by RG Long
“Leave your guard!” Farnus said behind him. Jerius turned, his eyebrows raised for a fraction as he allowed the prince’s words to penetrate his mind. “We’ll need the extra hands to fetch us water and renew our blades.”
Jerius looked left and right before nodding at his guardswomen, who obliged with dignity, though he knew they hated to be treated as mere servants. Jerius turned to leave and had almost made it to the stairs when he heard a call come over his head.
“Incoming!”
Jerius flung himself against a wall and the stairs as he felt the air rippling with power that made the hairs on his neck stand on end. He clung to a stone railing that ran down one side of the stairs he was about to descend as the castle shook. Rock and stone flew in all directions around him, some even pelted his back.
Coughing and spluttering, he stood up and covered his mouth. Dust and debris flew through the air and clouded his vision. He couldn’t see anything.
He stepped in one direction and felt something wet and soft under his foot. Taking it away quickly, Jerius registered he had just stepped on someone. Or, a piece of someone.
The taste of blood filled his mouth as the dust cleared. Bodies of soldiers and some of his own guard were scattered across the wall’s battlements. He coughed and retched as he saw the horrible sight of the wall blown away from its corner. The same kind of destruction that had come to Arranus appeared to have hit Grellis’ own castle walls, to much more gruesome effects.
“Help!” came a cry from inside the fog of dust and blood. Several groans and cries of pain had rung out in Jerius’ ears, but this was the first clear call of someone in trouble.
Someone Jerius recognized.
He made his way carefully back along the wall, refusing to look down at the blood strewn walkway and instead feeling his way using the stone wall opposite him. It was only slightly intact. Large chunks were missing every few steps.
“Jerius!”
He knew that voice.
Farnus was holding onto the side of the outer wall. The blast had taken away most of the walkway and the guards who had stood there. It was a miracle that Farnus was still alive, though he looked bloody and wretched. His hands were slipping along the slick stones that he held onto.
Jerius was next to him after a few more agonizing steps over the bodies of the others who were, until a moment ago, standing around preparing for the long siege.
Ditrus being one of them.
“Jerius! Help me up!” Farnus called. His fingers were sliding along the stones by increments. Jerius looked down at the man who had disgraced him and fought him and sought to undo him at every turn. He looked down and saw a man who had used him and mocked him.
And he felt no pity.
Looking left and right, he saw that the dust and debris was still thick enough that he could see no other soldiers or guards, though he could hear them just beyond the wreckage. He bent down to stare fully into the eyes of High Prince Farnus. Grabbing a stone from among the debris, he held it high over his head.
“Jerius?” the prince asked, looking confused for a moment, before realization settled in.
“Night has fallen, Your Grace,” he said, allowing himself a devilish smile. “Your life is forfeit.”
Jerius brought down the stone hard on the Prince’s hand.
Any response Farnus had was lost in the shouts that came from the walls. The battle had begun.
34: Blood and Stone
Olma fled from hiding spot to hiding spot within the walls of Castle Grellis. It seemed that everywhere she chose to hide was the next place where death and calamity would strike. The first time the castle walls had shaken, she had scrambled further back into her place behind some crates.
The second time it happened, those very crates were crushed by a chunk of stone that fell from the ceiling. Olma ran like she had never before experienced. Back home she would run through the streets of her town with her friends, jumping from cart to cart, tree limb to tree limb and enjoyed the spirit of fun. Now she dodged and dove away from the falling rocks as she panted wildly.
This was no playful run. Olma felt like she was running for her life.
Crowds of people had first come streaming in her direction as the walls began to shake. She made herself flat against a wall to avoid being crushed by them as they scrambled to escape the debris as well. Women rushed and clawed at the walls, looking for an exit or a place to leave the tunnels. Children wailed and cried for their mothers who were desperately looking for a way to get out of the tunnels and find safety.
Soldiers were there, too. They ran with swords and spears and shoved families out of their way. Captains and sergeants ordered their men around as Olma heard the tone of their voices grow from demanding to panicked.
Olma had thought she would be safe under the massive stones of the tunnels. Now those stones were falling on the people around her as the castle shook violently again.
She felt the walls tremble right behind her and she flung herself forward as stone and dust and debris filled the air. Coughing and spluttering, Olma stumbled forward. The tunnels had been dark and chaotic, lit only by the torches that hung on the walls and filled with people screaming, clawing, fighting, and trying to get out.
Now the walls fell silent and light streamed in through the clouds of dust. Olma coughed as the dust filled her lungs and she tried to empty them. She found that the smooth pathway she had come on was now rocky and shattered. The place was littered with crumbling stones and rock, making her path forward tricky as she tripped and stumbled.
Olma was walking towards the light that was streaming into the tunnel and the ever-increasing noise that it made in her ears. As she got closer to it, she realized that she was the only one walking the tunnels. The rest had gone quiet.
