asking for me?” Avondale upped her step, “but it’s only a fever, surely? We were not told he was in danger?”