Sith of Time

THE SITHOS CREED

Are you sad?

Be you lonely?

To my words,

Listen ever so closely.

Deep in the dark depths of lore

Truths linger to whisper of war.

Man, and beast, they parted ways,

Hatred set their hearts ablaze.

But in their embers, there lies,

An unspoken love ready to rise.

A bond so thick, it spans time and space.

It's a triad for lovers to find their place.

Do you desire love's true embrace?

Yearn to feel a lover's full grace?

Do you crave the blissful kiss

Of love's eternal bliss?

If so, come forth my children,

Don't be shy, clutch my hands,

And we'll travel the unforgotten

Strings of time's uncharted lands.

* * *

Mercy Hall

The Draeek Kingdom, 1815 . . .

"Keep up, whelp." Graysen's voice, deep and throaty, rumbles inside the tunnel. "Stay alert."

Mercy's twin hearts thump, hammering against her ribs as if trying to escape.

"Comin'." The cold, slick stone makes it hard to grasp a handhold. She sucks in a shaky breath of air. "I'm right behind you, brother." Grip slipping, her fingers slide over the dank surface.

No. No. No. Not now, please hold, she thinks to herself because she'd rather not fall.

Men hunting her like common prey in the bowels of the castle isn't how Mercy had planned to spend her birthday. Nay, a bit of solitude along with a lone expedition fit her taste much better.

In truth, time with her meddling mother and overbearing sire seems preferable to the present alternative - fleeing from guards.

Sharp pain stabs at her hearts. Her parents' deaths still fresh in her mind - an order given by King Alexander, the Dragon Slayer of Draeek Kingdom - makes no sense. For generations, her clan, the Codex, have offered their services to the royal family, even to his majesty, Alexander. Hot tears blur her vision.

Pull it together, she scolds herself. There'll be more than enough time to grieve, to seek retribution, once clear of the noble grounds.

A sharp edge of a rock catches her index finger, tearing the nail well past the quick.

Wonderful, that's just great, as if there's not enough going on.

Searing heat shoots down her injured digit, stopping a few inches shy of her elbow.

A thick slime covers her palms.

"Dammit." She slides several more feet. Fantastic. Can the day get any worse?

"You okay down there?" Graysen offers a hand. "I smell blood." His fingertips brush against hers. "Are you injured?"

"Nay." She plunges farther into darkness. "Just broke a nail." Frustration gnaws at her, souring her already blue mood.

Legs stretched in a split, her feet skim over the grooves in the hollowed-out shaft. Stop. Stop. Come on. Stop.

Thwack. Mercy's head slams against the stone. Her ears ring. Blinking in rapid succession, her vision dims and the tunnel spins before her.

"Holy hell." Her arms feel like string.

Concentrate. Focus. Just keep moving.

She must push forward or risk apprehension.

"Whelp?" The space between them falls silent for several seconds. "Need some help?"

"Nay, so stop asking." Her descent slows. When she stops, the fabric of her trousers strains against the unnatural position of her legs.

Better pants than a dress.

Hell, if it had been up to her sire, Baltos, she'd be wrapped tight in several layers of petticoats. Moreover, topped off with a pink, lacy dress, and matching corset. A demon's contraption to squeeze the life out of women everywhere, human or gargouille.

"Ya need me to retrieve you?" The base undertones of his voice vibrate in the stone beneath her palms.

Help. Really?

The mere suggestion makes her blood boil. "I'm all right."

In truth, falling into a sinkhole sounds better than showing weakness.

"I don't need help."

She'd be more inclined to ask the gods for aid before allowing a single plea to pass her lips for any male to hear, much less her brother, and him, she likes.

"Stop horsin' around." He resumes his climb.

Mercy wedges her fingers into a fissure then pulls herself up several inches. "I'm not . . "

A piece of stone crumbles loose. She drops deeper into the bowels of the fortress.

Really? By the gods, both new and old, if it weren't for bad luck . . .

Calling on the eyes of her inner gargouille, the restless beast within, she stares at the jagged rocks. She sighs because below her, sewage churns in circles like a swirling sludge of death just waiting for a new victim.

