The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  A feminine voice groaned softly, a few inches from his ear. Well, that wasn’t exactly the sound he wanted to elicit from a woman, and certainly not in this circumstance. Time to see if his magic was good for anything to get him—them?—out of here.

  What had that book said to do? It had blathered on a lot about visualization. How was he supposed to visualize something he couldn’t even see? And why? It wasn’t like he needed to see the rock in order to feel it. Why couldn’t there be magic words like in the old stories? Then again, his tongue was thick enough with dust that soon he might not be able to say much, so perhaps that was fortuitous.

  Fine. Fine. He held an image of a pebble in his mind. Now what? A hill. Yes, a hill. And now… it’s rolling down the hill.

  Nothing happened. Bollocks.

  The voice moaned now, and something shifted under his right kidney. Oh, by the gods, yes, the female voice was clearly crushed underneath him. Awful.

  All right. Uh, a pebble… no, a boulder. He pictured himself underneath it. And some more boulders. And then gradually, in his mind, each boulder floated up into the air, into the sky, and most importantly, off of him.

  A clatter came first, then another shudder, then a thud and a crack or two. Light fell across his closed eyelids, and warmth hit his face.

  He opened his eyes but immediately regretted it as dust went straight in. Trying to lift a hand to his face sent more rocks flying and dust swirling, but—his arm was free.

  Wincing, coughing, gasping, he struggled to roll to his left, go forward, to get up in some way that hopefully didn’t crush the person beneath him any further.

  He shook his head, trying to clear it, and finally turned out the inside of his tunic and wiped his eyes. The room came into slow focus. A gaping hole in the tower yawned a few yards from his feet. Nearly two floors had been cut into by the bombardment, or had collapsed afterward, and rubble was everywhere. Beyond the chasm, the rest of the chamber they’d met in remained but was now empty. Something bizarrely like thunder followed by brief bouts of sharp rain fell in the distance, like a brief moment of hail that ended as soon as it had begun. Strange. Blinking to clear his eyes, he peered back at the hole he’d climbed out of.

  A young woman sat in the cavity, equally bleary-eyed and coughing but clearly alive. Was that his handiwork, or was it luck? Her dress had been poor protection against the stone onslaught, its white now tinged to the pale color of bone, the thin gauze ripped in several places. Was that blood? Hair still a shade of near white fell in dramatic curls around her sharp, angular features and expressive, kohl-lined eyes.

  She would be attractive if she weren’t a traitor. The priestess Niat. He refused to let himself think amorously of anyone of her moral fabric; the mind was a thousand times more important than the corporeal form.

  He stepped forward and held out a hand to help her up. She squinted and frowned at him but accepted, stumbling to her feet. Temple sandals were also of little practical use against the rocky terrain she now found herself in, but then again, she hadn’t been planning on a hike, now had she?

  She stumbled against him, and he caught her, just barely. Apparently they were both due some good luck because when Thel ran toward a falling person, the poor soul usually ended up sprawled on the floor. Years of combat training had given him little grace and only moderate reflexes. Oh, he wasn’t half bad when he was paying attention. But he usually wasn’t. His thoughts were often elsewhere.

  That training had afforded him some strength, however much less than his brothers, and now he lifted her out of the depression they’d been trapped in and set her on her feet on the open floor behind him. Then he carefully stepped down and around her, hoping not to send either of them stumbling into the nearby gaping chasm by mistake.

  He tried to meet her eyes, but she stared up at the sky, openmouthed. They hadn’t been under there that long, had they? He followed her gaze.

  Above them, a dozen stones of various sizes floated in air. Most were pieces of the masonry that had once been the walls of the tower, jagged and angular, not like the boulders he’d imagined, and yet it had worked. Curious. The visualization did not have to be quite perfect, apparently. Yes, he was finally learning a little.

  He glanced back at Niat, only now to find her staring wide-eyed at him. The expression was a bit crazed. What, floating stone was more terrifying than nearly being crushed to death? His eyes caught on something on the side of her hip.

