Keys of Candor: Trilogy

by Casey Eanes

  “Your majesty – the person you seek is Dyrn.” Bronson kneeled on the red diamond tile that sat below the throne of Lotte; Camden’s throne. On it Aleigha perched, her face somber beneath a slim silver crown.

  “You should have killed him when you had the chance, Captain Donahue. Is this all you have produced for your country?”

  Bronson coughed back tears as he shook his head, “No my queen. Based off what your…son has revealed it would seem that the suspect has Rihtian ties.” Bronson stared into Aleigha’s dark brown eyes. “He alluded that Dyrn was a desert witch.”

  Aleigha sighed. “Aleph help us. Then we have little chance at success. I will not send my forces into the Rihtian ruins scouring for a dark sorcerer.”

  Bronson stood, his face painfully gaunt. He tried to control his shaking hands as his body screamed for a drink, for some pills or something to dull the fear of what was locked in the dungeon beneath them.

  “Forgive me, my queen, but we are running out of time. We do not have enough Death’s Balm to keep Seam sedated. We have only two hours left at most, and decisions must be made of what to do with him, Dyrn or not.” Aleigha stood and began to descend from her royal platform toward the disheveled Guardsman. Bronson continued, “I’ve done what you’ve asked of me. Now what will we do?”

  Aleigha snapped her finger, and Bronson jumped as the small scout appeared in the chamber like a summoned spirit. She glanced at him, and spoke, “Find all you can about this character, Amos. Dyrn. Be discreet and fast.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The scout vanished in a breath and Bronson stood weakly before his sovereign.

  “As for your question, Captain Donahue, I will fulfill my promise to my son. Tomorrow morning, he will be tried and executed. Candor will soon have justice for the desecrations that my…son has committed.” Bronson felt only the slightest waver in her voice, the tension between kin and crown surfacing for only a mere breath.

  “But my queen, we do not have the luxury of tomorrow! We have only hours, not days. We have to act now!”

  A volley of rifle fire erupted from beneath the royal hall accompanied by blood curdling screams. Guardsmen rushed into the chamber surrounding both Aleigha and Bronson.

  “It’s too late. We are too late,” Bronson muttered, his face as pale as a ghost’s as a surge of training and experience erupted within him. “Barricade the chamber men. Protect the queen at all costs!”

  The soldiers did not question the fallen Captain, but quickly locked the chamber down. Bronson grabbed Aleigha’s hand. “We must get you to the safe room. There isn’t any time.”

  A thunderous outburst of energy collided with the thick wooden doors of the royal chamber. It buckled in seconds as the Guardsmen unleashed a wave of gunfire over the incoming intruder.

  Seam tore through the men, his arm shaped as a shield. With his free hand he crushed through the soldiers, breaking them under titanic blows, reducing their bodies into cracks of gore.

  Panic eclipsed every thought in Bronson’s mind. Gods...gods above, no. Bronson shoved Aleigha to the ground and rushed for a fallen soldier’s rifle. His hands flew over the device, the muscle memory of endless drills crystalizing in pure grace. Just push through. Do something. He took a deep breath as he lowered the barrel towards his former master.

  A familiar voice greeted him, “Ah, Bronson, this is quite the surprise to find us both in Lotte. Your little conversation in the dank dungeon was quite convincing… for a moment.” Every hair on Bronson’s body stood on end as he stared down the scope of the rifle aimed at Seam’s head. Bronson surged forward placing his body between Aleigha and her son.

  “Not another step, Seam. Not another step or I’ll blow your head off. You won’t touch her!” Bronson screamed. “Not now. Not ever!”

  Aleigha edged away from the conflict, her hands reaching behind the throne.

  “Oh, Bronson,” Seam sighed and shook his head as he glided forward. “I didn’t come to kill my mother.” Seam’s eyes went dark and a sinister grin covered his lips. “Not yet. But you...I believe we have unfinished business.” Seam lifted a pistol from his hip and leveled it on him. “Remember? You left me with one last bullet, Bronson. I am returning the favor.”