A rush of air came in and swirled the dust and dirt around in her face. She covered her eyes with her hands and tried to keep from breathing more in than she already had. It was difficult.
She edged along the wall to the hole that had been formed in the wall and looked out into the light of day. Blinking twice, she took a sharp breath as she took in what it was she saw.
She was standing on the edge of the castle wall. Below her was the great canyon that separated Castle Grellis from the plains beyond. In that canyon, a great amount of new rock and debris had fallen. Olma could only guess it was from the other places where the walls of the castle had been blown away. The bridge still stood, if only by the grace of the invading army. Huge streaks of what looked like blue and white lightning shot across the sky. They came from the mass of troops Olma saw across the plains and blasted into the castle walls.
Looking out, she saw that the gates of Castle Grellis were in shambles. The huge doors she had seen, so intimidating and strong at first, were now twisted and mangled. One side even lay down on the floor of the canyon. Another shot of lightning came and hit the very spot Olma had been looking at: the great gates of Grellis.
She was blown back into the tunnel by the force of the explosion. Olma landed hard on her back and felt the wind knocked out of her as she hit the stone floor. Another blast of air came from the line of tunnels as the gates were shot again with the strange lightning.
Darkness clambered at the edges of Olma’s vision as she tried to struggle to her feet and right herself. Her head spun, and she found that she was almost too dizzy to even get to her feet. For now, she settled on being on her knees.
Then she remembered.
Her uncle had been assigned to the gates. To the very structure that had just been blasted with whatever that was. Was it magic? The invading army using magic?
Olma hated it.
She hated the army for killing her uncle. She hated the lizards for killing her parents. And her friends. And taking her village from her.
She hated magic for the destruction it caused and the pain it enabled. Before she realized what she was doing and made herself stop, Olma could feel a trickle of blood running down her arm. She had be
en grasping herself so tightly that her nails were biting into her skin. The realization of the pain steadied her. It gave her peace.
Looking at her bloody fingernails, she realized she couldn’t just sit here. She had to get out.
The last blast had made a giant crack in the walls of the inside of the tunnel. Olma had expected there to be an opening to castle courtyards or the city beyond, but it was dark inside the crack.
Was it because the walls were so thick?
She stuck her head into the space as she heard the cries of pain from above her and the cheers outside. The invading army was coming closer.
Olma inspected the tunnel that ran through the wall from the way she had come. Stones and rocks blocked the path there. A single arm reached out from under the rocks. Olma couldn’t tell if it was someone older or younger, it was covered in dark red and dust. The rocks went all the way to the ceiling and then past it. There was no way out in that direction.
Going back the other way, she saw that the other side was also blocked by overturned crates and barrels. Try though she might, she couldn’t budge them or go around them. The hole in the castle wall to the outside led to a cliff and a drop off down into the canyon. There were no footholds or ways to escape. Just a sheer wall that ended several lengths down.
Only death was that way.
Olma stopped and considered what would happen if she just took one more step forward.
Her mom and dad were dead. Her uncle most certainly was. What would it mean to the world if she just jumped down as well? What would be missed? A little girl from a no-name town in the jungle while the world fell apart by war and magic?
Another blast from the army outside hit the wall and Olma fell backwards, away from the canyon.
She shook her head.
No.
She wouldn’t end her own life. A sad kind of realization came upon her that gave her both hope and a sense of dread.
There very well might be another chance that she would join her parents and uncle in death without bringing it on herself. Standing, she went to inspect the crack made on the inside of the wall again.
A new kind of air hit her face as she put her head further into the crack made in the wall. It wasn’t the fresh air from the other side of the wall. It smelled wet to her. Colder.
Unsure of what to do or where to go, Olma wiggled herself into the crack. The floor was slick and the ceiling much lower than the tunnel she had just come from.
But it was a way out.
To safety or more danger, Olma didn’t know.
And, at the moment, she wasn’t sure she cared.
35: Death by Magic
The canons rang out all around them as shot after magical shot arced and raced towards the castle. Some fizzled out before they made it the great length it required to get there. Others shot too high and went sailing over the plains. They could see the smoke of their blasts behind the castle, far to the west. Others, by seemingly no control or decision of the Speakers, just seemed to veer away from the castle at the last moment.
But some struck true.
The ones that did caused horrible destruction. When they hit the castle walls, the stones around them burst into a cloud of rubble and dust. The holes that were left looked like the size of small houses.
There was no way the castle would be able to withstand such a bombardment for long and still be worth capturing. But maybe that wasn’t the Isolians’ plan anyway.
Blume was amazed that such weapons existed.
But more than that, she feared what was to come.
For the first hour, the Speakers who had brought the magical canon offered up their strength to the runes and stones that surrounded it. She heard their incantations and mutterings. She had learned much more complex spells at the magical academy of magic at Thoran. Perhaps, though, that was the brilliance of the design? Use simple spells to greater effect?
