The Federation

The Federation

Prologue

Crimson Dawn

Dorolin, once a thriving fort with hundreds of healthy, happy denizens, had been completely and utterly razed.

Along the stone road there must have once existed a bustling market place, made wealthy and prosperous through trade and devoted work, content in the quiet peace that had claimed much of England as of late. All that remained of that peace was a line of burnt buildings, the debris spreading far and wide. Scorched by flame, they had been devoured by heat and left to collapse as wood cracked and stone crumbled. Blackened frames poked from the rubble like broken bones that had punctured the skin of a corpse. The path was cluttered with wreckage, for no structure, no house or inn or stable, had been left standing, many tipping forward to cover the road with their decimated innards. Tables, chairs, clothes lay strewn everywhere, some burning still, as though these simple articles were the last of city to abandon the fight. The smoke hung so heavily and so low that the sun's light barely pierced the oppressive veil. Blood covered the street like a ghastly river, corpses strewn about like worthless rag dolls. Most had been gutted. It reeked of blood and death and stale, violent sex.

All were still with disbelief. No one could direct his eyes elsewhere, each examining the wreckage in all of its gruesome, horrid detail. Amerial could find no air to breathe, a vacuum of terror and disgust closing tightly about her. There was no sound, no feeling. This paralyzing shock struck her, and her heart held tight in her chest as her numbed mind fought to deny. So desperately she fought the terrible, pressing reality! Perhaps if she closed her eyes, perhaps if she wished vehemently enough, she would find herself back in her cool, soft bed, waking from troubled sleep. But there was no such easy escape. The destruction lay bare before her, and for all the want of her heart, she could do naught but stare.

For a long while no one had the audacity to speak. It seemed an eternity as the despair ate at all of them, as their souls shriveled in bearing witness to such brutal and violent destruction. Then came the sound of gagging; one of her younger men had lost his composure and had stumbled from his horse to the ground, heaving. Amerial's eyes slipped shut. "Ai, dear God..." she whimpered, imploring that this somehow not be true. All those innocent people... so many... She closed her eyes against the tears.

Who could have done such a thing?

Troubled hearts pounded, straining for something more. Yet there was nothing but the suffocating silence and smoke and the remains of a people slaughtered.

