Adapt Page 2

  Sumnu immediately moved to the next form and speared another wolf in the chest. A light backstep moving into a twirling turn landed his sword in the throat of the next one. The last wolf paused and wouldn’t step any closer. Sumnu screamed, throat ragged in effort and ran towards the wolf. The wolf stupidly turned to run, but Sumnu brought the blade down in a two-handed grasp to pierce the wolf through its spine and pin it to the ground.

  The wolf cried out in pure animal pain as it struggled to remove itself from the sword. Sumnu watched it wearily and breathed heavily through his mouth. He didn’t have anything left. His vision went black and he collapsed to the ground. He had luckily fallen far enough that the dying wolf could not reach him as its lifeblood poured into the ground.

  Slate would be disappointed at Sumnu’s death. I failed him. Sumnu thought. He wasn’t sure what made him think of the Scourge leader in his last moments, but one didn’t get to choose their thoughts when they died. Somewhere in his fevered mind, Sumnu noted that Slate had never been frightened of the man. Instead, Sumnu felt comforted in some way by Slate’s appraising look. The man looked like he was reading every thought on the back of everyone’s skull. It could be intimidating at first, but eventually, Sumnu felt calmed by the sight. He felt like Slate had a plan for everything and his only job was to make sure he did his part. He would miss the sense of accomplishment he felt when enacting turning Slate’s plotting into action. He felt important and valued in a way that he never been appreciated by the Woodhaven elders.

  If this were truly the end, he wished he could have died with Merus. The man didn’t deserve to visit the Beyond alone. He hoped that it was the will of Lucidus that they would see each other again. They had died valiantly for the Lord of Light. He hoped he wasn’t asking too much to be reunited with his fellow Guardian and friend.

  Chapter 01: The Heavy Crown

  Slate slumped on his throne in meditative silence. With his chin cradled in his palm and a leg thrown over the side, he was the picture of an indolent monarch. His mercurial eyes stared into the distance focusing on nothing but seeing everything. His mind drifted between the silver and gold lights that the stained-glass window painted on the floor. It was a relaxing cognitive exercise that helped him focus. The sun had just risen, but he had been awake for hours, plotting the upcoming trials. Today would be a big day for the Scourge. He ran through the list of items on his agenda.

  First, I need to send a scouting party to check on what happened to Lighthaven. Lucidus said that there were no hostile forces, so there's a chance for there to be survivors. Additionally, we need to organize retrieval of the bodies. Both the Guardians and our enemies can be sacrificed to Lucidus to earn experience and biomass for the city. It should be a sizeable amount.

  Slate had a lump in his throat when he thought about the deaths of Merus and Sumnu. Merus especially had been closer to him than he’d realized. He had shared his mind and body with the Guardian, and his passing felt like the death of a family member. His bestial instincts roared for blood and murder as revenge and tried to console his raging spirit with more lists.

  After that, I need to deal with the Circle. They cannot be allowed to have free reign over the city while Shale and I are gone. I have put Lynia in charge, but she's still inexperienced with the levers of power. Plus, I need to pick someone to run the Royal Guard. Sumnu is gone, and I can't be wholly responsible for their training.

  An opening door roused Slate from his brooding. A flash of murderous outrage threatened to overwhelm him as his mind raced.

  Who would dare to interupt me? He wondered who would dare interrupt him when he had explicitly ordered not to be disturbed. He was planning on roasting the interloper with his blue-white fire until he realized who had walked in.

  Shale sauntered into the throne room with the sinful swaying of her hips. Even with her leathery wings covering her body like a cloak, her figure communicated languid sensuality. She grinned at him with perfect teeth framed by elongated canines. The smile was impudent and feral at the same time. Slate knew from his own mouth that in a fraction of a second their teeth could turn into a mouthful of razor-sharp fangs. Further, they could bifurcate their lower jars to a terrifying degree and use their prehensile tongue coated with acidic or toxic secretions to lethal effect.