  Bronson fired, releasing a full magazine on Seam. The High King stumbled under the fire as his own pistol flashed with life. The bullet grazed Bronson’s arm, skipping across the floor to find a home in the thick wooden walls. Bronson charged and smashed the butt of his rifle against Seam’s throat.

  Seam smiled, unfazed, as he punched his right fist into Bronson’s chest, sending him sprawling ten feet away. Bronson leapt to his feet and steadied himself. “Run, my queen! I will stand my ground.”

  Bronson side-stepped the next punch thrown by Seam, rushing for a discarded stun stick from a fallen soldier. He leapt, slamming the stun stick against the back of the young king’s skull. Seam spun and crashed a backhanded punch against Bronson’s ribs, releasing a loud crack. Bronson howled in pain but swung again, missing his mark. Aleigha dashed from the room, and Seam lunged for her before Bronson thudded into him, tackling him to the floor. Bronson slipped the baton across Seam’s throat and pulled back with all his might, trying to choke Seam and halt his advance.

  The two rolled across the floor for a moment until Seam steadied himself and flipped Bronson over his shoulders. The senior captain struggled to his knees before Seam slammed his knee against Bronson’s face. Bronson crumpled into a bloodied heap beneath Seam’s heavy blows. Seam lifted Bronson by the neck of his shirt and growled through clenched teeth. “You have failed my family for the last time, old man.”

  A tear rolled down Bronson’s cheek as he writhed beneath Seam’s grasp. “No, Seam. You are the one who failed your family!”

  Seam slammed his hand into Bronson’s chest, crashing through his ribs, piercing his heart. “How dare you speak to your king that way, you worthless rat!?”

  Bronson’s eyes went wide and his mouth hung open, his body convulsing as he sputtered his last words through a mouthful of blood. “Hail... Camden...”

  The words sent Seam into a fury and he slammed Bronson’s corpse to the ground. He spun on his heels, ready to chase after his mother, but as he turned his belly was greeted by a wide blade that pierced through him with a sickening thud.

  “Die, you wretched demon,” Aleigha spat.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Silence and darkness. A void wrapped around Willyn and stirred her from sleep. She swept her hand clumsily across the damp cavern floor, searching for the lantern that had long since burned out. After a few moments her fingers found the metallic base of the lamp and she flipped at the switch, knowing well that the lantern had lost its charge.

  “Luken?” Willyn swiped at the space beside her, but her hand cut through empty air. “Luken?” She said louder, “Can you get some energy cells from your pack? The lantern died.”

  There was no response and Willyn’s heartbeat quickened for just a moment as she fumbled about, trying to locate her pack. She widened her eyes, but she was completely blind in the deep tunnels. Her hands swept over her boots and she quickly located her pack next to it.

  She flipped open the satchel’s top and reached in, feeling for her datalink. “Luken, seriously, you could be a little more helpful here.” Willyn shook her head as she slipped the datalink over her wrist and flipped it on. A light blue hue filled the cave and she squinted as the faint light intruded on the darkness. She swept the screen over her pack and scanned the contents, finally laying her eyes on the energy cells she needed. She snapped two from their container and flipped the lantern over, switching them out with the old cells.

  Willyn turned the switch and the lantern burst to life, flooding the tunnel with a brilliant light that blinded Willyn for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. She dialed down the beacon’s intensity and squinted as she scanned the room, looking for Luken. The floor beside her was empty, the tunnels above and below her absent of his presence. S
he lifted the lantern and descended deeper into the cavern she found no trace of her friend.

  “Luken!” Willyn cried out and waited for him to round a corner and joke over her mild panic, asking her if she was afraid of the dark. Willyn continued, but the caves offered no sign of him. “Luken!” She called out, in a loud whisper, still trying to hold back, just in case someone was listening.

  She stopped, took a breath and listened, waiting to see if she could hear footsteps somewhere in the distance, but there was only silence. Where are you? Did he get to you? Can he reach us here? Fears flooded Willyn’s mind but she shook them away, determined the location was safe and too far for even Isphet to intrude.