It was Amdir who finally regained himself enough to speak. His voice hardly wavered, though Amerial could tell the young man was exerting himself to keep his fury and grief in check. "Fan out," he declared as resolutely as he could, "and search for survivors. There may yet be men alive... buried perhaps." Amerial bowed her head, but found no hope in Amdir's words. This vicious force had come to destroy, and it had done so completely and utterly. The princess had seen and experienced much in her life, but never something so... arrogantly cruel and atrocious. She shuddered. Evil. Evil has come to England once more.

~~~~~~~~~~

They were sluggish in their task, and understandably so, for it was a terrible one. Their company was comprised of approximately thirty souls, and they had split up to encompass the entire city in their search. Dorolin was not overly large, but the task was strenuous and difficult, as many of the buildings eaten through by fire had collapsed, leaving large heaps of smoking debris through which to dig. The day had worn to late afternoon, and they had nothing to show for their efforts but bloodied hands, worn bodies, and wearied hearts.

Amerial sighed. Soot covered her, painting her tanned face with gray smudges, leaving her normally pristine appearance uncharacteristically filthy. Her fingers were caked with the grime as she shoved a broken and scarred table from the wreckage of yet another ruined house. Flakes of charred wood fell from a smoking beam overhead, dropping into her hair like black snow. She wondered for a moment on the safety of venturing further inside. The flame set to this house had smashed through to the second floor, eating through the ceiling and reducing the eastern wall to a mound of fallen stone and split beams. Miraculously, the western side had been left relatively intact. However, the second story overhead, without support on one side, had begun to sag and sink. The whole structure whined and moaned precariously.

The woman glanced inside, but it was very dark. The sun was sinking below the horizon, leaving shadows to skulk and grasp the world. She wrinkled her nose. How she longed for a cool breeze to blow the horrid smoke and release them from this stench! Yet the earth ignored her plea, and the wretched plume hung over them, relentlessly plaguing her nostrils and hindering her sight. She stood in the door, debating on the consequences of continuing. The grisly images from previous homes had burned into her, and she closed her eyes as again they assailed her senses. Many of the poor folk had been in bed when the attackers had struck. Most had not even made it outside their front doors before their houses were invaded. She saw men, stabbed and mutilated, holding still to swords and daggers in what was certainly a last, terrified defense of their families.

She found women, naked and bleeding, clearly ravaged and beaten before their throats had been cut. And children... The fair princess clenched a fist. The disgust and sorrow was quickly melding together within her in a storm of fury. At first she had clung to some shred of hope that their search would not be in vain, that buried and trapped in this nightmare was somebody in need of their aid. But as the hours had worn away, despair had stomped out that faint wish, and she had slowed in her frantic efforts and taken time to pull some of the bodies from the wreckage into the street. She draped cloth on those she could, felt for those she could not, and whispered a blessing for each soul that had passed. She did not know if Amdir intended to bury the citizens, but even so, it seemed terribly wrong to leave them in the prison where they had been so viciously murdered.

Amerial looked down, leaning tiredly against the door. The stoic mask she had worn all day for the benefit of her people was beginning to slip, but she was too tired and depressed to care much. No warning. No salvation. Inexplicably she felt guilty for these poor people and what they had endured. She wished she could have somehow done more. There is no cause for that, reminded the logical voice of her mind. You could not have known. Her heart, however, accepted no such rationale, content to weep in grief. She was exhausted enough to let it.

She lingered there, breathing, trying hard to find the strength to keep looking... to keep fighting. She decided to move on; this house seemed empty, and she did not know if she could tolerate another gruesome death scene. But her weary feet would not carry her. A needling voice came from the back of her mind, a voice saturated in worry and shame. Fate would certainly turn against her if she should leave this one house unchecked. Here would be the one person left living, she just knew it in her gut. And she could not walk away from that small, nearly impossible chance.

So she walked inside, over fallen chairs and broken furniture. Gracefully she navigated through the maze of wreckage, pushing aside what he could and stepping over what she could not. The second floor whimpered in stress, dumping a load of soot on his already dirty body. She could not stifle a paroxysm of coughing, the foul tasting stuff invading her nose and mouth. When that passed, she drew in a deep breath of cleaner air and rubbed her eyes.

Someone was crying.

Her heart jumped into her throat, a rush of excitement leaving her head spinning and her pulse thundering. For a moment she doubted her senses, waiting, holding her breath and praying that the sound would come again. Surely she had not imagined it! But it did come again, a muffled wail. Immediately she located it.

With renewed vigor spiking through her tired body like lightning, Amerial bounded forth, shoving away anything and everything blocking her way. The high-pitched sobbing was coming from the kitchen, where a large, scratched oak table had been pushed up against the wall, obviously for protection. "Help has come!" she announced. "Please, hold on a bit longer!"

The screaming continued. It was obviously a child. Panic pulsed through Amerial as she frantically scrambled to the small area, climbing over the counter. Her feet struck the floorboards with a soft thud, and a terrified shriek followed. Amerial felt the color drain from her face. She was standing in a puddle of blood. Her eyes followed the gory trail under the overturned table. Disgust barely had the time to register. With determined hands, she pulled it back.

Her eyes pierced the shadows. Pale flesh stained red. A ripped and ruined dress. Red hair. The woman was lying on her stomach, her cheek pressed to the hard floor, her green, soulless eyes wide open yet unseeing. Amerial felt nausea claim her, selfishly grateful that she was prone so that he could not see the substance of her demise. A great pool of red blood lay under her.

