The Broken Bow

by C D Beaudin

  There’s a lot of preparation for a sacrifice it seems. First there’s the festival, which must take place over a span of many days—or weeks, possibly. Then there’s the dress up. Then the Blood Chamber. No one has even come in since those guards left.

  “Do you think they’ll miss us?” Eldowyn says between heavy breaths.

  “They don’t even know we’re dying, let alone still alive. Mera was a…turning point.” Aradon’s mood is dismal and shaken. He hates being locked up, his freedom only a dandelion seed in the wind—it blows away as soon as one thinks they’ve caught it.

  “Who exactly are we talkin’ about?” Hagard asks. “We’ve met a few people since Olway, Aradon.”

  “I don’t know.” Eldowyn sighs. “Dreema, wherever he is. Awyn, wherever she is. Kepp, Saine, though, they’re probably lying dead somewhere.” Eldowyn huffs, and Aradon knows instinctively that Eldowyn is feeling underlying dread as grief pokes tiny holes in the stone wall that protects his heart. But then his wall seems to completely give in to his fatigue and despair, and Aradon can’t help but feel bad for him.

  Eldowyn starts to shake slightly. “They have no way of finding us! No way of even knowing where we are.” He kicks over a candle in rage. “Ugh. Why am I dying like this? Is it because I didn’t stop Revera when she took Kepp?” His voice catches. “Is this the Spirits’ revenge? Maybe I deserve to die like this.”

  A short period of silence follows after his outburst.

  “No one deserves to die like this, no matter what they’ve done,” Aradon says. “Maybe not everyone deserves an honorable death in battle, or a peaceful death of the old. But no one—not murderers, not thieves…” He thinks for a moment, a deep frown denting his forehead. “Perhaps not even Red Warriors... No one deserves to die like this.”

  “But we are,” Hagard says, rather bluntly for him.

  Aradon snorts. “Yes, we are.” His eyes dart around the room as he thinks. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” Eldowyn questions, a defeated, dulled edge in his voice.

  “I’m sorry I can’t get us out of this.” He hasn’t told them, but this entire time he’s been trying to get into the Besged state, but every time he comes close, he’s repelled by something. It’s become physically impossible for him. The edge isn’t the edge anymore. Or rather, it’s gone. Now, it’s either die…

  Or fall into something he won’t be able to climb out of.

  “It’s all right.” The words are hardly forgiving. “Sometimes even the best fail.”

  Aradon huffs at the elf’s remark. “I am not one of the best,” he mutters.

  “Awyn is,” Eldowyn says quietly. “Awyn is the strongest of us all. She’s the bravest. She’s truly one of the best.” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “I should have guessed it. I should have guessed she was my sister. The way she looked like Revera. When she told us Raea saved her, I should have known. Now she’s probably dead in Nethess, or being tortured by that witch—”

  “Or maybe she’s ruling over her kingdom,” Aradon cuts in. “Maybe she’s safe, with Kepp and Saine, with her mother. Maybe she’s ruling over Mera with her bravery and strength. Perhaps she’s finally happy.”

  “No one can be happy until Revera is dead,” Eldowyn says gloomily.

  “Maybe she is,” Hagard chimes in, but by his tone they can tell he doesn’t believe it, nor do they.

  Eldowyn snorts. “Hagard, even you aren’t that naive.”

  The three of them look up when the door clicks and opens slowly. A man walks in—he’s tall, with dark skin, and a bald head. Young and fit, and what looks like a diamond pierces an ear. He’s dressed in a simple antelope skin, but his own body doesn’t have any paint marking it.

  “Eldowyn, I’m so glad I found you.”

  Aradon feels the elf turn his head to look up at him, who seems speechless, but after a moment he manages to say, “Let me guess…Kobe?”

  Eldowyn stares at the man. The room is quiet, a soft breeze now wafting through the chamber, the candlelight flickering.

  “Kobe, what are you doing here?” Eldowyn asks as the man walks over to him, bending to cut the ropes that bind them. “How did you find us?”

  “The High Priest always uses the Blood Chamber, so finding you was easy.” The man has a thick accent, different from Hagard’s.

  “But how did you know it was us?” he asks as Kobe throws the ropes aside.