  “Where did you go?” Willyn muttered to herself as she walked back to the small rocky alcove where they had spent the night. As she returned, her eyes fell on a small piece of paper resting on the ground next to her pack. She stooped down and lifted the paper from the cold stone floor. There, neatly scrawled, was a note.

  My dear Willyn,

  I pray to Aleph that you and He can forgive me. I am tormented, trapped with no solution, no answer for the situation I now find myself in. I hope you know how much you have meant, continue to mean, and will always mean to me. You saved my life and risked your own to ensure my safety. You have allowed me to feel something I had thought lost to me. After a millennia of wandering I have found someone I love.

  You are relentless. In your passion, loyalty, and convictions you refuse to be deterred. You fear nothing and you are stronger than any enemy who would dare oppose you. Your Realm is blessed to have you as their leader, and I am lucky to have been able to share the brief time I’ve had with you. Your beauty is far more than what anyone can see in a passing glance, your spirit and tenacity, your humor and spark are what caused me to feel a passion I never thought I could experience...Thank you.

  Yet, I am broken, Willyn. Tainted by this cursed link that ties me to the most terrible abomination this world has seen. I am powerless to sever this. I will not let you hide away with me, chasing after a possibility that cannot be secured as long as Isphet walks on Candor. I cannot let you stay here, hidden in the shadows, though if I had my way, I would never leave your side...

  Willyn’s hands began to shake and her eyes welled up with tears as she furiously scanned Luken’s small, neat script.

  Time, it seems is the only gift I can give you now. You must use it. Gather your forces. Find Wael and Kull. Marshal the Reds and the Resistance. Perhaps, Aleph willing, you can do what I cannot...defeat Isphet. But I know, now more than ever, that if I were to stay by your side any longer, he would find you. Do not be afraid. I have seen the fire in your eyes and I know the entire continent of Candor will follow you to the ends of the earth to fight this enemy. You must rise to the task set before you.

  I am so very, very sorry, Willyn. Leaving you now is the hardest thing I have ever had to do, but it must be done. You deserve so much more than I can ever give you. Know this – I love you.

  -Luken

  Willyn’s knees felt weak. She lowered herself to the ground, her body weighted with an invisible burden that crumbled over her like an avalanche. She collapsed, her long red curls covering her face as a torrent of tears came fast, unexpected and unavoidable. Love. Her mind had exploded upon reading his words, clinging to the evidence of his true feelings. She had, of course, sensed their connection long before, but had buried it under the circumstances that she faced. Even when they first met, she could feel it, his eyes lingering over her shoulder. They had been alone, searching the Labri islands for Grift. She had lost him then, too...but now. Now he is gone again.

  Her body shook with unhindered sobs, her own cries echoing deep within the tunnels of Legion’s Teeth. For the first time in her life she allowed Luken to humble her to tears. She fumbled her hands over his words, forcing herself to read them one more time. She lay back down, her mind filled with rage. I told him that I needed him. I told him... She now felt a pain that she did not know she could endure. Everyone she had ever loved had been taken from her. Her mind flashed with the images of Hagan and Bri. Now Luken was gone, too.

  She stood up and howled a guttural scream, “WHY?! Why is everyone torn away from me?” She threw her left fist into the stone wall, embracing the deep, arching pain that exploded up her one good arm. “Answer me, Aleph! Why am I cursed?” Another round of rolling sobs wrenched from her, and she crumbled back to the ground as the echoes of her cries swelled through the cavern.

  She sat there for hours, her mind swirling like a drunk’s, overtaken by the raw emotion that consumed her. She blinked, her body channeling the warrior’s mindset engrained within her. Focus. She winced as she squeezed her left hand. Why did you hit the wall with your good fist, you idiot? She forced herself to open her hand up, wincing at the stiff, broken skin, mottled with deep, fresh bruises that held her fingers back in an iron-like grip.

  “Aleph above,” she whispered, wincing through the pain. She stood, and forced herself to walk out from the eastern mines of Legion’s Teeth. She would leave the dark halls where Bastion’s mirror had once been stored and rejoin her people, find her footing again, somehow. But how?

  Focus.

