Keys of Candor: Trilogy

by Casey Eanes

  He hung there for what felt like an eternity, when Aleph’s voice spoke in the darkness. “This is a game that cannot be won. This is a game where everyone loses.”

  Kull hung as the voice went silent, and he felt his own soul crush under the words.

  “You must make your choice. I will not force your hand, and I will not fault you with whatever decision you make.”

  Kull stared out in the darkness, as the Key around his neck glowed with white light.

  “What choice, Aleph? What choice?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “You brought him here? Aleph above!” Bronson barked as he pressed his face up against the small barred window carved out from the heavy oak door of his cell. From his limited angle Bronson could see a regiment of guards marching down the stone hallway dragging the limp body of a prisoner that could only be Seam Panderean.

  Bronson recoiled upon seeing his former master, whose limp feet trailed across the dank dungeon’s subterranean floors. Seam was unconscious, but Bronson’s anxiety heightened to a near frenzied state. A heavy dread settled over him and his mouth went dry from fear. Something is not right here. Something is different about him.

  Instinctively he slammed his fists against the heavy oak door and bellowed, “Get him out of here! Get him out of here now! NOW! You have no idea what you are doing!”

  Ignoring the old captain’s cries, the guards chained Seam to a stone wall, locking him under heavy iron stocks and locks. His limp body fell placidly against the iron bonds.

  “Ironwood sap, Captain Donahue,” an icy voice echoed in the chamber. “Death’s Balm.”

  A face rounded the corner of Bronson’s cell. Aleigha stood, her eyes bright and sharp underneath her blue silken hood. She held up a large syringe.

  Bronson’s mouth fell, aghast, “How does he still live? That is enough to kill five men.”

  Aleigha’s face was stoic, but worry flashed in her eyes, “I do not know. The sap of the Preost trees is a powerful agent. It brings healing in small quantities and death in large doses.”

  Bronson’s voice was grave, “Your majesty, what did you intend?”

  She cut into him, “My intentions, Captain Donahue, are none of your concern. But I have come to ask you…was he like this under your care? When you left him in the desert to die?”

  She turned back, gazing on her son as he hung, chained to the stone wall. “I saw him rush towards a full squadron of rooks, Donahue. He dispatched them with ease. Eight men are now dead. Eight more families have to bury a loved one.”

  Bronson’s face seized as a mania swept over him, “And do you think iron chains will keep him at bay, my queen? Why did you bring him back here? He was not like this under my watch, even when he bore the Keys! You are in grave danger bringing him here!”

  Aleigha’s lips pursed. “We will keep him sedated. We will interrogate him to find out what has changed and why. There is some new power at work in Candor that we do not see that we must uncover, no matter the costs.” Her face went grim with cold resolve, “I feared what moved in the shadows once, Captain Donahue, I will not make the same mistake again. I will root it out, even if it is the end of me.”

  “If what you say is true, my lady, then we are already doomed. If there is some other dark entity at work, then it fuels him.” Bronson threw a sidelong glare at Seam as he pressed his cheek against the edge of the doors small window, trying to get a better look at Seam. “If he can destroy rooks, there is no torture that will give you the answers you seek. There is no one here that he would dare trust.”

  Aleigha motioned to her guards to unlock Bronson’s cell. The door fell open, squealing on its rusty hinges. “He will trust you, Captain. Serve your country one last time.”

  “He’s here!?” Ewing’s eyes grew wide and he scrambled from his seat. “Where… show me!” The veteran lifted himself from his chair and pressed through the stiffness of his aching hip as he rumbled down the narrow hallway of the military apartment in Vale. The spare accommodations reserved for veterans had been quickly repurposed to serve as shelter for the refugees from the Grogan and Dominion attacks. It had become home after receiving his prosthetic at the nearby clinic after Cotswold’s destruction.

  The red-headed Lottian private jogged ahead, winding down the cramped spiral staircase that descended into the storeroom behind the main floor’s flower shop. The young man stopped at the base of the steps and waited for Ewing, standing in the middle of a room filled with large buckets of red, blue, and pink flowers. The aroma was sweet enough to make one forget the reality of the outside world. Ewing liked to say he stayed there so no one could smell his pipe smoke. Ewing caught up and the soldier pointed to a rear exit.