  “Why is your dress glowing?” he asked.

  She glanced down at her hip, then back at him, narrowing her eyes. “Mage,” she hissed, like an insult, an accusation.

  He raised his eyebrows. “What does—” he started, hoping to ask again about her glowing hip, but in his distraction, he released some part of himself that was still connected to the stones.

  He realized his error almost immediately as her gaze darted up.

  Without looking—there was no time for that—he threw an arm around her and swept her a foot to the side and against him.

  “Get your—” she started.

  A piece of masonry crashed into the spot where she’d stood, and she gaped, eyes wide as the dust swirled up and caught in the wind, reminding him just how high up they were.

  “—hands off me, mage,” she finally finished, pushing him away.

  He glared at her, then rolled his eyes. “You’re the one that distracted me. A simple ‘thanks’ would have sufficed, but I suppose your kind words will have to do.” He didn’t waste time on people that stupid. Or impolite. Her merits were not exactly adding up.

  He stalked past her and headed for the stairs but stopped short at the pool of blood near his feet.

  A leg protruded from the nearby rubble, but judging by the amount of blood, more than one person had been crushed… unless they had been under there a long time. It didn’t matter.

  He swallowed, tearing his eyes away. Likely his magic had saved him and Niat, then. He didn’t feel terribly happy about it at the sight of blood. Who lay fallen? Someone he knew? One of Alikar’s men?

  “Hey. Seer. Get down—oh, ho, what have we here.” Thel glanced up. One of Alikar’s men stood at the top of the stair that remained. Yes, this would be trouble. “You two better come this way. Only way down that’s intact. Let’s go now.”

  Thel glowered at him, not missing what he was trying to do. Niat marched past him, and Thel followed her down into the stair.

  Just around the bend, a three-foot section of the stairway had collapsed. It was only a one-story fall through the gap, not enough to kill you, but it certainly would not feel pleasant.

  Niat hesitated at the edge.

  “Get goin’, girl. You so much a princess I have to carry ya?”

  “I’m not a princess, I’m a priestess, you dolt,” she snapped.

  “That’s not how your da presents the facts.”

  She scowled at him, took a step back, then another. A running start was a good idea.

  Ah, if only he’d had time to learn more. Certainly an earth mage should be able to raise up enough blocks for them to walk over, but he wasn’t sure he could do such a thing while also walking over it himself. Although… he had managed to get out of the hole while maintaining the spell. He scratched his chin, imagining the fool’s face as Thel tromped across blocks that flew into place to form a path at his feet.

  An ominous crack was the only thing that alerted him that he’d done more than imagine it.

  Niat narrowed her eyes at him over her shoulder. Beyond her, stones had risen to form a pathway. He grinned, mostly to himself, at the simple victory. Always a pleasure when learning came easily.

  She looked back to the path he’d apparently now formed across the gap, but still she hesitated. He couldn’t blame her for that. He had no idea if it would hold her either, really.

  He pushed past her and, carefully holding his gleeful image of annoying the guard in his mind, stepped out onto the stones. They wobbled slightly but did not fall. Not wanting
to push his luck, he stepped quickly across them and smirked back at her from the other side.

  “Are you coming?”

  She glared daggers at him.

  “Get goin’ or I’m gonna throw ya,” the other man snapped at her.

  Still frowning, she readied herself with a deep breath, then ran across the gap as quickly as she could. She was light on her feet, barely touching the stones, more like a hummingbird than a human woman.

  He frowned. Whimsical, poetic thoughts like that usually meant he was taking an interest in a girl. Foolish brain, she’s a traitor and a religious zealot besides. None of that.

  The guard raced across the makeshift bridge before Thel could drop it as he had planned. Damn. He was often too busy thinking to remember to act. He liked to think that meant his actions were overall of better quality, but perhaps that wasn’t quite true.