  She blunted the self-pity that sought to overtake her. There was no more time to mourn what had been lost, no time to feel betrayed or discarded. She buried her emotions and left them beneath the mountains. She ascended the damp cave path and emerged onto the side of the mountain of Legion’s Teeth, stepping out into a small, abandoned miner’s camp. She squinted out into a crimson sunrise as the morning sun burst over the red, craggy peaks. She closed her eyes and focused on one singular item, her greatest threat. Isphet.

  No more running. It is time to plan my assault.

  Willyn loaded her pack, the extra rifles, and the ammunition she found in the mining camp into the small rail line service car that had carried her into the depths of the eastern mines. She accessed the navigation screen on the cart and punched coordinates for the Damrall station, two hours out. She sighed as she considered the long ride before her. Luken’s words goaded her forward:

  Time is the only gift I can give you now. You must use it.

  A cry rose out in the fields surrounding Elu’Qua as Bagger refugees shouted at the young magistrate who stood atop a large scaffolding overlooking the city walls.

  “Please, remain calm and return to the nearest rail station for re-assignment. Our fields are full of workers and we have no need for additional work at this time! We will post bulletins to all datalinks if there is a change in demand.”

  An old bagger man shouted, “We need a safety!”

  “No work! Help!” chimed in a young woman nearby. The crowd pressed in on the city gate, clamoring at the locked door, hoping for it to give way, but the iron gate refused to move an inch.

  The crowd’s energy continued to crescendo as the government official attempted to shout over them. “Please leave our city. We have no need of your presence!”

  “The demons! Demons!” the people shrieked. The crowd had only been a hundred people this morning, but had morphed into five hundred in a matter of hours. The magistrate looked over the horizon, to see more Baggers streaking down the hillside to the coastal metropolis. How many were there now? A thousand, two thousand? What is driving them here? The buzz of a flying rock zoomed past the official’s left ear, causing him to stumble and nearly crash down a flight of the metallic stairs. He caught himself on the railing and cursed under his breath as he shook his head and scurried back through the city walls toward the grand crystal palace to report on the growing crisis.

  He walked briskly up to the towering clear pinnacle, the Jewel of the West as the people called it, and rushed inside. Evan Darian sat in the white marble throne room, his eyes staring at the large datalink screen mounted on the wall, observing the scene outside his city. His face was flushed and harried. The worries had come early this morning, and with them had come the drinking. The magistrate licked his lips
and cleared his throat.

  “What news from the gate, Crane?” Evan spoke with surprising clarity for this early in the morning, his face not leaving the screen. A perpetual motion of terrifying images cycled there; Preost burning, along with the Spire falling in Zenith. Fear was laced on the young ruler’s face, causing Crane to see the ghost of his father, Filip. Crane blinked the image away.

  “Two thousand Baggers, sir...with more coming. I’ve never seen anything like this. We’ve taken in all we can and have doubled the Bagger housing units we have in the city. Their temperament seems to be...turning. Rocks are being thrown.”

  Evan rubbed his face and brought a large glass of amber liquid to his mouth. He threw it back and sighed, his lips drawn in thin lines. “What are our options?”

  “Few, sir. We could send the excess out to the field towns, but they would be overrun in only a few days.” Crane paused, weighing his words. “In addition, all our fields are ready for harvest. All profits would be lost if we sent these...people into our fields. Our trades to the other Realms would be deeply undercut. We could get transports to take them to the Labri Islands to avoid this, sir.”

  “The Labri Islands are not for the Baggers, Crane,” Evan said, his voice gruff. “We will not give these refugees from Zenith sanctuary on the lands that are meant for Elum’s last stand.”

  “Your last stand has already come, Evan, son of Filip.” A deep voice echoed within the glass palace. Evan threw his red-streaked eyes up to see an Alephian monk walk in, his gray robes floating over the marble floor like a ghost.

  “Gods above, Gieman, how did you get in here?” Gieman had been affectionately dubbed by Evan’s late father as “the damn court monk” and had been a presence within the Darian estate for years, arguing long and hard for the ruling class to remember the better angels of their nature.