Keys of Candor: Trilogy

by Casey Eanes

  Her mind snapped back. Wael. Grift. Frantically, she flipped open the datalink on her desk and offered a quick prayer that the signal would be picked up. The connection beeped for a full minute. Willyn reached out to close down the datalink just as a voice came over the line.

  “Willyn?” Wael’s voice was hushed. “Willyn, is that you?”

  “Yes, Wael. It’s me.” Everything within her wanted to tell Wael about her brother’s return, but Wael quickly steered the conversation.

  “I feared your death. What happened to your line?”

  “It didn’t survive the firefight we had with Seam. My forces barely made it to Rhuddenhall alive.”

  “Bri? What of him?” Wael’s voice was full of dread and it crushed Willyn’s spirit to answer.

  “He’s dead, Wael. He died...” Willyn fought back the guilt that surrounded her. She swallowed hard and continued. “He died saving me from Seam and his Serubs.”

  Wael muttered a soft prayer on the other end of the datalink. “He knew how important you are, Willyn. He knew Candor needed your leadership to survive. Is the mirror safe?”

  “Wael. The mirror is gone. Seam and the other Serubs have it. Bastion is free by now.”

  A long pause filled the line, and Wael sighed. “We feared for you, but I am glad to hear that you are well. If Seam has the final mirror, then we are in grave danger. He will soon turn his eye to Preost and will begin his advance. Preost does not have the defenses to withstand the attack that is coming.”

  Willyn put the pieces together. “What do you need me to do?”

  “We need you to push into his territory. Break his focus. Establish an assault on Zenith, and force the High King to pull back. It may give us enough time to escape with the final mirror.”

  Willyn smiled and nodded. “It will be my pleasure to level that cursed city.”

  Willyn stood to the side of Rhuddenhall’s main square and scanned the crowd that had gathered. Hot white light illuminated the square. Thousands of Grogans had poured into the space to hear Willyn give her first official address as Sar. What had once been a war zone was now filled by a curious and haggard sea of faces. Men and women strained to catch a glimpse of her, some perching on top of the burned out vehicles that had been left on the square, while others hung precariously from second and third floor windows.

  The crowd was swelling with a contagious energy. A frantic pulse beat through the bodies huddled in the night. Was this hope or pride? Or just the energy that comes with an oncoming change? Willyn could not be sure, but she felt the energy all the same, and it was echoing through the streets of her Realm, like a heartbeat of great expectation. Willyn stepped under an awning and retreated beneath its shadows. As she slipped out of the public’s eyesight she examined the most sacred object of her family’s dynasty; the Helm of Rodnim. Somehow it had not been destroyed by Hosp’s brief and turbulent reign.

  Her family’s ancient symbol of power rested in her hands, waiting for her to assume the mantle of Sar. It was the Warlord’s crown, humble in its origins, but made sacred through scope and weight of her people’s traditions. The golden helm was worn only by those who dared to write the Grogan history in blood and war, passing from one generation to the next. Given only to the strongest and most capable leader. To hold the helmet sent a scintillating charge down Willyn’s arms, but she felt a tinge of guilt. Somewhere in the crowd, Hagan was watching. She knew that he was still the rightful Sar, despite what he had said to her.

  “I will return this mantle to you again, Hagan, I swear.” Willyn whispered under her breath as she turned the helmet over and examined its every inch. An hour went by as the people stood in the cool night listening to speeches from Red captains and lieutenants as they readied the crowd for Willyn’s ascent, but Willyn stood like a statue, unable to present herself to the square. Her thoughts turned to the memory of her brother, who had so long ago given a roaring speech to those who would have him as their Sar. What can I say that could ever match those words? Her eyes read over the runes of Rodnim’s helm and a strange clarity set in. She stayed still, her mind focusing in on the feeling of insight that fell over her there in that quiet place between her people and her destiny. She thought back to the selfish thoughts she once carried about her heritage, and how being Grogan meant that she would never lead a life of her own making, a life built on her own choices.