A piercing shriek broke the silence. In the corner sat a little girl. Though much of her form was covered by shadow, Amerial's heightened sight could perceive her easily enough. She appeared to be no more than five or six years old. A mess of wild red hair adorned her small head, sticking up haphazardly. Her chubby face was streaked with tears, grime, and blood. Her knees were drawn up to her chest. Her little hands covered her eyes as she sobbed and wailed.

Her heart broke. She dropped to a crouch. "Shh, child. All is well. I will not hurt you," she declared softly, comfortingly. He dared not move, uncertain if any motion would startle her. She surely did not want to traumatize her further! "You are safe now."

The girl cried for a bit longer, but then stopped and peered through the cracks between her fingers. When her wide, teary eyes came upon him, she offered a gentle smile. They did not speak immediately, Amerial keeping her body perfectly still so as not to frighten her. Finally she murmured. "Are... are you a ghost?" Her speech was sloppy and slurred with youth and fear.

The thought amused her slightly, and the corner of her mouth turned in a smile. "No, I am her to help you," she said evenly.

The child's face scrunched up in terror. She started to weep again. Amerial could hardly stand to hear her wails of anguish and winced at their volume. She crept closer, extending one slender hand to her. Reaching over the woman's dead body. "Do not cry, little one," she pleaded, shaking her head helplessly. "Let me take you out of here. Surely you would like that?" The little girl only cried harder. In her gasping sobs Amerial could make out the word "mother". The princess grimaced inwardly as she discovered the truth behind her fear. This was the dead woman's daughter. She could not even begin to imagine her pain.

There came a thunder of feet outside. Amerial peered over the wreckage to see a few men standing at the door. "Lady Amerial," one with deep, baritone voice called, "we heard crying! Are you well, ma'am?"

"Summon the captain," ordered the princess firmly. "I have found a child."

The two men glanced between each other, clearly surprised. Then one murmured, "As my mistress commands!" He disappeared from the door.

The other stepped inside, and the house groaned. Amerial shook herhead quickly. "Stay back. This house is unstable!" The man stopped in his tracks and watched helplessly. Then the princess returned her attention to the girl. She had squirmed further into the corner. She obviously terrified her, and she frankly found no fault with that, given the situation. She calmed himself and turned her hand over, showing her the open fingers and palm. She forced a smile to her face. "What is your name, little one?" she asked, her mind racing to find a way to calm her.

She sniffled and turned her face into the wall. But she did speak. "Fethra."

His heart shuddered in relief. She smiled at her, trying desperately to appease her fears. "Fethra, my name is Amerial."

She swallowed. "Amril."

She gave a little laugh. "Good enough, little one. I promise I will do nothing to hurt you. You must trust me, Fethra. We are not safe here." She held her gaze, determined not to let her go now. "Just take my hand."

"Momma won't wake up," the girl whispered. Tears welled in her bright, green eyes.

Amerial ached inside, panic swirling within her as the second floor cracked and creaked. She said, "Your mother is in a wonderful place now, Fethra. She would want you to be safe, would she not?" The little child nodded fearfully, her face puckered up with a barely restrained sob. "Come with me. I will keep you safe."

A board snapped and the ceiling lurched down a few inches. Amerial jerked, but did not look up, knowing that if she should frighten her now they would lose her. I will not lose her! She held her breath, praying that there would be time enough to escape this house, that she would trust her enough to save her.

Finally she reached out a trembling, little hand. This she slowly placed in her open palm. Nearly sagging in relief, she closed her long fingers about her tiny digits. Wide, fearful eyes regarded her. "I'm scared," she admitted, her voice shaking.

"Nothing will harm you," Amerial assured. She reached out her other arm and moved closer, dipping her knee into the chilly puddle of blood on the floor. The girl hesitated a moment more, but it was clear that the promise of security her arms provided won over her fear of her. She launched her small, quaking form into her embrace. Burying her face into the warmth of her shoulder, she began to wail again.

The princess wasted no time. Wrapping her arms tightly around the precious burden, she propelled herself up with toned legs. Over the counter she flew, graceful and elegant despite her panic. The ceiling was crumbling, raining splinters of wood and dust upon her. It snapped. She bounded through the mess, flying faster than the observing soldier could detect, precariously stepping around the debris on feet swift and light. The supports gave away with a booming and horrific crack, and down came the second floor.

But Amerial was already safely outside. She stood quite some distance from the door, watching as the house destroyed itself. The noise of the collapse was deafening, a great plume of soot, smoke, and debris spraying from the structure. A few rushed breaths of surprise and relief passed, and when it settled, there was nothing left to salvage.

The only thing of any worth was in her arms, at any rate.

Amdir jogged up to her. The young captain appeared winded, breathing heavily. He had obviously run here when receiving word from his men of what had happened. Amerial shared with him a pained look of jagged relief and despair. Fethra's cries were quieting, her tiny fists balled in Amerial's hair, her face nuzzled into the nape of her neck.

"Send for the healer immediately," barked Amdir to his men, who stood about watching in stupefaction. One broke from his daze and headed off in a run. Then the captain stepped closer, clearly to get a better look at what Amerial had found, but Fethra was too upset for that, and she buried her face deeper into Amerial's shoulder, holding onto her with all her strength. "Are you well, my lady?" Amdir inquired quietly. The princess only nodded. The captain looked down and shook his head. "We found no one else."

The words struck hard. Shaken, Amerial wrapped her hand around the little girl's back. She held to her tightly and wondered at the cruelty of fate. To leave an innocent child as the sole survivor of the massacre of her entire city...

She closed her eyes against the tears.

It was time. Time to ask for help they so desperately needed.

It was time she paid a visit to an old friend...in Scotland.

A man with a pointy hat and a few tricks up his sleeve...