  “She arrived last night, sir. She came alone, but said there are four of ‘em. Former nurse in the regiment. Rainer?”

  “Adley, yes.” Ewing nervously loaded his pipe, glancing around at the crowds of people filling the street.

  “She said tell you that he is here, but told me specifically to be discreet. I don’t know...it seemed odd that she would not have reached out over the secure datalink channels.”

  Ewing nearly tripped on the last step but hurried for the door as the soldier attempted to place himself between Ewing and the exit. “Are you sure it isn’t a trap, sir?”

  “Well, son, if it is, so be it. I’m tired of being holed up in this old stinking place. Now let’s get moving and see who in Aleph’s name is here. Did she give you coordinates?”

  “Yes, sir.” The private dipped his head and opened the back door, motioning Ewing to the alley. “They aren’t far.”

  Nyx crept to the mouth of the cave she had found along the Asban River. Sheets of rain fell through the cedar and oak trees, dripping from the cave’s mouth and forming a small stream that ran between the Serub’s feet. The sound of the river and rain echoed in the cave, creating a dull roar throughout the opening.

  “I need silence,” Nyx quipped to herself. “This noise is maddening.”

  With a wave of her hand a flock of bodies pressed for the cave’s mouth. The collection of morels, each climbed upon one another, pressed as close as possible until they formed a wall, deadening the sound of the outside world.

  “That’s better,” said Nyx and she turned, stepping further into the darkness. She sat down and focused her mind, trying to track where Seam had gone. As Nyx proceeded to meditate, an explosion like thunder erupted, sending the ground into a full quake. It shook Nyx to the core, and she turned fearfully back to the wall she had created.

  It’s still strong. It’s still whole.

  The thought evaporated from her mind as she saw the morel wall explode, sending the mindless bodies hurtling in all directions, their flesh slamming against the cave walls. Nyx’s eyes went wide as a thin silhouette emerged from the thunderstorm outside, the figure’s eyes glowing like two burning rubies. The five Keys of Candor burned brightly in the darkness.

  “Hello, sister.”

  Nyx’s eyes widened, the motion somehow making the cave feel darker than before. She did not flinch in the presence of Isphet, but instead stood erect, daring to stare into his hellish, burning eyes.

  “First Seam, and now you? I can’t say that I’m surprised.” A long black tongue licked her lips, and she bit it seductively. “I always did have a way of attracting those who desire me.”

  Flames shot from Isphet’s gaze as his voice ripped through the narrow chamber. “Enough games, Nyx. It is time for you to make your choice.” Fire, smoke, and the terrible roar of the Serub’s voice sent Nyx cowering into the watery floor of the dark cave, shielding her face from Isphet’s flames.

  “Choice? What choice?” Cautiously, she lowered her arm to stare at the figure standing silently in the dark.

  His voice came at her, barely above a whisper, but echoing deep into the darkness. “Join me...or die. Either way, I will make use of your talents.”

  “And what talents would the great Isphet want me to exhibit?”
<
br />   “You are the architect, handler, and conduit for the Shambling. I must have an army, modified and improved to destroy my enemies. Those that I had have all been lost to me.”

  Nyx stared at Isphet. “Who are you after, brother? What prize do you seek?”

  Isphet flashed a cruel smile that seemed to glow in the darkness. “I seek the Grogan wench and our exiled brother. The two are holed up underneath Legion’s Teeth, but I will flush them out. That is, if you agree to help me. Her forces have destroyed those I once controlled. I need more for my kingdom, more for my power.”

  “Where are the others, Isphet? What have you done with them?”

  Isphet’s eyes flashed green only for an instant. “Bastion is with me, dear sister. You know he was too weak from his long, malnourished containment. He agreed to join me in the end.”

  “Abtren? What of her?” Nyx’s questions seemed calm, but her heart felt like it would burst from her chest.

  Isphet laughed. “Abtren will never see my ways...I destroyed her older brother, and for that she will never forgive me...but that is not why am I here. What is your choice?”