  Now she was faced with a choice she never thought was hers to make, and everything in Candor hung in the balance of her decision. The balcony where she would appear stood high above the growing throng of the war-torn who continued to push into the square. She could hear them and feel them as they all poured within the Red City, waiting and hoping that she would be the answer to their prayers. Over the din, she heard a sound that shot over the crowd, a small but powerful sound. Willyn’s eyes flung up and landed on the sight of a small bird, a scarlet cardinal who flitted past the balcony’s edge, unafraid and unconcerned with the thousands that gathered below.

  Willyn’s heart hammered in her chest, and she whispered almost silently, “I’ve made it home, little red. Now I must take my place.”

  The small flame of a bird swished by and fired off its rapid pulsating song.

  Willyn stood, holding the sacred helm by her side, and presented herself to the people with the first light of dawn.

  The crowds of Grogans roared with a furious applause as Willyn stepped out holding the helm of Rodnim by her side. Dawn tore through the fading night, quick to cast its light over the scene so that all could behold the coming of the new Sar.

  Willyn stood, her face gazing down upon all of her people, her hair blazing in the burning red color of the dawn. She wore only black fatigues, a mirror image of her brother’s own ascension. Her voice cascaded over the crowd like a triumphant revelry.

  “Today is a new day, my Grogans.” The crowd stood to their feet and began chanting her family’s name. “Kara, Kara, Kara!”

  Willyn smiled with uncontrollable joy. She held up her hand and silenced them, but her face was gracious. Her speech boomed through the crowd, as makeshift video feeds began to blossom across the Red City like flowers, each focused squarely on her.

  “Brothers and sisters. I don’t have to waste words telling you we have been fighting against an unbelievable evil. There are men and women who wanted to tear down our proud Realm and use it as their own private army. We have survived terrible infighting, thanks to the Reds who stayed loyal to our people’s legacy and to the mantle of the Sar.”

  The crowds boomed with earthshattering praise, and Willyn had to pause so the people could have their moment. She spoke as the roar died down and her voice was solemn. “I owe an enormous debt to the Reds, most of all to General Rander, who kept the fire of rebellion burning in my absence.”

  The crowd’s praise boomed again, echoing over the promenade with new force as Willyn presented Rander to the people. Rander looked out over the crowds, his eyes distant, and solemnly saluted the Red soldiers in the crowd. Willyn and the rest of the Red corps mirrored the motion, until Rander dropped the salute and turned to Willyn, bowing with reverence. Willyn placed her hand on her ally’s shoulder and brought him back to eye level. The two stood together as the crowd showered them with praise. Willyn turned and continued, “Our battle is far from over. There are still some of our own who blindly follow the lies of Seam Panderean and his bloodthirsty Dominion in Zenith. Seam knew that to secure Candor for himself, he would have to quell the Grogans. He has failed, and the insurrection of Hospsadda Gran is over.”

  The crowds broke into another chain of triumphant cheers of “KARA! KARA! KARA!” that washed over her words.

  As the roar of the crowds receded, she continued, “To all Grogans who hear my voice. It is time to stop fighting one another. Hosp’s control is over. Those who conspired against the Sar within the Grogan Council will be tried and punished by court martial.” Willyn paused, her mind wrestling with what she would say next. “All Grogans, hear my voi
ce. I will make this offer only once. To those who have betrayed your Realm and your Sar in service to the Surrogator, I offer a full and free pardon if you wish to rejoin my Realm. Put down your weapons to take up arms for the Sar once more. You have one day to turn yourselves over to my authorities. On my word, you will be accepted and treated as brothers and sisters. After tomorrow you will be counted under Seam’s Dominion and be put down like the dog that you serve."

  The crowds went silent, and Willyn shifted uncomfortably under the reaction of the people. She filled the void with sharp, penetrating words. “We will stand united once more, not out of fear or terror as Seam Panderean would have us, but out of hope. We, the Grogans, will ensure that there is freedom once more in Candor. So, let it be written that on this day, on the first day of my ascension, that I declare war on the Dominion of Seam Panderean. I declare war on the desert city of our ancient enemies, those that our ancestors once brought to justice. We will burn Zenith to the ground and bring a swift and upright judgment on our enemies once more!”

