by Gold Baron
The bells rang out mournfully as the procession wound its way up the streets like a snake. Flower petals cascaded out of the empty windows like confetti, and the black wizard paused a moment as he caught one in the palm of his hand. He stared at it blankly from within the shadow of his cowl, then seemingly crushed it into a withering crumb and let it drop to the ground, falling like so much lead.
The gates opened slowly, painfully, driven by unseen guards, and the procession continued forward into the courtyard past the fountain of tears, run dry and caked with dust. The towering doors of the palace groaned on their hinges, lines of halberdiers decked in the finest reds and browns, their sleeves pluming out with white ruffles and feathers bedecking their black hats. The partisanmen filed out of the procession and took their places near the throne, paired two by two across from each other up each of the steps, though not on the last.
The robed figure seemed to float seamlessly across the marble floors, no footsteps echoing off the vaulted chamber's roof, up the steps, and then slowly turned to the gathered audience of shallow-faced nobles. "Welcome, my friends, to the dawn of a new age. You have all... wisely chosen to become a part of this regime. I, as your king, will of course rule justly... and sternly. And, being not one to tarry long on tradition, I attend to the first order of business."
A shadow passed over the hazy sun in the courtyard, passing like a wind through the assembly like breath stolen from their lungs, and in that silence the metal rang out loudly and clearly across the marble chamber. The crown rolled easily down the red carpet, as if driven by the jaws of the shadow, even as the king fell to the floor with a deadened thump, rolling down the steps from his throne. The shadow passed him by and spread its wings behind the black figure, placing the crown on his head as he took his throne, and two of the guards bore away the body that lay at his feet.
"And now, for the second order of business." He produced a thread from within his sleeve, his hands hardly seen, as if the blackness of his robes refused to give them up. "Life is much like this thread, like a harp string; it can be played to beautiful music." The string hummed merrily along.
"And sometimes, fates play it too hard." And even as the words escaped his mouth, it went out of tune and began to throb painfully in the ears of the spectators, "and it snaps like the overtightened strings of an instrument." He snipped his other hand in mimic of a scissor, and it snapped into nothingness. "This is what I want. You know of whom I speak. Do not return until the business is finished."
The guards filed out, pushing the nobles ahead, out into the cold air of a new dawn that bit hard at their exposed skin. Winter would come early this season, and still the bells rang mournfully against the bitter wind.
No one in the village had noticed the shadow in-between the houses. News had reached them from the capital via a messenger along the roadways, which gave some sigh of relief, but the news was dire indeed, and the mood of the village was somber. An assembly had voted in favor of standing against the new government, no matter the cost, truly loyal until the end.
In truth, no one would've noticed the wyrm in the shadows, so much like the darkness cast between the buildings, and the feeling of the winter that had replaced the hopeful spring and prospective summer. It all ended too fast, before the warden could assemble the militia, and they rained down from the sky, even as the mayor cried out his lost daughter's name, mourning over his son's slain form. The shadow dragon bore her away upon the north wind as she cast distressed looks back through blurry eyes at the red splotch on the sky.
And he saw it too, his cape folded about him against the wind, the flames licking the village as the onslaught of dragons descended upon the helpless villagers, their short stone wall useless against the aerial assault.
He flew across the hills and fallow meadows and fields, the burned homes the destroyed farms, a way of life lost, and it only hardened his resolve. He saw the dim lights of the capital in the distance, and he flew on ever faster, his cape spreading out to either side, catching the wind like the sails of a wind ship.
He saw the army forming before the iron gates atop the walls, in the skies, but his steps slowed not in the least. He charged headlong into the fray, his sword biting fiercely into man and beast alike, through machinery, steel, and stone, up the streets, across the bridges, until the fountain of tears again flowed, flowing red like the streets. And it could only fuel the hunger he felt deep within, that unquenchable thirst for revenge, for vengeance, for justice that would never come.
The towering oak doors burst open, and he ran across the marble floors, the red carpet tearing at his heels. And up the steps he ran, the mocking voice driving him on, and there she was. His steps slowed, until he knelt upon the last step before the top of the platform.
She stepped out from behind the throne, the wizard making no motion to stop her, though he continued to laugh that same cold, mocking laughter. She reached out to him as his sword fell to the floor, her fingers touching his hidden face. The pain shot like lightning through the horrible scar, his mangled face writhing in both physical and emotional pain.
The images flashed vividly in his mind. The man's wry grin shot through him sharper than the bullet that hit his chest, and he saw his wife fade from his sight, replaced by the same blue eyes that stared back at him in the throne room.
His vision swam, and the laughter grew louder, and then more distant as the horrible blackness swept in on him. "You were used!"
It replayed in his mind a thousand times as he sank to the floor, the capital in ruin, his life a shame. And she was borne away in the arms of her captor, even as he knelt at the base of the throne, struggling with memories that should never be in this place.
Continued in Chapter 15: Never More Would Things Be the Same