CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The very space hummed with magic. Raw, dark and ancient power. The enchantress sang the ancient morning song. The hands humming to her tune.
"Wake the dust
Wake the Earth
Wake the dead
Wake the laid.
Rise for the sky calls
The sun has mourned your demise
Rise oh rise!
Rise!!
Rise!!!"
The tomb shook, the Earth groaning and trembling.
Then peace.
The young maiden stepped forth.
The plague quickly claiming her dying limbs.
It could only moan and gasp a cry as the chains tossed her violently to the grave.
Then the enchantress sand again. Each tone higher than the last. Till the ground broke and the old grave chattered. Grave stones breaking violently.
The hooded men opened the casket. There laid the mummified body of a beauty in life. It's caramel hair still aglow.
The enchantress sang as she took the onyx pendant on it's silver chain and hung on the dying maiden.
The plague ceased, her skin smooth as a child. Her eyes turning a burning emerald. Her dirt coated blond hair now a fiery caramel. Her lips went plumb and pink. Her shoulders slender and her waist trim.
She breathed deeply and rose.
Her limbs cracking loudly as she did.
A figure smiled cynically, watched as the alive maiden glowed in her beauty. Her eyes as alluring as she remembered, her body a sight for men.
The ground still hummed with dark charm. The spell unfinished.
Two men dragged a body near, a boy. Not yet of age.
He wailed, his cries muffled with the wet cloth tied to his mouth.
He laid helplessly and watched as the beautiful maiden walked to him. His fear vanished, lost in a blurry haze. Then he could feel his small shaft hardening for the unclothed maiden before him. Her breasts ample.
She smiled at him and his eyes glinted with lust.
He went to where he laid, tied on the floor, bending to place a kiss on his head. She roamed her hands over his face. Watching as he trembled with need. Then she...she bit. At his neck, where blood and life flowed. His scream was muffled. As the maiden ate his flesh. Drained his blood and left little flesh to cover his bones.
It growled loudly and and shook her head wildly. Eyes and pendant glowing with life
With a clean wipe of her mouth. She went to the to the smaller silhouette and knelt.
"Mistress" her melodious voice called.
The figure smiled.
It was done.
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The Lord buckled his shoe and rose. He cast a angry glare to the boy by his side. He was always too nervous for his own good.
"Go elsewhere" he said and the boy went away timidly.
Edgar opened the door to his chamber and slipped out. The guard by it deep in conversation with a maid who was blushing profusely.
He left unnoticed and walked past the entrance of the manor. A morning guard stood watch. Keeping at Bay two commoners that no doubt sought him, to complain about a land dispute or an unfaithful wife. Edgar snorted inwardly. Why did he have chiefs all around the villages? He paid the chiefs taxes, all the Earls and Dukes at the several provinces he assigned appropriate income. Wages fit for their status. But each day men and old women came for minor issues, one as meager as infidelity. It confused him but he obliged nonetheless. It was his duty after all. Had been before Sol grew to an empire. It began a village. A lowly one with overbearing taxes and famine. His father as useful as a housewife. Feeding off the land and ruling with an iron fist. He had begun responsibility as a young lad. Judgement. And of course the whip of his father when he wronged him. Then his father had been sold out like the slave she was, him kept as heir to Horace O'alistair. Then the news of her death. Then his own believing as he saw. Her black and white servant uniform caked in blood. Helsing. Helsing had become his enemy for as long as he could remember. Had raided Sol along with his late father and had taken matters of the throne a bit too seriously.
He could still remember as Denis had fallen but his sword. A cruel bandit. A royal thief.
He had been executed right at the hall. Villagers all watching.
Rape, thievery, assassination was among his crimes.
He had merely been nine and ten Summers old. He wielded the very blade that vanquished him, and that noon her remembered. His father had smiled at him proudly. He was becoming him.
Edgar had never regretted it. No.
His dear friend, a servant whose name he was finding hard to recall had been caught in his webs, Denis had killed him. Then he had killed Denis. Then Helsing like the elder brother had gone and killed his beloved mother. As revenge for a criminal. A cursed man.
The war between Kiro and Sol had begun. Each heir battling till they became Kings. Sometimes Edgar seemed to forget why they had begun the fight. It felt a natural thing to do. Hate Kiro and seek it's destruction.
Many had fallen by his blade. Kins, warriors of Helsing. He had hung a spy from the empire
Then the lands he had watched grow from villages to an Empire. Both thriving and feared amond the regions.
They had a mutual thirst for power. But now the thirst for blood was one sided. He refused to share in it.
The plague, the death. The rumoured sacrifices he did to appease whatever deity he worshipped.
One thing Edgar was certain if though. He did not forget her mother's death. Their feud should have remained among them. The poor woman had suffered enough to die an humiliating death. Food to a walker.
He would avenge her, but his last blood he would. The salt had been Monique. The same disease had torn his beloved away. Now in a deep grave. Along her honey hair and green eyes.