  The crowds roared with hot fury and hit their chests in support.

  “I also declare a full and equal protection of the Bagger race, who have long served as all of Candor’s caretakers. No longer will you be a people without a land, without a home. No longer will you be oppressed by us or by any other Realm. Riht and all its holdings will be yours once more, and the Groganlands will take its place as your strong friend and ally. May it be written on this day that if one mistreats a Bagger, he is mistreating the Mighty Sar of the Groganlands! So join us, my Bagger brothers and sisters! Join us in recapturing your ancient homeland this day, so that we, the Grogans, may be the first to bless you. May all of Candor follow us in our example!”

  The Baggers in the crowd shrieked with uncontrollable joy and fell to their knees in a mixture of awe and jubilation. Willyn could not hide the tears that streamed from her eyes, and she silently spoke within her mind, For you, Bri. She scanned the crowd’s reaction, momentarily scared of this unexpected announcement, but soon she saw Grogans and Baggers embracing each other and rejoicing over their shared cause.

  “We go to war, my Grogans. A war where victory cannot be assured. This may very well be the last days of our Realm and our people, but let us press on, hoisting up the mantle of our ancestors. We will not be ruled by fear, by treachery, or by death! Our lands and our people will not be the spoils of some fool’s mad conquest! We fight and will die in our fight, if that is Aleph’s will for us."

  Willyn’s voice rang out over the hushed crowds as she sung the war hymn of her people:

  “To die a good death is great my friends, all for all. For the Groganlands!”

  Willyn lifted the helm of Rodnim into the sky, the rising sun lighting the golden helmet into a crimson glow. The crowd erupted in a wild euphoria as the chant of “Kara” rang throughout the streets.

  Willyn slid the gilded helm of Rodnim over her head and she spoke words that made a chill of dread and purpose shoot down her spine.

  “So begins the reign of Sar Willyn, the First.”

  A cloud of joy erupted across everyone within the Red City. From miles around, the echoes of the cries could be heard, and the rest of Candor trembled as the news was broadcasted over every data feed on the continent.

  A Sar had returned to Candor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Seam’s eyes were locked on his datalink screen. That whore. That cursed little whore. The High King stood in his chamber as he witnessed Willyn Kara’s speech pour out over the entire continent. His continent. He threw a table against the titan’s wall in a fit of rage, the antique splintering under his strength. A relentless stream of curses left his frothing mouth as he shook with fury. He had not expected his decision to kill Hosp to lead to this.

  The feed lasted only a few minutes, but it was enough to prompt swift action. The rolling tides of curses roared within Seam’s mind as he called Bronson in Zenith. Bronson’s answer never came. Seam ground his teeth together and dialed in for another advisor.

  “My lord?”

  Seam screamed over the datalink, “I don’t know where Bronson is, but you need to cut the feed that is coming from the Groganlands! I want you to lock all transmissions if you have to!”

  “Understood, sire.” The young man’s voice was taut with fearful attention, and Seam relaxed a little, if only for a moment.

  “Give me a status report as soon as that feed is jammed. After you do that, turn your attention to Bronson and hunt him down. I want to know why he is not answering my calls.”

  “I’ll have an update shortly, sire.”

  Seam clicked the feed off and fell back into his chair. He closed his eyes tight, holding his hand up to them. They burned incessantly, stinging behind his eyelids. Whether it was a side effect of not sleeping or the residual effects of the stress he was under, he didn’t know, but it felt like his body was a growing reservoir of pain and aches. None of it was enough to stop him, but it was building and Seam didn’t know how much more he could endure. He ticked off the things that he would have to do to prepare for a Grogan attack. The items came with surprising ease.