  Shale could feel his vexation and empathized with the feeling. Brooding, Scion? She asked him through the Scourgemind. Slate studied his mate trying to discern the tone she was using. Unfortunately, he could sense that she was masking her emotions through their bond.

  No, he replied a touch defensively. The Scourge Paramour chuckled out loud. The sound was musical – completely at odds with her semi-monstrous appearance. She made her way up the raised platform and sat in her own throne positioned next to his. It wasn't as massive or as ornate as the Scion’s, but Shale had never been one to concern herself with the trappings of power. She believed, that true power, rested on the edge of a blade thrust into the heart of her enemies.

  You don't look much like royalty sprawled in your throne like that, Shale chided with good humor. Slate frowned.

  I did tell everyone that I was not to be disturbed. He narrowed his eyes at her. Maybe I should have been more specific about who they are and are not allowed to let in. He placed emphasis on the "not" in his reply, but Shale pretended that she didn't sense the implication.

  Did the Guardians let someone in that wasn't supposed to be here? She asked bemused. If so, I will make sure to kill whoever dared to disturb my mate.

  Slate growled deep in his throat which brought another laugh from Shale.

  Oh, don't raise your hackles. What do we need to get done today? This time she smiled, and her face carried none of the impudence. It was genuine and sweet. Slate sensed through the Scourgemind and felt acceptance and support. It wasn't quite loving but more like healthy respect for his presence. The feeling calmed him immediately and made him feel ashamed.

  Slate twisted in his seat to place his feet on the ground and present a more regal appearance. He turned to face her and spoke thoughtfully. That's what I was just planning. He sighed. No matter what we do, it's going to be a momentous day. We need to recognize our losses and gather our people around that common cause. After, we need to deal with the Circle definitively so that we don't have to fear a knife in the back

  Shale frowned at his response. Part of her was disappointed, but she recognized the fact that their minds worked in entirely different directions. You're forgetting something important, she said simply, and Slate gave her a perplexed expression.

  It wasn't often that he overlooked anything, much less something vital. What would that be? He asked, cautiously. If this were Earth, he would have been concerned that he missed an anniversary or birthday. That was a common enough occurrence he was notorious for. If he hadn't had capable assistants over the years, his marriage and relationship with his daughter would have been much rockier.

  Shale met his eyes. The first of the clutch will hatch today, she warned. Slate gave her a stupefied expression as he had forgotten entirely. It was an oversight that startled him.

  He had been so focused on the political deeds that needed to be done that he had missed the trees for the forest. You're right, he said by way of apology. Do you know when they'll hatch exactly?

  Not precisely, she replied. My instincts tell me around midday, but I can’t say why I felt that way. Shale had mused on the timing. They would need to assign the scouting party first thing this morning and then set up volunteers for who would be the hosts for their Scourglings.

  Sounds like we’ll need to find the hosts for the clutch. He told her thoughtfully.

  Perhaps. Shale sounded like she knew something he didn’t. He gave her a questioning look and she shrugged in response.

  I don’t think we’ll have to look very far. She said with a knowing look.

  Oh? He asked. Nevermind. Can you handle that portion while I assign a scouting party for Lighthaven?

  Of cours
e, she said. Her expression fell. Slate didn’t like the expression on her face. If she was his sun than it was sunset.

  I also want Merus to be brought home. Shale said with grief evident in her voice.

  I know, Slate replied. We'll bring him and Sumnu both, and we'll build a pyre to their sacrifice. Hopefully, Lucidus blesses them in the Beyond. He knew he had said the right thing because the clenching sensation of pain in their bond immediately relaxed. Slate gave her a moment to bring her emotions back under control. With the poise of a warrior, her calm returned. Let's get this first part over with, he said.

  "Guardians." His voice was deep and rich. The sound wasn't loud, but it reverberated off the marble surroundings. The doors banged open, and the two guards entered. Their movements were crisp and professional. These were members of the Royal Guard. They walked in-step toward the Scourge monarchs – their heels clicking on the stone tiles.

  As one, they stopped ten paces from the throne and saluted, their fists pressed to their heart. "Lord Scion and Lady Paramour," one of them greeted.