Eyes that reminded him vividly of the child. Both making his heart beat wildly. Making him loose fierceness and anger. His drug. His peace
He had not forgiven Helsing.
The field was full of men. The older commanders bellowing commands and the smaller boys roaring back enthusiastically. He smiled. Once they tasted war and guilt. The excitement would fade he was sure. Withered to anger and loneliness. Some bloodlust.
The oldest among the peer around him bowed and saluted.
Edgar nodded and provided a slight bow himself and walked on.
The sun had risen to it's peak, yet the rays were not as far as warming. The air was humid and the grass wet.
The drew out his sword and entered the midst of sparing men. They bowed, some nervous suddenly.
"There is no respect in war. No fear" he said and lunged at the boy. Who dropped his sword at a single clash and knelt down. Trembling.
"Are you sure he belongs here?" Edgar asked their commander who glared at the young man sternly.
"I will right this my Lord. A little more training" he said and smiled with embarrassment.
Edgar walked away.
Eyes searching his field till it settled at the brawny man. His chief warrior.
He stood not far from a group of older men fighting in fours. Three against one.
He slashed at the warrior who quickly shielded his attack. His sword ready. He admired the man
"My Lord" he bowed as he sheathed his sword.
Edgar nodded at the man and smiled
"Ever ready" he said
"Aye me Lord. You taught me well" he replied with a small smile.
"How is your wife?" Edgar asked
The big man reddened and looked around with embarrassment.
"Fine my Lord" he said lowly.
How he was able to breed a family and match to war for decades he was unable yo know.
All he knew was that he envied the Lieutenant.
Both stood, staring at the men as they trained. One already injured and seated on the grass. A small boy by his side with balm.
The chilly wind blew softly.
He turned to the manor. His gaze seeking a particular window by the second floor. Left.
There she was, peering down at him. Hands on the pane. She wore a colour he couldn't decipher with the distance. Her hair left to flow. She looked away slowly and closed the window.
Edgar swallowed. Couldn't he be normal? Spoiling ladies and courting them? He hadn't promised her marriage. He was careful not to. He was not ready to be a father, no. Not a husband definitely. The maids could raise a child. But women? Women wanted their husbands at all cost. He had learnt that. His mother a reminder, she had been sold so his father could be rid of the embarrassment, a maid. It would tarnish his image. He had married a princess. Hannah. A noble blood. They couldn't ruin their name. Alexandra had came shortly after his birth. Both growing together. In body but not in soul. She was a woman. Her place reminded at ball rooms and tea parties. He was to slaughter and rule. His step mother, Hannah had been a woman he disliked. One who turned out to be among the first to summon the plague. One that she hid well until it was unveiled. She had been a walker. Perfect. Healthy. Beautiful walker. Many had died in the palace. Doubtlessly her lunch. For how long he didn't know.
She had frightened him as a child. But growing he learnt of her evil. She was a witch. An ancient soceress. His father had killed her himself. Burnt at a stake. And shortly his own mother had been sold and killed in Kiro.
His gaze went to the far grounds of the manor off west. It's fence quiet. Dim. Too dim.
His half sister was a strong woman. Fit for a Governess if not a little too careless.
He had ended the dreaded Lord. His won father. Yes he had. Not in a fit if rage no! A planned death he slept and programmed each night. His mother deserved justice.
Horace had died slaughtered. Reported at morning to be a poison. A case he was still confused at. Mayhap the healer had been eager to rid the man himself and did not want uproar at the palace.
His father had been at the evening events with a fair Lord. A friend. The king of Ishend. A peaceful man. War had been wedged on the kingdom as revenge. He had led the battalion. Had let the king go free and forged his death. No more war. He ascended the throne. As the scribe had come. The lands had been given to Alexandra. His father mocked him even in death. Now, Sol was more than his father had left. The manor whose greater half had been given the Governess now seemed a cottage in comparison to his palace. A full house. It's walls widened. More lands conquered. More men to rule.
With her power as a woman. Seduction he was sure. Alexandra had amassed a few for herself. Her warriors funelyy trained as well. She was strong indeed. A little to mischievous.
Edgar was torn out if his reverie as a maid ran to him, skirt in hand and breast wobbling.
"My Lord...you must. Oh my...it is hard to believe. We...we have to let you see" she said without as much as a curtsy. Heart in hand. He could almost hear her beating heart. Wild.
"What it? " He asked, subtly drawing his sword
"Oh...from the dead. Bless the moons, I can not believe this. Or mayhap she had a twin, but..no it's can't be...it's her. She knows us all. All of us. She called my name" the older woman rambled.
"A walker?" He asked, already matching to the manor, his men following, alarmed and the maid running along.
He walked to the manor and didn't have to go far.
His sword all but tumbled out of his hold.
It was no walker. No. They didn't have emerald eyes and brown hair.
And they didn't have that dazzling smile she gave to him
"Monique?" He said