But how could such a machine exist?
Blume had always understood that a Speaker’s power came from their ability and the quality of the stone they channeled their magic through. What was this machine doing to enhance the magic?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a cold voice in her ear.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Yada said.
Blume didn’t dare turn to face her. Nor was she entirely sure that she could. The Speakers who were holding out their hands to her hadn’t moved since they were replaced just a few moments before. Blume was sure these fresh Speakers were put here to be ready for Yada’s entrance.
She had not been able to twitch even a finger since they were brought out here and forced to watch the army of Isol gather around them. Whatever spell or magic these Speakers were using on her, it was foreign to her and effective in keeping her completely still.
Plus, Yada had stolen her amulet.
“This, is what I’m referring to of course,” the old lady said as she walked around Blume and came into her field of vision. She was still walking with her cane, but in her other hand, she held the pendant. It dangled out in front of Blume’s face.
There was nothing she wanted to do more than to take it from Yada and then blow the woman into oblivion. They had done nothing wrong to her. All that had happened so far was that they had been picked up by her scouts. When they were questioned, Blume felt like they were in danger of being hurt or worse, so she got her friends out.
She only wished she had traveled as far as she had the last time that had happened.
“What a rare trinket I find in the presence of Holve Bravestead, my former general and friend,” she said as she made her way slowly over to where Barton was. “And what a treachery.”
The last word she punctuated with a smack from her cane across Barton’s face.
Whatever history the two had with one another, it wasn’t good. Blume could tell that Yada had deep seated hatred for the old man, even though she was currently taking it out on another. While she knew Holve would never win any recognition for his overwhelming kindness, he wasn’t as bad as she made him out to be.
He couldn’t be.
“How could you let Holve slip from our grasp into the hands of Ladis?” the old woman fumed. “You were to be my greatest hunter. My best scoutmaster. And now, here you are, a part to these traitors who claim friendship with the greatest traitor of all! Would you throw your lot in with Holve, then? Shall I remove you from my graces and cast you into death without the blessing of Yada!?”
Canons raged all around them and the army cheered as another magical shot hit true. A large section of the castle wall was blown away. From what Blume could see, it was a portion close to the gates. The castle’s walls were becoming weaker by the moment.
“No! Your Holiness,” Barton began.
Yada slapped him again.
“Silence!” Yada said. Blume saw the disgust in her face. “You abandoned us and our cause. You were escaping with them! You allowed Holve to be captured! He is the one who would know of the great power of this amulet! You let him evade us!”
Yada’s breathing was becoming more and more rapid. Her face was flushed, and Blume was sure she would strike Barton again with her cane at any moment. Instead, the woman turned to look at the castle.
“You see how far we’ve come, Barton?” she asked as she spread her arms out wide. Another shot rang out but flew over the castle. Blume saw the explosion happen far beyond and to the plains. They exploded with fury and a flock of birds flew from their rest place.
“We will decimate this castle as a demonstration,” Yada said, turning back to face her and the others. “This will be our call for peace. If the rest of Ladis will see and know that we have the power to bring down their kingdom, one castle at a time, they will receive our mercy.”
Blume heard Barton speak, but it was with a cowering tone that she found unfamiliar in the man. Did he really fear the old Yada? She had proved herself to be a powerful Speaker. Perhaps he knew what getting on her bad side would do.
“I have onl
y ever served you, Your Holiness!” he begged. “Please don’t cast me out of Your Grace!”
“Humph,” was all she said.
Then she turned her attention to Blume.
”You’re different, aren’t you?” she said with a smirk. “You tried to overpower me? A mere girl against the greatest and most accomplished Speaker in all of Isol?”
Yada let out a shrill cackle.
“Without this amulet, you are weak,” she said, throwing the thing in Blume’s face and dangling it there for her to see. “This is where your power comes from. Not from within. Without this, you’re a tortured little girl who’s come into the wrong company of friends. Like Holve Bravestead.”
Yada turned to face the castle, which shook as another shot took out a tower within the walls. It toppled to the ground.
“You will get a taste of power,” she said, nodding her head, though Blume couldn’t see her face. “And you will fear what it can do. You will obey and put your abilities to use for our cause. The castle will be ours before night!”
“And what about the people inside?” Blume asked, surprised she could move her mouth. The sensations of feeling like she could talk left as soon as she had experienced it. The Speakers had grown too lax as they listened.
“They will die,” Yada said, turning to Blume and nodding. “They will die because they have been infected with the same beliefs as the entire rest of the country. Oh, they would seek a chance to repent if they had it. But to do what? To run and bolster the numbers of Ladis at some other castle? No. We’ll save them the trouble. Every living being in that castle will be sacrificed to our great cause as a sign of the justice sweeping the land.”
Yada was becoming heated again.
“They cast us out. They sent us to die. How will we repay them?” she leaned down close to her and smiled.
