The Last Prophecy

by Russell Loyola Sullivan

  The firepit had not held a fire since before dawn.

  Brenna had been dead wrong about the stars. He had watched them for two long nights, cursing each spot of light.

  There was no need for breakfast. The hunger he felt had only one way to be satiated.

  Midday came and went, and even his horse was eager to move out. He did not look back as he rode away from his farm. Without Brenna as a part of it, there was nothing for him to look at.

  Eman would direct the men and women who had gone to the garrison ahead of Selina and Devyn. The three had met earlier. The planning was complete. The last piece was the number of horses to have in place at the appointed destination. What they’d settled on presupposed the number who would ride back out—a ghastly calculation. It was finally decided that all entering the garrison would do so on horseback, but an appointed quarter of them would leave their horses at the assigned spot in the market area. They would not need all the horses, nor should they make the mistake of leaving an unusually large herd of horses that would only invite unwanted questions. The remainder would be taken to the inns they were to stay in that evening.

  He stopped and looked back in spite of his earlier refusal to do so. Maybe he and Brenna might find their way back here again, if Wallace didn’t burn it to the ground… or when goats learned to fly, the latter being more likely than the former.

  He met up with Selina at the South River Bridge.

  “I see you’ve packed for a long journey,” he said.

  “The least of our worries will be finding something to wear should we ever get back out of the garrison. And I see you packed as lightly as me.”

  “Getting that information from the caretakers was a good find,” he said.

  She had tracked down two former caretakers from a time when the prophecies had worked; both caretakers informed her they had been kept in the rooms that adjoined the great assembly room inside the temple. That last bit of information gave them their best hope of finding Brenna, a starting place at least.

  He was not concerned that the guards at the gate would recognize him, as those who had come for Brenna were Wallace’s elite and not likely to be mere guards at the garrison gates, and Wallace’s arrogance preempted the thought of anyone attempting to break her out.

  “I’m not just a pretty girl who can handle a sword and horse better than any man.” She held her head high in a mock pose.

  “Or woman, for that matter,” Devyn added.

  “Getting Oran to go was a smart move on your part. If anyone will direct them to a safe place and take care of them, it’s Oran.”

  “He wasn’t too happy with my request. But I told him I had to keep my best sword and horsewoman here. So I think he accepted that since you and I had made the decision he’d best acquiesce.”

  Selina gave a gentle tap to Fury’s behind with her rope halter; he didn’t even twitch. Devyn took the signal from Selina’s tap. He gave Fury the leg and they were off.

  It was not dark yet. They would arrive with the light. Even his sword had gone before him. Now they were merely two travelers on their way to the garrison. Maybe if someone looked closely, they would see something else in their eyes. But no one they passed on the road gave them that close an inspection, or if they did they gave no indication, and so the two moved along without incident.

  They brought the horses back to a walk, crossed over the South River Bridge, and headed northeast.

  He noted the way east and south, even as they traveled north. Only one road to Woodfield, but after that, choices could be made. The castle was not yet in sight, so anyone looking out from there could not see this far. If Brenna made it here, she would have an even chance of escape.

  He chuckled. Selina looked over at him. He put his head down. He was already planning what they would do after they escaped. What to do after they escaped would be easy. Getting to that part might require some effort and no small amount of luck.

  “You’ve found something to laugh about?” Selina asked.

  “When I first met Brenna, and found out she was a caretaker, I told her that if she were chosen I’d sneak into the temple to be with her. I don’t think this is what I intended. In any case, her shock was as apparent then as it’ll likely be now.”

  “I think she might react a little differently this time,” Selina said.

  “No matter what, she’s a woman of her faith. The choices we all make have lasting consequences. I know any rescue will tear at her for not having performed her duty. The gods of duty should sit with the gods of survival and decide which is more important. Or maybe it’s their folly to watch us make impossible choices.”

  Selina halted her horse. “She’ll be fine. We’ll free her. You know that, right?”

  “I hope our time hasn’t run out. Plus, I’ve put a multitude of folks in grave danger.”

  “That part was debated and decided,” Selina said. “It’s now more than just about Brenna. Wallace is holding something from us. No caretakers have returned for three turns of the seasons. That has never happened before. It concerns us all.”

  “Yes, the great unknown is Wallace. Once our rescue begins, we’ll have little time before he’s notified. Should he arrive before—”

  “He won’t. And if he does, we’ll deal with it.”

  “Damn magic, magic fire,” Devyn said. “I can fight any man. But how do we fight that?” He knew she had no more answer than he did. This conversation was going nowhere. “Sorry. I’m just so afraid of losing Brenna. We’ll get her, and kill those bastards, and Wallace too if chance allows.”