  "At ease," Slate replied, and the two guards relaxed fractionally. They still looked like they were ready to jump into battle at his command, but at least they would listen to instructions now. Slate continued. "Please bring me Lieutenants Burnheel and Winterborn," he ordered.

  "Aye Lord," the same Guardian replied. Both Guardians quickly withdrew, one regained his place at the door while the other dashed away to find the lieutenants.

  A short time later, both lieutenants entered the throne room. They looked a bit disheveled at their rapid arrival, but they crisply saluted when they reached the dais. Slate gestured for them to be at ease. "Thank you for getting here so quickly," he nodded graciously. "We need to organize a scouting party to check for any survivors at Lighthaven. Additionally, we need to start transporting the bodies back to Bastion." He took in the Guardians’ grave countenances. "Once they've been returned, we'll host a proper ceremony for their sacrifice."

  The two Guardians nodded. "What about the humans, my Lord?" Winterborn asked.

  Slate was pleased with her discernment. The lieutenant had seen the way that the two Scourge had disposed of the former occupants of this citadel. It was a sign of her intelligence that now she was wondering if they wanted these corpses as well. It made Slate's next decision more straightforward. "We'll gather them as well," he replied. "They'll be sacrificed to Lucidus. Just like any enemy that chooses not to join our cause." Both Guardians seemed oddly pleased by that statement.

  Slate tried to decide how to proceed. "Both of you have shown remarkable competency in performing duties above the call of your station. It has been a tough decision for us, but we've decided to promote you, Lieutenant Winterborn, to Captain of the Royal Guard." The Guardians kept their faces carefully neutral. If Burnheel was upset, he was professional enough to maintain his stoicism. Slate carried on before either of them could assent. "Lieutenant Burnheel, you will remain second in command of the Royal Guard, and if my mate and I," Slate gestured to Shale, "decide to split up, you will be in charge of her protection, while Winterborn will remain in charge of mine."

  After the last statement, he gave the man a careful look. "Know that I'm not promoting Winterborn ahead of you as a reflection of your loyalty or talent. You demonstrated both traits when you saved the clutch from our enemies. Instead, I'm charging you to protect the future of the Scourge." At Slate's words, both Guardians seemed to feel the weight of their new responsibilities.

  They glanced at each other, and silent communication seemed to pass between the two Guardians. Burnheel nodded once and then turned to the Scourge monarchs. "By your leave?" He asked Slate. The Scion nodded, unsure what to think about their exchange.

  Burnheel turned and left the throne room quickly, as the doors closed behind him, Slate could already hear him issuing orders. When he was gone, Winterborn ascended the dais with her hand on the sword at her waist. The two Scourge leaders were confused until Winterborn took up a silent position behind the two thrones. Slate studied her expression but couldn't penetrate her unreadable gaze. He turned back around and addressed the air with an imperious tone.

  "Winterborn, how many Guardians remain in the Royal Guard."

  Her reply was swift, "Thirty-seven, my lord."

  Slate was impressed. Maybe she and Burnheel already had this figured out, he said into the Scourgemind.

  Shale gave him an appraising look, You're probably right. Winterborn seems adept at anticipating your commands. Is that why you chose her to be in command of the Royal Guard? She asked him.

  Partly, he answered. She has a tactical mind. Burnheel has sheer grit and determination, but he's a blunt instrument. Point him at a target, and he'll make it happen. I'm not so confident he can operate independently yet.

  Shale nodded. Her partner had been the same way before he had transformed. It was one of the reasons he had never been selected as a Guardian in their original iteration. That's fair, she said.

  Slate addressed Winterborn again, "The clutch is going to hatch over the next five days. We're going to need hosts for all the Scourglings."

  The Scion couldn't see Winterborn nod, but she sounded as if she had already thought about this subject. "For now," she replied, "The Royal Guard will host the Scourglings. We're the best of the Guardians. To make up for the missing fourteen bodies, Burnheel and I will select new members from the pool of Guardians."

  Shale considered the woman's answer. "Won't that leave the rest of the Guardians a little lopsided?"