  Kobe puts out his hand to help Eldowyn up.

  “It’s not as if we’ve met before.”

  “Does it matter, Eldowyn? We can live now,” Aradon says as he stands, along with Hagard.

  Kobe eyes them up.

  “There’s a cart out there. Get in it and put the blanket over yourselves. I will wheel you out of the city. From there you can run to the forest and hide.”

  “Thank you,” Aradon says as he and Hagard hurry out of the room.

  Eldowyn stares at him. “Kobe, what has happened? Why are you able to do this?”

  The man audibly swallows. “The High Priest died in his sleep a few nights past. And so did the Emperor. The whole city has been in chaos.” Kobe turns to go, but Eldowyn grasps his arm.

  “Kobe, what did you do?”

  He looks into Eldowyn’s eyes. “What I had to.” He leaves the room, and Eldowyn follows, trying to wrap his head around this whole ordeal.

  Outside the room, in a long, dark corridor, Eldowyn climbs into the cart with Aradon and Hagard. Kobe holds the blanket, checking to make sure no one is coming, then spreads it atop the three of them, but before he ties it down, he bends down, looking at them.

  “I help you, now you help me.”

  “What?” Aradon asks.

  “I’m coming with you.” Before any of them can answer, Kobe puts the blanket down, tying it securely.

  Eldowyn listens as he walks to the front of the cart and climbs onto the seat. The reins snap and the horse walks on.

  “Why isn’t he going faster?” Hagard grumbles at the slow speed.

  “Because he doesn’t want to attract attention,” Aradon whispers. “And no more talking.” As he says this, the darkness under the rough blanket becomes light as they leave the corridor. The heat is met with a breeze, but it does little to alleviate the warmth under the blanket.

  The wagon travels on a smooth, slanted road. Behind the pyramid temple of Cia Ro, it’s all plains, except for the road that leads to Osore and Naroe. But Kobe must be planning to avoid the roads, Eldowyn gathers. Best way to avoid the Trads.

  Though, the grassy plains don’t offer much cover.

  Suddenly, the cart jolts to a halt.

  “Shh, play dead,” he whispers.

  A new voice enters Eldowyn’s ears. It’s lower, and in the language of the Trads’, which he is fluent in thanks to his education. “Kobe, what are you doing?”

  “Master said to take the bodies out.” The way Kobe’s voice is so calm almost frustrates Eldowyn.

  “There were no sacrifices during the festival.”

  “These were from the Summer Solstice. Master used their organs for—” The man must have not wanted the rest of the details because Kobe stops talking.

  “All right. But we’ll need to check. Ever since the High Priest and Emperor died, many prisoners have escaped. We don’t want any fugitives.”

  “Of course, go right ahead.”

  The guards walk to the back of the wagon. The trio’s breath starts to scramble as audible panic threatens them, but they manage to halt their breathing and try their best to look dead.

  The guard lifts the blanket.

  “What’s this? Animal skins?” His voice sounds angry and questioning. “These aren’t by any chance the un-sacrificed sacrifices?”

  “No. Not all. They are from—”

  The guard isn’t having any of Kobe’s excuses. “Stop talking. You are under arrest for killing the sacrifices.”

  In a second Aradon bursts from under the blanket and jumps onto the man. He knocks t
he guard to the ground, the other trying to pry him off. Eldowyn smashes a heavy sack over the other guard’s head, and he hits the rocky ground, out cold.

  Taking a breath, Aradon stands, nodding to Eldowyn, who’s trying to regain his own composure. Kobe hops down from the seat and looks at the guards.

  “Aye, they’re dead.” He lets out a strained sigh. “We must hurry. More guards will come.”

  Aradon catapults himself into the wagon, and Kobe snaps the reins again, the horse taking off faster this time. The cart thunders down the steep rock slant as they make their way to the road.

  They almost make it to the grass plains when an arrow flies through the air, hitting Kobe in the neck. Aradon, Eldowyn, and Hagard stare helplessly as Kobe falls off the moving cart, stopping the horse.

  Eldowyn’s eyes bulge with horror. “Kobe!” He hops off the side of the cart and hits the ground, running to him. Kobe’s just barely alive. He lays his head in his lap and blood soaks his white wrap.