"Seriously?" She shakes her head. "That's not gonna happen - not today."

Nay, this isn't the end, it's only the beginning.

She flexes her talon-shaped nails on each hand then slices into stone. With every ounce of strength that she has left, she digs deeper into the shaft wall.

Stop, dammit, stop already.

Mercy sucks in air, which expands her burning lungs.

Escaping the holding cell and freeing Graysen had posed more difficulty. So, why does climbing the tunnel offer more resistance?

Come on. Push forward. Don't stop until the deed is done. Slowly, she forces her way through the narrow tube.

A sliver of light snakes across the stone overhead.

Good, at the end, at last.

Mercy crawls out. She lands face-first into a mixture of soot and urine-infused soil.

She gags. "By the gods . . ."

Hot, toxic bile creeps in the back of her throat.

"Are you praying, whelp?" He stoops to brush some dust off her shoulder.

"What?" She wipes her cheek with the inside of her leather vest and smears the foul grime across her face. "Are you seriously asking me that?" Her nose twitches.

Graysen weaves his fingers through her locks, ruffling several strands loose.

"We don't have much time, whelp."

Hair falls over her face, obstructing her vision.

"Stop that." She punches his arm. "For your information, I'm not a whelp." The impact of her sturdy blow sends a tingling shock wave of discomfort to vibrate up her arm. "I'll be twenty-one when the sun sets."

A grin spreads across his face. "Perchance." The dimples in his cheeks give him a boyish quality. "But you'll always be a whelp to me, little sister." He studies the tunnel in front of them as well as behind. "Help me look. It can't be far."

She stands then sweeps debris off her pants.

"Thought you knew where you were goin'." Pushing deeper into the tunnel, she searches for an exit. "How much time before they're upon us?"

"I've yet to hear the bullhorn." He slides his hands over the bricked-in walls. "It's only a matter of time."

A high-pitched squeak echoes in the confines of the small space.

Her ears perk then twitch. "Meelo?" Her mouth goes dry as she spins around on the balls of her feet.

A pair of glowing eyes peers out from under a crack in the floor. They belong to a two-toned polecat. Those same unblinking, orb-like buttons focus.

She waves the critter onward. "Come."

Relief washes over Mercy's battered body, for she'd thought her pint-sized friend lost to the underworld with the rest of her family.

Without hesitation, Meelo, the masked bandit, scuttles across the stone floor then waddles along the path.

"Really?" Graysen ducks to avoid a dislodged piece of stone. "You're taking the fleabag?"

"Aye, He's a better companion than you."

"Fine. The vermin will make a right tasty stew to fill our bellies. Especially, with a few potatoes."

"Don't listen to him." She strokes the critter's head then scratches under his chin. "I thought I'd lost you." With an unsteady hand, she scoops Meelo up and slides him into the leather pouch on her hip.

"Think I found it." He taps the smooth, buffed wall once, which produces a solid knock. A second time generates the same result. "We mustn't delay." The third rap makes a dull thud. "Aye, It's here." Wedging his fingers into a crack, he outlines a door.

Indistinct voices murmur.

"Shh, wait." Her words catch in her throat. "Where are they coming from?" Dread weighs her body, making it as heavy as iron.

Imprisonment isn't an option. At least, not one she cares to entertain.

Mercy's ears twitch. Her inner beast claws for release.

No, please, not now. She struggles to maintain control. Don't do it. Don't transform.

The warmth of her pink skin shimmers then takes on a silvery coloration, signaling her inner beast is already upon her.

She hears the king's guards on the other side of the stone wall.

One voice stands out, Tanager's. The mere chortle of the human's speech grates on her last nerve.

Listening, Graysen cocks his head. "Behind us? Perchance."

"Find them," says Tanager from the other side of the wall. "The male traveling with her is expendable. The girl, no one touches. Understand?"

She struggles to reel in her beast. "You sure about that? He sounds close. Too close."

"Aye." He nods. "I'm sure."

Filtered light spills into the narrow passage through hairline fissures in the wall.