  And he was doing it again. Both Niat and the man had begun down the stairs without him. His chances of getting away from that fool were better if he were ahead of him. Maybe his tall legs could still overtake them.

  He headed down after them, the bridge collapsing behind him with a crash.

  A thunderous boom echoed through the tower. Odd. What could that be? Another echoed a few moments later.

  Thel managed to wedge his way past them. It annoyed the guard, but he focused on the priestess instead, grabbing her by the elbow.

  “Get your hands off me, fool.”

  He didn’t comply. At least Thel wasn’t the only one getting such orders, although he tended to agree with her that nothing good was going to come from that imp’s clutches.

  “Shut up, seer scum.”

  What was that all about?

  “You insult your own soul when you insult the temple,” she replied, her tone even and aloof.

  “I got no problem with the temple. My only issue is with liars.”

  She sighed bitterly, as if she’d dealt with this before. Thel frowned again. Occasionally, the temples housed priests and priestesses who claimed to be given visions and direction from the gods. He hadn’t heard of any seers recently, though, and usually the discovery of one was a momentous occasion. Perhaps it was a recent discovery.

  Or maybe she was a charlatan. Either fit, really.

  “I am not a liar,” she said quietly.

  “Save it for your new husband, Priestess,” he snapped, her title dripping with rancor. That seemed harsher than the actual epithets he had slung at her.

  Against all reason, Thel shot a glare at the man over his shoulder. Niat was glowering at the man too, but Thel didn’t miss the streak of fear in her eyes. What was that all about? More mysteries.

  Of course, he didn’t have much muscle to back up his glare, and Thel hated fighting with a passion, so he should really learn to keep his opinions to himself and focus on getting farther ahead of the man.

  They reached the bottom, and Thel took off at a jog away from the tower. Maybe if he simply went about it with enough authority—

  “Stop him!” Alikar’s voice. The order was hard, voice raw. “This city will fall in the siege to come. We need to be out of it before that happens. Grab them. Back to Gilaren.”

  Another stout man grabbed Thel by the left bicep now. Thel sighed and glanced around for others, but none had caught up. He couldn’t see much without looking straight back, which would be too obvious. He should have taken his father’s insistence on warden training more seriously and argued his way out of it a little less.

  Too late to lament that now. He took a steadying breath, steeling himself for what he usually loathed to do. Then he drew his sword and spun, swinging around behind his back, catching the man near his kidney and throwing him off-balance into the street. Fortunately, the man was caught off guard enough to let go of Thel’s arm. Sometimes that move ended poorly with Thel sprawled on the floor as well. Many thrusts and strikes ended that way. Gods, did he hate fighting. It came about as naturally to him as flight to a toad.

  He met the next three men head-on, steel clashing as had been his goal, but when three more joined them, he knew he was outmanned. Another five appeared, riding atop a carriage.

  Thel glanced around, searching for a way to out-think these brutes. The street held merchant shops that were still closed or in the process of opening—a bakery, a tailor, a butcher. Nothing that would guarantee a getaway or even a back door, nor any alleys between them to slip through.

  A grate led down under the street. His best chance.

  He hurled his sword—and most of himself—at the two men between him and the grate, not intending to actually fight them but more to stave off any wounds they might land while he bowled them over and went tumbling in the direction of his real goal. Dom would have laughed at him, but his brother would try the exact same thing in this situation, he was sure of it. Dom would probably have pulled it off with more grace, though.

  Thel managed to break free, scrambling toward the grate in a soldier’s crawl on his elbows before a foot slammed down, crushing his hand as he grabbed for the grate.

  He looked up, stifling his groan. Alikar glared down at him.

  “You’re not going anywhere. Into the carriage with both of them.”

  Miara did not envy Aven as the sea of people flooded in around him, cheers and raucous shouts echoing in the cellar. The room imploded around him as Samul and Elise fell back.

  Crowds made her nothing but wary, and although it was almost certainly a good thing for her that Aven had just taken the crown… it didn’t feel good. Her stomach was sinking by the minute. Why now? Why here? She’d have expected more planning, more ceremony, more grandiosity around the event.