  “I-I can’t feel my legs. I can’t feel anything.” He shakes violently, blood escapes his mouth as he talks, and tears stream down his face.

  “You’ll be all right. You’ll be okay.” Eldowyn tries to comfort him.

  Kobe takes a shuddery, gurgling breath as Aradon and Hagard walk over quietly.

  Then his eyes don’t move. Nor his body.

  A breath seeps out.

  Shakily, Eldowyn takes two fingers and closes his eyes. He lays him in the grass, folding his hands together over his chest.

  “He’s gone.” Eldowyn looks at the forest yonder.

  “At least it was a swift death.” Aradon places his hand on his shoulder. A wind sweeps through as the sun hides behind a cluster of clouds.

  Hagard interrupts the moment. “Uh, guys. I tink we have worse problems to worry about.”

  They look up and see him pointing at the scores of armed, angry men running toward them.

  “Hurry! Hop on!” Aradon says as he takes the front seat. Hagard and Eldowyn jump into the back of the cart, and Aradon snaps the reins, the horse taking off. Aradon urges the horse on faster and faster as they ride along the prairies.

  When the road comes into sight Aradon turns the horse onto it, and the beast moves immediately faster. The cart bumps and jolts on the rocky ground. Eldowyn and Hagard look back, watching as the army turns onto the dirt road.

  “Aradon, they’re catching up. Go faster!” Eldowyn yells.

  Aradon urges the horse on even more, the beast in a full gallop now. Arrows and spears fly through the air, one grazing the dwarf’s ear.

  “Oi, dat was close.” Hagard gulps.

  “We have no weapons. Aradon, if these guys catch us, we’re dead!”

  “Yeah, I got that, Eldowyn. This horse can’t go any faster. We need to work something else out.”

  Eldowyn looks back at the army, trying to come up with an idea to save them all.

  The army is dressed in animal clothes and bright paint. Piercings hang, and are visible even from a distance, their colors bright. Their weapons are long, some blunt, some short, but they will all be effective if they come into contact with one of them.

  “Okay, I know dis may sound silly, but I tink I have an idea,” Hagard says.

  “We’re listening!” Aradon yells with another snap of the reins.

  “I heard dis rumor dat de Trads won’t hurt Triadons, it’s forbidden. So dey would have ta stop trying ta kill us if we were ta, say...ride one.”

  Aradon looks back at the dwarf, then exchanges glances with Eldowyn.

  He shrugs. “I’ll take rumor over an arrow any day, Aradon.”

  The Red Warrior looks at the army behind them, then back at Hagard.

  “Okay, let’s do it.” He looks back at the army. “But we’re going to need to get there first.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  From Gotham’s red back Karak watches the army as they march along the Dead River. The black currents run strong, but it doesn't drown out the thundering of the Sanarx’s and Tarken’s feet as they pound against the black earth.

  The Black Mountains tower over them, the dark gray surface reflecting no light from the afternoon sun, though, even here, outside of Kahzacore, the sky is darker. Patches of snow covered in soot and ash dot here and there.

  This mountainous region has another name: The Burnt Valley.

  According to legend, elves used to dwell within Kahzacore and the Black Mountains—but it wasn’t so evil back then, nor was it named that. They were an…unusual race of elf. Darker than the others. Fiercer warriors and lethal spies.

  But they are only legends.

  Though, Karak knows things others don’t.

  The road through the Black Mountains isn’t safe or easy, but it’s the swiftest way to Rohidia. Their path will take them through Northern Hadore, through Cannan Forest and into Rohidia, where the city of Rohea rests at the base of the mountain. That’s where they will attack Atta. That’s where he will kill the prince and his sister.

  He doesn’t have to do this. Rohidia is only one kingdom. Just as Mera was only one kingdom. But Revera still hasn’t fulfilled her promise, and he isn’t about to let her out of their little deal.

  He smirks, shaking off the thought. Instead, he focuses on something a little more appealing.