  “That’s better,” she said.

  The sun dipped to the west, and Balac had taken his early place in the sky by the time they reached the East River Bridge. They crossed, nodded to the two guards, and entered the garrison.

  The lower section was still busy and would stay that way for some time. Even when the buyers and sellers went their way, others would move in to clean up and prepare for the next day’s activities. Torches, oil lamps, and candles were being lit in the center part of the city. There the day was coming to an end, folks tucking into homes or else off to an inn for dining and entertainment.

  His small troop would have split into two groups and by now have picked two of the larger inns in which to wait until the appointed time. Many an ale would be ordered, but few would be consumed, he surmised. Finding a new place to spill a drink or some object to become a receptacle for one would become a sort of game. They would take to their rooms in twos, each pair at a different time so as not to attract attention. There each would take a turn sleeping until the first hint of dawn.

  That was the plan. All else would be improvised as circumstances demanded.

  *****

  They left their horses at the appointed place and made their way to a well-concealed meeting point that looked out on the Muirin Sea. Devyn waited beside Selina for the men and women of his troop to arrive. It was not a place where they all could have remained concealed, but for two it was adequate, and near the temple, allowing them to watch for any unusual activity and gather some reconnaissance on what to expect.

  Selina insisted he get some sleep. He insisted she be the one to rest. Neither as much as closed an eye.

  The night finally let go, and the deep pink of sun against the eastern clouds announced the subtle arrival of the day.

  So quiet, each troop member glided into place without as much as the sound of their breathing. They all understood that what needed to happen next must happen with the speed and finality of a cougar’s last chance at prey while he only had three good legs to make an attack.

  There was no grand illusion they would all be alive when this ended. Brenna and the cup would be their only focus, and her escape would be given the best chance at success, slim as that might be.

  When his troops had been informed that the cup would also be a part of the agenda, it was unanimously agreed that its inclusion would be a noteworthy achievement that all of Kielara would silentl
y celebrate.

  All those gathered listened to what Selina and he had learned during their watch. The briefing was done in a whisper. No questions followed as there was little to impart.

  They moved into position, and Devyn gave the signal.

  Two dead guards hit the ground of the temple entrance moments after he lowered his hand. He headed off to the assembly room. Eman and his crew would deal with whatever might approach the temple from below. Devyn, Selina, and his group would find Brenna and the cup. If Wallace showed up, Devyn would be the one to confront him, and slow him down if possible.

  No loud sounds yet; two clerics by the outside candles, perhaps praying.

  He took one, and Selina took the other. Perhaps the clerics’ prayers had been heard, but hopefully the gods would need time to intervene against their success for having killed the clerics.

  The others of his group spread out. The sound of doors opening and closing, nothing to disturb the quiet of morning; the opening act of the unfolding operation was going better than expected.

  It was a massive place. He had not anticipated so many rooms.

  Two more guards on the stairs; no way to approach without being seen, and no time to create a diversion. He pointed to which guard would be Selina’s.

  He sent his dagger through the first. The second screamed, “Intrud—” Selina’s knife ended his call to arms.

  It was now a matter of luck, stealth, and time. That interrupted shout would have been heard, and it would escalate from there.

  Up the stairs to the second set of rooms. The doors opened before they got to them—more clerics. The clerics slammed the doors shut.

  “There!” Devyn pointed.

  Brenna, two clerics by her side, and she didn’t look like she was being taken for a friendly stroll.

  Devyn’s arrival was no longer a surprise. Brenna was being moved. The garrison was awakening to the incursion.

  How much time had passed? Not enough to bring the main barracks of soldiers their way, but enough to put the clerics on the defensive.

  She pulled herself free with little effort, and both clerics scattered, more intent on staying alive than holding onto her. She ran toward him, her arms open. “My love, what have you done?” They hugged even as he surveyed the area for guards.

  “Probably gotten us both killed,” he said. “Where’s the cup? Where do they keep it?”

  “At the altar, in the sacred hall. Why?”

  “Take me there. No time to explain.”

  Brenna pointed to another set of steps. The noises down below increased as the moments flew by. Curses and screams filled the air. The din of battle—how had the gods of war gotten him back into this terrible stink of death?

  Brenna turned and climbed the steps. She crossed the landing and opened the double doors to the Sacred Hall. There in a case sat the cup.

  Devyn scarcely stopped to breathe; his sword smashed down on the case, and he grabbed the cup, wrapping it in a skin he had brought. He turned to Brenna. “You carry the cup. Time to leave.” He handed her a short dagger and the cup.

  She hesitated.

  “You promised. Please, Brenna, please.”

  She took the cup and nodded.