  Something was wrong.

  Her eyes scanned the perimeter of the room. If spies had infiltrated Estun, this makeshift cellar turned infirmary and war room would be a stroll in the garden. And how convenient, a swarming crowd to blend into. Her right hand drifted to her dagger’s hilt as she eyed each person in turn. Her left hand still clutched Luha’s fingers, warm and real and safe. Hard to believe, but true.

  Miara’s gaze caught on Elise. The queen’s face was pale as she helped Samul to a seat. Curiously, he leaned on his wife more than on any of his attendants.

  Yes, something was definitely wrong. But it wasn’t spies—it was Samul. Miara reluctantly let go of Luha with a squeeze and skirted the crowd. Dyon stood to the right side of the royal couple now, his brow furrowed with concern.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Miara whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Elise replied weakly. “Everything.” She sank beside Samul. It didn’t work. Well, some, but not all the way. The healing won’t finish. I… I need to rest.

  The knots twisting in Miara’s stomach tightened further. She reached out, sensing the lingering wounds on Samul that would not—or could not—heal. She plied the remaining tangles of chaos with bits of energy from one side, then another. Nothing influenced the wounds in the slightest. He was not fully healed, but the wounds didn’t care for a moment about her magic. They were already in their natural state.

  She swore under her breath, eying the crowd for danger. There were only two possible explanations for a wound that resisted healing. Neither was good.

  The arrows could have been tipped with poison. Poisons were perfectly natural, and healing magic couldn’t touch them. They had to be treated the old-fashioned way, with herbs and prayers. She could create them as a creature mage, but she would have never considered such a thing. The idea stopped her short, though. Their pursuers had had at least one creature mage among them, and a very creative one at that.

  Much as the idea of Samul being poisoned worried her, the other option was even worse. One other very natural thing defied healing: death, and its harbinger, old age. While creature magic could restore wounds, fight disease, erase scars, it could not make anyone live forever. And many, many had tried.

  But Samul had been fine just a few days ago. Feisty as hell. Full of energy and defiance. He’d been
a better fish than she had, and she’d done it before.

  It had to be poison. Had to be. Although he had given up the crown more quickly and with more ease than she would have ever expected…

  His eyes were closed now. His face had not regained any color, which was understandable, considering the intense blood loss. But was there something more in those closed eyes, that pained brow? Or was it just poison doing its work? Exhaustion and pain, or the kind of exhaustion of the soul only time could relieve?

  Stay strong, Samul, she ordered. Aven needs you.

  He opened one eye to peer at her, then closed it again. His brow softened, but she wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or bad.

  Where’s Siliana? Miara asked Elise.

  Pushed to the point of exhaustion. Collapsed on a cot in the back.

  Looks like you need rest too.

  Yes. But I can’t leave them.

  Miara scanned the room again. The crowd still ebbed and flowed around Aven. Well-wishes and congratulations and handshakes and backslapping. The pandering for favor was already beginning. Or no, it likely had begun the day he was born. She turned back to face Elise. We need to wrap this up. The king needs a bed. And so do you.

  Yes. Tell them… Elise’s voice paused, her eyes drifting shut for a moment, then snapping open again. Can Dyon… the prince’s rooms. Aven must keep the king’s rooms. Don’t let him argue about it— Her thoughts fell into disorder, and Miara backed away to give the woman her privacy.

  “I’ll take care of it,” she said quickly. “Lord Dyon, as much as I hate to interrupt—”

  He nodded before she could finish. “There is work to be done. Celebration must wait.”

  “The king needs a bed to rest and heal. And the queen too. And he needs a healer. Tell them to check for poisons. Queen Elise said Aven should keep the king’s rooms, to send them to the prince’s quarters—is that all right?”

  Dyon nodded crisply. “I’ll see it done myself, my lady.” And he turned away, summoning someone from the doorway.