  He would have to secure Zenith, locking it down with martial law. All baggers and Grogans outside the Dominion army would need to be rounded up and thrown into the work camps or slaughtered. The Grogans within the Dominion army would have to be monitored and questioned to ensure their loyalty. All of the rail lines that moved the people across the continent would need to be monitored for defectors. A logistical nightmare. Willyn had thrown a wrench into Seam’s plans and it sent him scrambling into a frenzy. His mind worked to tally the number of forces he had in his possession. Was it enough to invade Preost for the final mirror and protect Zenith from a Grogan invasion? He knew the answer...no.

  “This is a distraction.”

  The voice was audible, but Seam was alone. He opened his eyes, scanning the small chamber, scowling. Much to his surprise, the titan chamber vanished and he sat alone in a dark, featureless void. Before him stood a mirror, and he instantly recognized it; the last mirror of the Serubs. Isphet.

  Within the glass stood a handsome man, whose face and features reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t place who. Seam stood and took a bold step forward as he spoke. “A fancy trick, Serub. It must be very taxing for your strength to accomplish such a feat.” The words came out of his mouth confidently, but Seam was shocked to see a Serub he had not unlocked demonstrating such strength. Who has fed him? The question ricocheted in his mind, causing it to fill with doubts.

  The man in the glass smirked and chuckled. “Seam Panderean, High King of Candor. You’ll soon find out that I am very different from those you employ.”

  “Don’t you mean your kin?” Seam snapped back, disgruntled at this interruption of his time.

  The man within the mirror spoke, his voice calm but painted with threats. “They are not my kin. Fallen servants who would seek to keep me locked away so they can hoard the spoils of your wars.” The being came close to the edge of the mirror and threw Seam a huge, crooked smile. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Seam. The others...they fear me. They fear what I can do to them, the power that I wield.”

  “Then you must be Isphet; and yes, the others seem concerned about releasing you.” Seam turned away from the pair of dark brown eyes that stared in the mirror, his voice full of condemnation. “I don’t trust you. All you Serubs ever do is lie. I’ve learned not to believe a word that any of you say. Your kin might have brought me unimaginable powers, but I grow weary of the cost I have to pay, maintaining all of your cursed needs. At this point, I’ve got enough to deal with without sending an army into Preost to fetch your mirror.”

  Isphet paced up and down the edge of the glass, shaking his head with disbelief. “Well, High King, please allow me to impart to you some truth. I want you to listen and mark my words, so that you can see that I am different than those you call my kin. My words are not wasted, and they are always true
.” Seam stared at the handsome face, intrigued.

  Isphet continued, “You know for you to reach your full potential, your destiny, you must unlock me. Besides, I require nothing from you once I am released. All I want is one thing. Revenge.”

  Seam threw up his hands and began to walk away. “I’ve heard all of this before. It’s the same deal I’ve heard from your whole lot.”

  Isphet banged his hands on the glass, which cracked into a brutal spider web of force. “I’m not finished speaking to you yet, Seam Panderean,” he said coolly as if addressing a small child. “I want revenge on those you have already unlocked…”

  “What?” Seam's mouth fell open as he processed the words. “You would betray your own kin?”

  “Absolutely. If you would allow me the chance to deal with them. To take them off your hands. I would be a most loyal servant to you, High King. Give me my revenge and I will have a thousand years of life on your cursed little rock. No more blood sacrifices, no more death to innocents.” Seam grimaced under the words and Isphet laughed. “Yes... I know how you humans abhor the costs of sacrifice. Release me and I could spare you and your kingdom untold lives, and still secure your power on Candor.”

  “And what of Zenith? What of the Groganlands? What can you do that would guarantee my city’s safety?”

  The Serub nodded and smiled widely. “For all your power, you are a fool when it comes to your wielding of it. Deny Willyn the chance to incite a rebellion in the desert city. Gather up those in question, and construct a new army of the mindless. Send them out against the coming Grogan forces! Use the army you have now and make for Preost. Spare no one.”

  Seam blinked and put his hands up to his eyes, nodding with sudden revelation. “Yes...you are quite right. I have not been well the last few days. I’m not thinking clearly.”