  Guards poured in from the steps. It was now a fight for survival. A few short heartbeats, and blood poured down the steps from the lifeless guards; four of his group lay behind in their own pools of blood.

  They made their descent, and the shouts grew louder. More guards, and more from his group falling as they made their way back to the temple’s entrance. Even he was surprised at the level of carnage; not an inch of marble showed a color other than the dark red of death.

  He and Brenna stepped outside the temple. Her dagger was dripping with blood. He looked to the castle and saw torches moving about in many directions. Wallace would be on them soon.

  His plan was all about surprise. No one had ever attacked the temple, as any invading force could be seen from all sides, whether at the bridge or on the water. This attack had come from inside. That surprise was now over; all he could expect was a few moments of confusion before his small force was annihilated either by the sheer number of guards, by the soldiers who would join once the alarm was raised, or by the baleful magic of Wallace, who might already be on his way.

  “Down the steps.” They had to make it to the horses. He grabbed Brenna’s arm and signaled to what remained of his people. Eman was not one of them. Eman lay where he had made his stand at their arrival; six guards lay next to him. Which cascade of blood belonged to whom would remain a mystery. No time to even say goodbye.

  Such was the urgency of death and violence—something else for his soul to meditate with, should he survive.

  Selina, Devyn, Brenna, and three of their men made it to the lower levels. The man who’d been stationed to hold the horses saw them coming, led the horses out, and as one foot hit the stirrup, Devyn headed for the bridge. The alarms they feared would end their plight for escape sounded. The soldiers would be on their way.

  The six galloped to the entrance of the garrison even as the guards commenced closing the gates.

  Shouts echoed from behind, getting louder and closer. A horn called the soldiers to battle. The few early arriving market folk scurried out of the way.

  Devyn made for the guard who was busying himself with shutting the gate. He cut the man’s hand off where it held the lever, a blue light slithering along the blade of his sword. He had forgotten that blue light. The gate halted its progress.

  Selina dispatched the other guard, and the six made for the bridge.

  Devyn pulled up midspan. Brenna was about to dismount, but he stopped her. “You must do as we planned.” He handed her a purse full of coin. “Ride to where only you know. I’ll find you somehow; if they catch us alive, none of us will know where you have gone. Now go.”

  “Devyn, we—”

  “Go. We’re out of time. Save yourself and the cup. The chalice belongs to the people; take care of it. I love you. Go.”

  “As we planned?” She looked down at the cup then back at him.

  He slapped the back of her horse and she was off. He turned to where a dozen men or more came racing across the bridge. “Get out of here, Selina. I can hold them.”

  She laughed. “I have no place to go.”

  “Then we die together,” he said.

  The first clang of steel, the smell of blood, the grunts and groans as the precious moments turned to forever. Devyn stumbled over a body and turned barely in time to avoid joining him. The horses had the good sense to move across the bridge and away from the fighting. His comrades gave no measure, pressing and then retreating, allowing no one to pass—giving Brenna as much time as possible to escape with the chalice.

  The horn was louder now. The soldiers were near, and then it would all be over.

  His three men were too soon down; only Selina and he faced five newly arrived guards. She turned to him and smiled. “If the sight of blood scares them, then we’ve surely won. Do I look as good as you?”

  Devyn smiled back. “You’re indeed a sight.”

  How long had it been? It felt like an eternity. Not enough time for Brenna to get the lead he had hoped for. “Let’s back off slowly and hold them for as long as we can. You want the three, or the two?”

  “As you see fit,” she answered. “You start left and I start right.”

  The five attacked together, the ring of steel against steel filling the air once more. One guard fell and then another. A third made it around to their other side and, as Selina turned to greet his attack, one of the guards let go a knife she did not see coming. Devyn yelled too late for her to move, and she took it in the back.

  His sword glowed with the magic that emanated from his rage; his blade sliced the guard’s sword in half, and the same action took the guard’s head from his body. He willed his rage to swell, and his sword hissed as the speckles of blood danced along the edge of its blade. They would not touch her. He leaped
over Selina’s body, impaling one of the guards on his sword as he kicked the other over the bridge.

  Men on horseback now—soldiers. Fighting them would serve no further purpose. The assault was over, the success and failure of the mission sealed in blood.

  He knelt beside Selina. She was no more. He wanted desperately to stand and fight; his rage still burned hot, as did his sword. The fight would serve no purpose. And he needed to buy more time for Brenna.

  Let them chase him.

  He found his horse at the end of the bridge, mounted and waited until the guards were halfway across.

  He little cared if he were caught or fell from the saddle. More time was all he dared ask for, and a hope she had not gone the way he would have chosen as he lured them away.