Young Writers Society

I'm back! And without further ado, here's chapter eight!

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A low fire burned in the hearth, crackling and hissing as it illuminated the dining hall. Two long tables, shaped like crescent moons, were centered in the room; carved of solid wood, they could comfortably sit fifteen people apiece, allowing plenty of room for servants to scuttle by with pitchers of wine and platters filled with food. At the far end of the hall, positioned in front of an enormous tapestry of the orange-and-black crest of Sternhelm, a rectangular table just large enough to seat seven served as Lord Azir's high table, draped in an orange cloth and overlooking the room from atop the dais.

As she entered the room, Eona recalled many times where her father would gorge himself on wine and mead as the cooks prepared suckling pig, spiced kerebu pie, smoked salmon, grapes and cheeses, and loaves of sweet dellywheat bread for a feast. When she was present, she would sit at the head table between Naneria and Albear; her father's honored guests would always grace his left side, with their attendants and servants seated at the lower tables. As Lord Azir ate he would look about the room, conversing loudly with his guests and laughing as the house jester entertained the party.

Many nights her father would host the other Nobles in their home, and for many nights Eona remembered the dining hall filled with the sounds of laughter and the smell of spiced delicacies.

This late, however, the room was abandoned. Half-eaten food and empty pitchers were scattered all over the tables—it was typical for her father to escort his guests to the main hall for a small social gathering after dinner, leaving the servants to tend to the cleanup on the morrow. If not for the silence, she would never have suspected that anything was amiss.

Clang!

The clatter rang loudly throughout the hall, causing Eona to jump as she glanced down at the tray her boot had kicked. The silver was tarnished after years of use, and a reddish-brown residue was smeared across the surface.

Eona felt her heart pounding heavily as she bent down and inspected the dish. Her breath caught in her throat as she ran a shaky finger over the rough edges, her eyes focused on the splash of red against the silver facet.

The residue was thick and chunky, sticking to her fingers like a paste, and as she sniffed it had an unmistakable gamey aroma.

A simple serving platter, stained with the juicy red meat from the evening's main course; nothing more. Breathing a sigh of relief, Eona shook her head at her own uneasiness and lifted her gaze.

A pair of wide, frightened eyes stared back at her from beneath the half-moon table.

"Daveth!" Eona gasped with a start, rocking back on her heels as she brandished the dagger in front of her. The eyes followed her, vacant and unblinking.

Before she could take another breath the captain was at her side. Daveth held his sword between them and the table as he gripped her arm. "Milady," he said, but as he followed her gaze he cursed.

The boy's eyes had glazed over long ago, his blond hair matted with gore and uneaten food. His mouth was agape as his severed head rested in a puddle of blood; his frail body lay next to him, garbed in a pallid green tunic.

"It's the pageboy from this morning," Daveth said as he helped Eona to her feet. He lowered his sword and scanned the room as if seeing everything for the first time. "By the gods," he muttered.

It was then that Eona saw the massacre.

Bodies were sprawled across the floor, lying in their own blood between the tables. Some of the chairs had been knocked down during the attack, and there were bits of food and dishes scattered amidst the carnage. Many of the faces were frozen in fright and surprise, their bodies splayed out as if trying to escape their fate.

Eona turned away, her chest tightening. Lady's breath, she thought as she pressed the back of her hand against her lips. "Are they all servants, Daveth?" she asked, her words quivering as she fought back the tears.

"Some of the guards lie among the dead," Daveth replied, his fists clenching as he turned back to Eona. "Both ours and those of Dernhest."

"Is my father among them?"

When he did not answer, Eona tightened her grip on the dagger. "Sir Daveth?"

"No, milady. But I know those responsible for this atrocity."

Eona glanced at the captain, but he was no longer standing next to her—he was walking towards the high table, his eyes trained on the tapestry hanging behind it.

Giving the corpses a wide berth, Eona followed Daveth. As she neared the dais, it did not take her long to see what had caught the captain's eye—a large bloody hand print had been pressed into the wall, smearing the dried liquid over the stone like paint.

"There's more," Daveth said as he pulled the tapestry aside.

Eona's blood froze inside her, sending chills down her spine as she gaped at what lay beneath the crest of Sternhelm.

Red and black paint swirled over the wall as if it were a canvas, forming lines that twisted and twined into a pattern that would strike fear into the heart of any man in Delzengar.

"It can't be," Eona whispered as she traced the drawing with her fingertips. The black ink was sticky to the touch, releasing a bittersweet aroma as she attempted to erase what she could. The harder she scrubbed, however, the more the scent burned her nostrils and stung at her eyes.

"Dragonberries," Daveth muttered, placing a gentle hand on Eona's shoulder as she stumbled back from the wall. "As black as the barbarians' hearts. Smells just as bad, too."

Eona wiped her hand on the hem of her dress and looked up. "What does it mean, Daveth?"

"It's a war symbol, milady." He met her gaze, and Eona saw a glister of darkness in his eyes that she had never seen before. "The Badala are declaring war on us."

Eona turned her focus on the symbol, her eyes following the smeared lines as she absorbed its meaning. "How could this happen?" she asked. "How did they get in?"

"There hasn't been a Badala attack in Delzengar for many years, milady. Not since the Great War," Daveth replied, his voice heavy with emotion as he turned away. "Perhaps we allowed ourselves to become complacent, unafraid of the dangers that exist beyond the comforts of our home."

Eona mulled over the knight's words as the events of the night flashed in her mind, assailing her thoughts in gruesome detail—Paschel's distorted face as the dagger pierced through his heart; the escaped prisoner as he laughed and stabbed at her, attempting to rob her of her life; the young pageboy, who had been so kind and now whose empty eyes stared back at her from the sockets in his severed head; the bodies of her father's servants, laying like slaughtered sheep in a pool of their own fluids.

We've become complacent, his words echoed in her mind. Unafraid of the dangers that exist.

Anger boiled in her veins, thawing out the dread and the fear that she had felt earlier. This is my house, she thought as she narrowed her eyes. The war symbol, a diamond-shaped face with spiraling horns and slashes for eyes, leered back at her. These are my people!

With a shrill cry, Eona raised the dagger and drove it forcefully into the wall. The blade pierced through the crevices in the stone, stabbing the diamond face between the eyes.

"We will find my family," Eona stated, breathing heavily as she gritted her teeth. Fueled by the atrocities around her, she allowed her anger to fill her soul as she continued to glare at the drawing. "And when we do, we will go to Delkai and call for a meeting with the Council. We will give the Badalans their war, Daveth, and before it's over they will know the full force of a Trinity's fury."