  “It would seem your escape will be short-lived, Brega.” His eyes narrow on the horizon. “You should enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Brega’s bare feet pad softly against the emerald floor, feeling the coolness and smoothness of the marble underfoot. She’s enjoying the flow of her green dress behind her as she walks through the corridors, and the clean lavender scent of her golden hair ruffling as she strolls. Such pleasantries she enjoys and doesn’t mind saying so.

  She’s eaten since she came home, though, she has had a few fainting spells. It has horrified her father and brother. Apparently, her cousin has worried too. Though, she hasn’t had the heart to see her. The things she thought…she’s ashamed. When she was in Marduth, she blamed Awyn. How can she face her cousin after what she’s been through?

  She’s never even met Awyn. She’s never laughed, nor talked with her. Not to mention, she’s never seen her. Will Awyn even like her? Will she despise her?

  Why does she care so much?

  To some, these worries may be ridiculous, especially when they’ve never met. But Brega has always been a worrier when it comes to people. What will they think? Will Brega be pretty enough? Is she likeable?

  Perhaps this obsessive need to be perfect and liked had roots in her mother’s death. Somehow…she knows that must be it, because before her death…Brega didn’t care as much what people thought.

  She turns the corner and bumps into someone. Landing on the ground, she hears a gasp.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry! Here, let me help you.” The person bends down and Brega sees a breathtaking girl with ice-blue eyes that could pierce one’s soul. Curly black hair grazes the floor when she kneels, and she has the fairest skin Brega’s ever seen.

  Other than Karak, of course.

  And her smile, it’s so pretty, with those blood red lips that could only be painted on with the richest paint. But behind her beautiful features, behind those eyes, that smile, there is something…

  For a moment, she wonders if she’s seeing Revera and tenses. But there is something different about this girl. Something…

  Dead.

  “Are you all right?” the girl asks. “I am so sorry.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m fine.”

  The girl smiles and helps Brega stand. “That’s good. Were you lost in thought?”

  Brega’s brow raises slightly. “Yes, how did you know?”

  Her lips curl into a smirk. “Well I’ve had my share of run-ins while I’m thinking.”

  “Who hasn’t?” She chuckles, and sighs. She cocks her head to the side. “You look very familiar. Have we met?” Brega’s lips press together.

  “Ah, no, I don’t think so.” The girl’s lips
part, showing her pearly teeth. “There is something—Oh! You’re Brega, Haydrid’s sister,” she exclaims.

  Brega stands there, unsure what to say.

  “Um, yes. I am Princess Brega.” She knows Haydrid? Did father start searching for eligible women for him to marry? In the middle of the war, no less? “Are you here to court my brother?” The question pops out before she has a chance to stop it.

  The girl stifles a laugh. “Ah, no. I’m here to see my—well, your father.”

  Brega’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, and the girl blushes in obvious embarrassment—it just seems a bit showy.

  “You don’t know who I am. Well, I guess you wouldn’t.” She puts out her hand. “I’m Awyn.”

  Brega’s face drops. The girl in front of her…can’t be Awyn. She’s too happy, nostalgic. This can’t be her long-lost cousin who spent nine years in captivity.

  It just can’t.

  “You’re, Awyn?”

  Awyn stands there, nodding, amusement on her fair face. “Yes, I’m pretty sure. Unless Tamon had the wrong niece in captivity, and Revera’s hunting the wrong elf.”

  Brega doesn’t know what to say to that, so the only words that come out are, “You’re an elf?” She glances at the ears under the black hair. Pointed. Yes. “Ah, I see.” Brega pauses. “Then wouldn’t that mean—”

  “King Daron had an affair with an elf,” Awyn says it so casually, it shocks her. “But I was raised by Adara, so I’m not completely illegitimate.”

  Affair? Brega fakes a smile. “Well, it was very nice to meet you. But I have my scheduled meals, so I need to eat predinner.”

  Awyn smiles as Brega keeps walking. When she’s rounded the corner, she looks back at Awyn—her smile has been wiped clean as if it was never there, and her eyes are dark. Her whole gait has changed.

  Brega leans against the wall, thinking hard.

  So, she fakes it.

  Awyn walks down the emerald hallway, the windows are draped, letting in a gold tinted light. The huge hall is empty, save for herself. Her gold dress flows behind her as she walks, thinking about the tiring conversation she had with her cousin.