  "Yes," Winterborn affirmed. "However, we hope to recruit from the population in Bastion. Governor Moonreader already passed orders last night to the Guardians to begin investigations into suitable candidates for recruitment." Slate frowned at the news.

  Lynia moved quickly. He thought. "How is she going to do that?" He asked Winterborn.

  "If I'm not mistaken, she is going to work with the Circle and make them provide a list of possible names as a show of loyalty." Winterborn took a breath before continuing. "She knows that the Circle will try and slip in some of their spies, but they don't know about the magic that Lucidus gifted to us."

  Slate shared a puzzled look with Shale, "I was under the impression that the Guardians only possessed the power to use cleansing flame and create chains made out of light magic."

  "We can, my Lord.” Winterborn sounded pleased to explain. “However, the chains make the recipient more susceptible to commands. It's not a complete substitute for truth-telling magic, but it will make it easier to pry out if someone is working for the Circle or not."

  "Huh," Slate mused. "That's going to be incredibly useful to the Guardians." Winterborn didn't say anything. She sensed that her ruler wasn't asking a question, merely verbalizing his thoughts. "When will there be enough Guardians in the Royal Guard?"

  "Burnheel should be accomplishing that task right now. We figured the request would be coming soon. By the time that we need them, we should have enough members. I will be the first volunteer myself." Winterborn confidently said.

  It occurred to Slate that maybe it wouldn't be a good idea to let his immediate protection become controlled by what were essentially children. "Wouldn't it be dangerous to allow yourself to be controlled by the Scourgling?" He asked Winterborn.

  "No, my Lord. Our new forms allow us to control the Scourglings, not the other way around. We suspect that they'll ride around in our heads and learn from us, but we will remain in control of our bodies. The Lord of Light herself has sent us a dream explaining this."

  Slate muttered inaudibly. The Lord of Light should've said that to him so that he wouldn't have looked misinformed. He complained in his head.

  Shale raised her head and shot him a look. She had started to understand the ebb and flow of his emotions and in this particular case she pricked his ego with supernatural accuracy.

  Don’t be like that. She scolded. You would have known this if you took the opportunity to serve Lucidus with anything more tha
n cynical devotion.

  Slate felt his temper rise. He didn’t need to be scolded and he didn’t need to be told how to serve Lucidus. He was about to say as much but then he stopped to consider.

  She’s right. It was a difficult admission for Slate to make--even to himself. Lucidus has been nothing but helpful and yet I continue to spurn her. She's already warned me that using her power on a nonbeliever is more difficult than on one of her followers. If I want more from the goddess, then I’ll need to give something back.

  He decided she had a point and changed the subject. He could still feel Shale’s satisfaction through the Scourgemind.

  "When did the dreams begin?" He asked.

  "Just last night after the city was taken my Lord," Winterborn replied. "The more faithful of us believe that Lucidus is preparing the way for the Scourge. The Guardians are happy to have a purpose again."

  Slate nodded his head silently, but declined to comment on the subject. Anything he could say would be taken as disparaging, and he didn't want that kind of talk spreading among the troops. Plus, Shale was growing more reverent of Lucidus by the day. He seemed to be the only one that remembered that the Lord of Light had an agenda for everything she did.

  "That's all the questions I have for now about the Guardians, thank you."

  The Guardian nodded and replied, "It was my pleasure, my Lord.”

  Slate focused and then summoned the avatar Bastion to his presence. With a pop of displaced air, the cantankerous old man appeared in the throne room. He couldn't help but give the man a look of disgust.

  The senior didn't seem to notice and addressed Slate in a ragged voice. "Did you call me, my Lord?"

  The Scion frowned at the avatar's appearance. He stilled look decrepit and senile. Even now, the man's white hair had a wispy ephemeral presence. One stiff wind looked like it would blow the long strands of hair right off the elf's head.

  "I did," Slate replied. "I need you to help me create a mechanism by which I can convert Faithful into Guardians." He continued. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the shrine we built to Lucidus will only turn normal citizens into the Faithful."