  Nyx nodded slowly. “I need the materials to build.”

  Isphet laughed. “And you will have them. Elum’s fields are ripe for harvest. Build me an army that the world has never seen, and join me at the ruins of Rhuddenhall. You have one week.”

  Lightning flashed, and Nyx blinked her dark, dead eyes. Like a dream, Isphet was gone.

  Kull winced under the crippling embrace of the old man. “Ewing, you got to let me go…”

  But Ewing would not let go. Never in his long life had Ewing ever wanted to hold on to what was in front of him as desperately as in that moment. Between his sobs, Kull could hear small whispers of, “Thank Aleph...thank Aleph.”

  After what seemed like hours to Kull, Ewing pulled away from him, with his hands still planted firmly on his shoulders. “I thought I’d lost you, boy. You don’t know…” His voice crumbled under another racking sob. “You don’t know how much I hurt...thinking about you gone. When I heard about Grift…”

  His father’s name made Kull wince, as if Ewing had sliced him with a knife. “No...we must not dwell on that, Ewing. I am here...I am here.” Kull flashed a mischievous smile. “I see that you’ve been up to no good since I’ve been gone. Some things never change.”

  Ewing struck a match and hovered the flame over his pipe tobacco, his eyes still red. His familiar gruff voice regained its bravado as he spoke to Kull through the clenched, burning pipe. “Aye, I’ve done my best to stay in trouble.” He glanced to the other side of the room. “Mostly thanks to her, Kull. She’s been a huge help since the escape from the Spire.”

  Kull glanced back at Adley. She stood, fiddling with a spare datalink, and was fitting it to Wael’s arm.

  “She’s pretty amazing, Ewing.” Kull flashed him a knowing smile. “But all of that seems like...”

  “Long ago?” Ewing gave him a wink. “You’re right, it feels like a lifetime ago before Cotswold burned, but life is a mystery. There may be hope yet if we can keep our wits about us.”

  Kull shook his head. “It’s bad, Ewing. Worse than bad. Seam has unlocked them all.”

  “Worse than that, boy. I’ve gotten reports from my sources in the Lottian guard that he’s been spotted in Lotte.”

  Kull’s eyes went wide. “Who?”

  “The jackal king himself,” Ewing grunted. “It seems you aren’t the only one who can rise from the dead. Aleph knows I wasn’t counting on him to still have a part to play after his precious Spire fell.”

  “Well, you know what they say, Ewing. Life is a mystery.” Ewing’s eyes smiled, and he pulled Kull in closer.

  “A wise saying for sure, but that would not stop me from putting a bullet in that mysterious brain if I ever got a clear shot, Kull.” Ewing took a long draw from his pipe, his face drawn in pensive lines. “Some things are beyond saving.”

  Captain Bronson Donahue sat on a rickety chair facing the fallen High King of Lotte lying limp before him, shackled in heavy iron chains. A long IV drip flowed into his right shoulder, positioned out of Seam’s line of sight. Bronson’s breath filled the air of the room as he steadied himself against a torrent of nervous energy. Seam was being nursed to a state of semi-consciousness by a young medic holding a small sensor tied to a corded datalink. She pressed the sensor against Seam’s chest and head.

  “His vitals check out, sir, but they are like nothing I’ve ever seen…”

  Bronson arched his eyebrows, searching the medic’s face for answers.

  “Heartbeat is approaching a normal rate, but the amount of Death’s Balm in his system should have kept him under for a week. His body is metabolizing the toxin so fast, it’s hard to predict how long we can keep him in check.” She tabulated on her datalink a quick calculation, “He should be coming back to us in a few minutes. Get ready.”

  “Do you have more syringes if he gets out of control?”

  The medic flashed three vials of dark liquid held in crystal glass, keeping her eyes on the pulsating rhythms and charts of Seam’s body. “I’ll slip them in the drip once you give me the word, Captain.”

  Bronson nodded, “Double the measurements of the toxin. We can’t take any chances with this one, and for Aleph’s sake give me one.”

