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  Watching the translucent beings coming closer, some riding chariots, others on foot gliding along the surface of the lake of fire, White Angel asked, “How can these elegant women be demonic ghosts?”

  “Evil takes all forms,” Chen replied.

  “But it’s wrong to make beauty into something that’s so terribly evil.”

  “If evil did nice things, it wouldn’t be evil.”

  Both Chen and White Angel fell silent as the army of beautiful, intoxicating, hate-filled beings closed in on them. Clutching her throat, Chen suddenly started gagging, then stumbled and fell. “They’re doing something to me, White Angel! They’re killing me!”

  “No! No! No!” White Angel screamed.

  The Black Scarlet Saga

  Black Crystal

  Black Scarlet

  White Angel

  www.BlackScarletSaga.com

  The Black Scarlet Saga

  BOOK THREE

  White Angel

  By: R. A. Oakes

  Blue Ridge Publishing

  Copyright © 2013 by Robert Oakes

  Published in the United States by:

  Blue Ridge Publishing*PO Box 822*Stuarts Draft*Virginia*24477

  Editorial Supervision: Dawn Rogers

  Cover Design: Ellen Morris * [email protected] www.ellenmorrisdesign.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process, or in the form of a phonographic recording; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted, or otherwise be copied for public or private use—other than for “fair use” as brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews without prior written permission of the publisher. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

  ISBN 978-0-9888169-4-7 (Ebook)

  1. Fiction - Fantasy/General

  2. Fiction - Fantasy/Epic

  3. Fiction - Action & Adventure

  ISBN 978-0-9888169-4-7

  1st Tradepaper printing in the United States of America, Jan 2014

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank Dawn Rogers who is the dynamic, organizational powerhouse behind the launching of the Black Scarlet Saga, including White Angel. Also, as with my first two novels, Black Crystal and Black Scarlet, Dawn’s real-life warrior woman spirit flows through White Angel and the Chen character in particular from beginning to end.

  I’d like to thank Ellen Morris for creating her third vibrant book cover for the series, one that again captures the spirit of the novel.

  Also, I’d like to thank my wife, Ann. We spend countless hours together, with me writing and her reading (her favorite activity), and we eagerly look forward to spending even more enriching time together. My marriage is my crowning glory, and all else pales by comparison.

  White Angel

  Chapter 1

  The victorious gargoyle warlord spread his enormous wings and strode down the hallway filling the width of the corridor. His ape-like warriors hastily dropped to their knees, pressed their foreheads against the stone floor and paid homage to their leader, Swarenth, the first invader to topple a Kardimont king in 500 years. As their master walked past them, his wings brushed their backs, causing them to shiver in both fear and dread.

  The conquering gargoyle leader had to step over the corpses of dozens of human warriors covering the entire length of the hallway, just as bodies were strewn everywhere else in Dominion Castle. King Ulray Kardimont’s loyal subjects had fought to the death rather than be taken captive by this vile gargoyle leader and his hideous winged apes.

  But Swarenth cared nothing for his opponents’ devotion to their king or their courage or even the tenacity of their resistance. The winged warlord gave them no respect. Only loathing.

  Weak humans, Swarenth thought. How could they have possibly hoped to resist me?

  Upon reaching a huge, well-muscled gargoyle, the warlord stopped and said, “General Takanar, you performed well today. How can I reward you for your bravery and ingenuity? What shall I give to you?”

  “I deserve nothing my lord.”

  “Not true. You were indispensable. I’ll give you the gift of allowing you to keep your head. I’ll let you live.”

  “Most generous my lord.”

  Ignoring the general, Swarenth strode forth to claim the ultimate prize, the throne room of the Kardimont line of kings. As he got nearer, the winged warlord felt his skin tingle in anticipation for he’d dreamt of this day for years and now it was finally here. Swarenth felt the thrill of victory.

  Stopping in front of the threshold, he paused to savor the moment. The gruesome, winged ape-master felt his pulse racing, and his breathing became labored. Swarenth drew in deeply, filling his lungs with air, then exhaled, only to take another deep breath and then another. A lifetime goal was about to be realized, and he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his system.

  The gargoyle warlord slowly eased himself into the cavernous great hall of Dominion Castle. But after taking only a few steps into the throne room, he stopped once more.

  Sprawling out in front of him was a mosaic of inlaid marble unlike anything he had ever imagined before. However, what surprised Swarenth most was that this priceless work of art was the floor itself. This masterpiece of inlaid black, gray, white and pink marble wasn’t enhancing a wall or a ceiling; all this craftsmanship had gone into a floor. He hesitated to walk on it, such was its beauty.

  Stunned by this glorious great hall, Swarenth found himself awed, and even overwhelmed, by one of the most artistic architectural masterpieces the world had ever known. Incredulous, he looked around at the elaborate tapestries hanging on the walls. Stained-glass windows also abounded, pouring radiant color all across the floor and serving as yet further testimony to the heights of artistic achievement of the Kardimont dynasty.

