Dreams of Fury: Descendants of the Fall Book IV by Hodges, Aaron (most important books to read .txt) 📗

people for their misfortune, but now she saw more. A mother who wore a sword upon her belt as she supervised a group of children. Warriors like Darien and his friends amidst the crowd, eyes alert for troublemakers. The orderly placement of the tents, though they had only been in this place a few days.

The Calafe might have lost their home, but they had not lost their pride.

“Hear me, people of Calafe,” Erika called, speaking in a soft voice, though such was the silence now, her words did not fail to reach the ears of a single watcher. “My name is Erika. You do not know me, but my father was Micah, our fallen king. My mother and I were driven from New Nihelm upon his death. Perhaps you know the story,” she hesitated at that, memories flickering into her mind, of a life lost, of suffering and hardship, of her heartbroken mother doing her best to raise an ungrateful child. Then she exhaled, and let go of that pain. “In truth, I have lived much of my life hating the Calafe for what was done to me.” She drew in a breath. “But that time has passed. I have learned much these last weeks, the truth about my father, about our kingdom.”

Erika paused, eyeing the crowd, knowing that what she said next would change everything. Revealing the truth would set the Calafe against Queen Amina, and all who stood with her. But there was no choice. However she justified her treachery, the woman must pay for the crimes she had committed against the Calafe.

“It is time I shared that truth. It was not the Tangata who killed my father, our king, but an assassin. Sent by Queen Amina, he slew Micah at the height of the southern campaign, when our forces were committed to battle, so that the Calafe would collapse, leaving our lands unprotected. All so Queen Amina could play the hero, so the other kingdoms would turn to her in fear.”

A rumble rose from the crowd and she sensed their disbelief, their anger. She had felt that same doubt herself. How could anyone be so selfish, so cold-hearted, to commit such an atrocity against their fellow man? And yet her words were truth. She caught sight of the man that had accosted her as he pushed his way to the edge of the fountain.

“Is it true?” Darien called up to her, his face twisted, anger shining from his eyes. Cara hovered at his side, looking from Erika to the Calafe man.

Erika clenched her fist and light burst from the gauntlet. “Every word I have spoken is truth,” she proclaimed. “I served beneath the woman for years, trusted her, loved her. But I cannot allow her treachery to stand. No longer.”

Darien stared at her for a long moment. “And what would you do about it, Erika of the Calafe?” Came the question.

Erika clenched her jaw. “I would lead my people against the one who betrayed us.”

Darien nodded, then dropped to one knee. “Then I will follow you, my queen.”

Erika eyes widened at the man’s abrupt change of heart. But his gesture was already spreading around the plaza, whispers passing through the crowd as they looked upon Darien. In that moment, Erika realised she’d been correct in her assessment, that Darien was someone important amongst the Calafe.

Standing atop the statue, Erika watched in disbelief as one by one, the Calafe gathered below fell to their knees and pledged their loyalty. In that moment, looking out over her people, Erika’s worries evaporated, and she felt a warmth within, a quiet confidence. If she could do this, then nothing was beyond her. Not with her people united behind her.

Her eyes flickered towards the mountain that rose from the centre of the city, the walls of the citadel twisting up to enclose it. Amina was still marching north, the bulk of her forces with her. Most of the Mildeth’s remaining defences would be committed to the city walls, leaving the citadel relatively unprotected. But if the queen was allowed to retake the city, that would change.

There was no time to hesitate.

“People of Calafe,” she called, lifting her arm to point the way. “Let us take our vengeance upon the home of our enemy!”

22

The Sovereign

Lukys stumbled to a halt as he turned corner and was greeted by the roar of raised voices. Sophia stopped beside him, even as Nguyen and their guards fanned out around them. For a second, all Lukys could do was stare at the Calafe as they advanced up the street. Weapons glistened in their hands and a burning red aura rolled out ahead of the crowd, thrumming with their rage.

Instinctively, he reached out with his mind and felt Sophia moving with him, seeking to cool the heat of their emotion, to restore calm to the approaching mob. For once though, they resisted, and Lukys sensed a flickering of images from their minds, of a man with wild black hair cut down, of burning villages and the fall of New Nihelm, and…

…he started as a woman’s face emerged from the images, one he knew, that of the Queen’s Archivist he had known once, though it seemed a lifetime since he’d ridden south with Erika…

“Lukys!”

His head jerked up as someone shouted his name over the roaring of the crowd. His heart lurched and his mouth fell open as a figure leapt into the air, wings snapping open, beating down, sending their owner hurtling upwards. Screams sounded from the crowd as the Anahera soared higher, and curses came from his guards as they raised spears and shields to protect the Sovereigns and the king.

Lukys hardly noticed their actions. His eyes were fixed on the winged woman, on the figure spiralling down towards him, taking in the brilliant auburn wings and copper hair, the ringing voice calling his name, the joy upon the face of the Anahera.

Only when he heard the clacking of crossbows did he take note of his guards.

“Stop!” he