  Silently the medic obeyed Bronson’s orders doubling the vials, handing him a single syringe. Bronson stood rubbing his hand through his thin, graying hair as he stared at the vial. His mind went through Aleigha’s orders: Find out what or who made him this way. Find out what darkness awaits us in Candor. He glanced at the hidden cameras that had been hastily installed to record the interrogation. The small microphone clipped underneath the folds of his clothing caught his every word. “He is about to come up are we ready?” he whispered.

  A small, tinny voice whispered into Bronson’s right ear. “Yes, Captain. Recording for the interrogation. Give the word, we are ready at your command.”

  Bronson nodded to the medic, “Remember the code word – “High King,” inject more sedative. We can’t have him regain his full consciousness. And for your sake stay out of his field of vision.”

  A flicker of movement sparked across Seam’s face. His eyelids shot up once, then twice.

  Bronson whispered a stern command, “Dim the lights. He’s coming up.” He threw a nervous glance at the medic who kept a watchful eye on Seam’s readings. She positioned herself behind Seam, manning the hidden IV drip.

  Bronson swallowed and waited. Seam’s eyes opened in a violent flurry. His pupils were large and unfocused, but they searched the dark chamber without delay.

  A croaking, dry voice rolled out of Seam, “DYRN! You snake! What is this, another one of your games!?”

  Bronson stepped forward under the dim light of a single burning lightbulb and sat in a chair opposite his former master. “Seam. Rest now. It’s me.”

  Seam’s face furrowed with confusion, and he blinked his eyes furiously. “Bronson? What are you doing here?”

  “Yes, your majesty,” Bronson tried not to choke on the sentence. “I am here. Locked in the same prison as you are, as fate would have it.” Bronson’s fists were held in tight knots to contain his anxiety. The lie was true enough…but would he know?

  An unfocused and dazed stare pinned Bronson to the chair he sat on. “Fate has been cruel to us, Bronson. So, the desert witch has us both now? I didn’t think you would be pulled into this…” Seam’s sentence trailed off in the low light. “The things that he has done to me…He has…has changed me.”

  “Who is he, sir? What has he done to you?”

  Seam blinked, his pupils now finding a new visible clarity. Bronson’s heart swelled with fear. He shouldn’t be this alert. Too soon!

  “He has made me so much more powerful, Bronson. More powerful than when I bore the Keys, but I am not free.” Seam let out a cruel twisted laugh, “Oh no, I am at my master’s beck and call.”

  “Tell me m
ore, High King.”

  The word was spoken and the sedative was silently administered, and Seam’s voice became noticeably slower.

  “How long have you been here? Why does he want you?” he growled.

  Bronson shook his head, diving headlong into the lie, “Seam, I do not even know where here is, much less who has captured us. My last memory was leaving you in the desert…and then I woke up here. We have to get out of here.”

  Seam blinked, his face grim, “Yes…as I remember it you left me to die.”

  Bronson felt his stomach wretch in a knot as he saw the High King’s hand morph into an obsidian blade. He stood from the seat as fear stole his breath away.

  Aleph above.

  Seam roared, “What was it, Bronson. One bullet for you and one for me?” The blade extended five feet from what was once Seam’s arm. “I am no longer a pitiful wretch to be cast aside, Bronson Donahue. No, you’ll find that Dyrn and his machinations have given me unmatched power.” His body bucked at the chains, which groaned under the sudden force.

  “High King, please…let me explain myself!”

  “Are you working for him, Bronson! Why are you unchained, while I am bound?” A snap of iron announced the breaking of the bonds, and Bronson screamed.

  “Put him under. Do it now!”

  The ruse was over, as the medic dumped the two vials into the IV drip. Seam’s arm snapped free from its shackles and Bronson dove underneath a piercing blade. He shot up and drove his syringe deep into Seam’s neck.

  Seam let out a horrible scream, but soon his face was limp and relaxed. Bronson pulled the needle out and collapsed, shaking with fear.

  “How long do we have?” The medic worked the calculation over the datalink. “HOW LONG!?” Bronson barked.

  “Three…maybe four hours. It’s my best guess given the ratio’s he’s running right now.”

  Bronson spoke into the microphone he wore, “Get me to the queen. Now.”