  Swarenth could hardly believe it was real. It felt like he had entered a dream, only this was more vibrant than any he had ever experienced before. The winged ape began walking, almost stumbling over his own feet, as he now found himself unable to take his eyes off the ceiling. He had looked up arbitrarily, not expecting to find anything more to marvel at, only to discover a vaulted ceiling painted with frescos depicting glorious moments in Kardimont history.

  The hairy ape’s mouth felt dry. His body felt drained of strength. His mind felt dull and his movements seemed slow. He could move his feet only with what seemed like enormous effort.

  I own all of this, he thought to himself. This is mine now. All mine.

  But in this moment of supreme triumph, with Dominion Castle firmly under his control, he wondered why he felt so uncertain. Rather than experiencing an increase in confidence, he felt insecure. Worst of all, Swarenth began to doubt himself. His wicked cruelty had always proven to be a powerful force allowing him to dominate the hideous ape-like beasts under his command. No gargoyle had ever been more cunning or more willing to ruthlessly exploit an advantage.

  But Swarenth’s sadistic evil was no match for the brilliance surrounding him. He could not dominate it. He could not drive it to its knees. Inert and lifeless these works of art might be, but their power was undeniable. With a shudder, a frightening thought entered his mind. King Ulray Kardimont, or rather the late king, was a man better than himself. Swarenth could destroy, but he had never put much energy into building anything of lasting value.

  Standing in the great hall of the Kardimont line of kings, Swarenth began to feel insignificant. He began to feel angry. He hated the beauty that was all around him. It mocked him. It made him feel like less of a man. Hatred filled his soul and he glared at his enemy, an enemy unlike anything or anyone he had ever
gone up against before. Violence could not defeat it, he realized, for after craving Dominion Castle all his life, he could not soil or deface it. He could not bring it down and crush it with his might. He had longed for it for decades and now it was his.

  Swarenth felt trapped. A prisoner of his own feelings of inferiority and helpless to do anything about it. He began to sweat. He began to choke. He began to feel lightheaded. Most of all, he wanted to get away from this tribute to Kardimont greatness.

  It took them 500 years to create all this, he reminded himself. But he realized that whether he had 500 or 5,000 years, he could never even begin to approximate the creation he was surrounded by. Fear filled him and he began to panic. He had to get out!

  Swarenth turned to run from this diabolical revenge which a now dead King Ulray Kardimont was heaping down upon him. The gargoyle warlord’s brain shrieked as it tried to reject the thoughts that were seeping into his mind. The great room of Dominion Castle, filled with a cruel beauty, was humiliating him. It forced him to face his own limitations. The grotesque, winged, hairy ape hated what he came to view as a perverse room eliciting an obscene sense of wonder.

  But as he quickly began heading out of the great room, he saw some of his winged warriors standing on the threshold watching him. They were even more shocked by the splendor of the great room than he was, with a confusing sense of surprise, wonder and awe readily apparent on their faces.

  The room’s exorbitant beauty made them all question themselves. How could it not? Gargoyles, plain and simple, were disgusting, hideous creatures. They had bony wings with a dull, gray skin pulled tightly over them. They were so overweight that their wings couldn’t carry their bulk and, except for short leaps where they could be airborne for a matter of seconds, they couldn’t fly. Short tusks jutted out of their lower jaws and a long, wide bone extended out from the base of their skulls protecting the back of their necks. They had ape-like faces and their bodies were completely covered by thick, long hair.

  “It’s like the Kardimonts were gods,” one winged ape muttered without thinking. But Swarenth heard him.

  “The Kardimonts were what?” Swarenth shouted, filled with rage over his own thoughts being verbalized, making them all the more real.

  The unfortunate warrior ape looked at his master and tried to recover from his blunder. “Toads. I said they were nothing but a bunch of toads.”

  “Are you saying we’re not fit to live here?” Swarenth screamed. “Are you?”

  “No master, of course not,” the young, foolish gargoyle stammered.

  General Takanar, a veteran of many campaigns, knew Swarenth all too well. He knew their master wouldn’t let this comment go. In an attempt to blunt the brutal warlord’s anger, the general walked up to the young gargoyle and slapped him hard. The young ape’s head snapped so far to one side that those nearby thought they had heard his neck crack. Unfortunately for him, it hadn’t.

  “We’re nothing but a bunch of wretched, uncouth pigs? Is that it?” Swarenth demanded as he glowered at the terrified warrior ape cowering in the entrance 20 paces away.

  “No, my lord, it’s just that I’ve never seen anything like this before,” the young gargoyle said apologetically in a strained voice.

  Swarenth’s body was thin by gargoyle standards, and his wings were twice the size of everyone else’s, enabling him to fly. Once more, Swarenth spread his huge wings, launched himself into the air with a horrendous scream and stormed towards the offending gargoyle. General Takanar, who knew the young warrior in front of him had fought well that day and didn’t want to lose a good soldier, made yet another attempt to assuage his master’s anger.

  “You fool, how dare you flatter the Kardimonts?” the general shouted. “They were weak. They grew lazy. All of this finery made them soft. They were unfit to rule!”

  “Of course, general, I forgot myself.”

  As General Takanar watched Swarenth coming at them, he realized his rescue attempts might be to no avail, but he still kept trying. The general hauled off and punched the offending gargoyle warrior in the chest, and the blow was so devastating that it knocked the young ape off his feet, slamming him up against the wall behind him, knocking the wind out of him.

  “All of this luxury means nothing to true warriors,” General Takanar lectured those around him. “Nothing!”

  Swarenth landed right in front of the young gargoyle, eyes blazing with resentment and hatred, hatred so extreme it could only be born of insecurity, self-doubt, self-loathing and a fear that he was worthless and someone to be pitied rather than taken seriously. This formed a raw inner wound that to the depths of Swarenth’s soul made him feel unredeemable, insatiably inadequate and hopeless. And there is nothing more dangerous than an aggressive individual with serious issues about his own self-worth. It makes it all the easier for him to hurt others, to give them a taste of their own pain, to laugh at their suffering and to feel better by shoving someone else down lower than himself.

  “Our warlord is your god, if you want to worship someone,” General Takanar bellowed, making one last attempt to blunt Swarenth’s anger before he did who-knows-what to the young warrior. The general knew that in a mood like this, his master was capable of anything.

  “Get on your knees,” General Takanar said, striking the left shoulder of the unfortunate gargoyle with a powerful downward blow of his fist, knocking the frightened ape to the ground. “Grovel before your true lord.”

  The young warrior put his forehead against the marble floor and begged forgiveness for his thoughtless stupidity, for his unthinking honesty. “I am so sorry, my lord, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Obviously you weren’t thinking much,” Swarenth sneered looking down at the humbled figure at his feet. The gargoyle warlord was enjoying what he saw as an insubordinate little worm’s pathetic submission.

  “I wasn’t thinking at all,” the young warrior said, knowing that he was now begging for his life. “I will watch my tongue in the future.”

  “Maybe you should be made to watch it now,” Swarenth snickered.

  Without the warlord seeing, General Takanar rolled his eyes. He knew what was coming next.

  “Cut out his tongue,” Swarenth commanded.

  The young warrior looked up at Swarenth and cried, “Sire, I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean to say it.”

  “Well, let’s help you so you don’t make the same mistake again.” With that, the warlord nodded firmly at General Takanar.

  The general dragged the terrified gargoyle to his feet and commanded two other warriors to take firm hold of his arms. Unsheathing his knife, the general took a step towards the distraught warrior whose only crime had been speaking the truth. Honesty was a rare commodity in Swarenth’s army, and it was about to become a whole lot more scarce.

  General Takanar took one massive hand and wound it tightly around the young warrior’s neck who began flapping his wings like a chicken, his eyes bugging out with garbled sounds gurgling out of his mouth.

  Something in all of this appealed to Swarenth. It touched him and made him come to life. His eyes brightened, his spirit lightened, and he felt a surge of excitement.

  “I’ll do it,” Swarenth told General Takanar. The warlord pulled out his own knife while the muscular general kept a firm grip on the young gargoyle’s neck.

  What Swarenth didn’t notice was that General Takanar’s grip began to tighten, mercifully causing the warlord’s intended victim to begin blacking out. Now, feeling faint, his legs collapsed, and the two gargoyles holding his arms had to stand him up straight.

  The young warrior was nearly oblivious to what was happening when Swarenth’s knife forced itself between the offending gargoyle’s teeth and cut deeply into his mouth. Even though barely conscious, the pain was excruciating and the victim of Swarenth’s heartless surgery began screaming.

  Other gargoyles from outside in the hall came running when they heard the commotion. General Takanar held up one outs
tretched palm signaling for them to stop.

  “Get back into the hallway and start hauling dead bodies towards the windows. Clear the corridor and toss them down onto the courtyard floor.”

  The general didn’t want any more of his warriors around Swarenth when he was in this mood. The warlord’s temper was in full sail and once he got like this, all he ever seemed to want was more and more blood. It’s not that General Takanar had any sense of moral decency. He didn’t. But his army had just won a great victory, and the commander deep within him felt his men deserved something for their efforts. However, it appeared that he was wrong.

  Swarenth actually smiled a big, wide grin as he held the young warrior’s bloody tongue up in front of his eyes for him to see it. “Watch your tongue,” he laughed. “Watch your tongue.”

  The warlord looked at General Takanar and nodded for the giant warrior to let go of the young gargoyle’s neck. Swarenth took hold of one of his victim’s hands and put the bloody tongue into it. “A little souvenir for you.”

  The gargoyle warlord then turned to his general, the one truly indispensable warrior whose battle strategy had, without question, helped carry the day. Yet Swarenth felt no gratitude and instead was caught up in his own anger, which festered inside of him taking away all joy of victory. Feelings of depression began swamping him, so he spoke to General Takanar in a harsh voice and said, “Get out. And take everyone with you. I want to be alone.”

  The distraught warlord sighed and began the long walk over toward King Ulray Kardimont’s throne. With every step, Swarenth felt like he was heading towards a hangman’s gibbet. The beauty of the throne with its ornate carvings encrusted with precious jewels seemed to be strangling him.