The Bones of Titans

by B. T. Narro

  KRenn Trange was seated on the throne upon the dais, his head hanging. Servants offered him bread and water, but he pushed them away. The larger group of servants spoke to each other with concerned looks upon their faces. Most likely discussing what to do about the princess. KRenn must’ve told them what happened.

  KRenn spoke as Leo entered. “There’s only one way to bring back your brother.” KRenn lifted his head with painstaking effort. “We must send someone to fetch us another testing stone. We need to open another rift in the same place. The gateway should open to the same location where he and Siki are most likely waiting for us to rescue them.”

  Leo was tired of listening to KRenn. Send someone for the stone? No. Leo would find out where it was and get it himself.

  “You might have some idea where your brother is,” KRenn said.

  After a moment of confusion, Leo realized that KRenn was right. He walked out of the room to concentrate without having to look at the man he wanted to throttle.

  Leo searched for the stalwart link that he’d been able to feel ever since he’d discovered Artistry.

  But it was gone.

  Overwhelming fear settled deep in his bones. A sickness took hold of his stomach, making his skin flush.

  He doubled over as if to retch. The hallway spun around him as he collapsed to the floor.

  It felt like he’d just looked down to find an arm missing. What did it mean that he could no longer feel the stalwart link? Was Andar dead? Gone forever?

  Leo was too overcome by nausea to cry. He lay on the cool ground and didn’t see the point in getting up.

  He didn’t know how long he was there as he fought back the urge to wretch. He felt so weak that he thought his heart might give out. Was such a thing possible? Could he die as well, right here and now? Perhaps it would be a blessing.

  A familiar feeling came to him that dropped open his mouth. The link had returned. It was faint, stretched and weak, but it was there.

  “Andar. You’re alive!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Darren had accepted the invitation to join Mavrim in his room and was now on his way. The king’s quarters here in the Analyte capital were at the top floor of a building with an Analyse name that meant nothing to Darren. What was important was that none of these large structures offered any protection. Sure, each room had a door with a lock, but that was it. The glass windows were a vulnerability, especially considering how easy it was to scale the mountainsides near these buildings and jump onto a roof.

  Darren was especially surprised when he arrived outside Mavrim’s room to find only two men in armor standing in front of the door. The old Mavrim would’ve had fifty guards around him at all times, and he would’ve chosen a much more secure place to meet.

  And the old Mavrim didn’t have enemies as powerful as his son and Jarrel Marks, Darren thought.

  A guard knocked and told Mavrim that DVend Quim was here. Mavrim opened the door himself. “Come in.” His smile looked forced, like he couldn’t make one naturally but still wanted to try.

  “What are you doing with so little security?” Darren scolded as soon as he closed and locked the door behind him. He would refrain from calling this man “sire” because it would leave a bad taste in his mouth.

  “I’m taking a lesson from the Analyte king, who has never needed any protection. His people have always followed him.”

  “His people are Analytes,” Darren explained. “They are not humans like your people. It wasn’t long ago that one of these humans wanted to kill you because his son was slain in combat.”

  “I may look old, but my mind is still sharp. You don’t need to remind me of anything.”

  “Then take my words as advice instead. You need better protection. Your son wants the rebels to die, and you saved us from him. Just be cautious until we finish destroying the rift.” Then you can throw your life away to make a point.

  “I am protected right now, by you, yes?” Mavrim asked the question rhetorically, but it was not taken that way by Darren.

  “Mavrim, you may not be my enemy right now, but you were for most of my life. I’m not sure if I could let that go even if I wanted to, so you shouldn’t rely on me to protect you.”

  “The fact that you’re telling me this proves you wrong. You care to keep me alive, so you will do what you can. Now, onto business. I summoned you here because a messenger quietly came with grave news.”

  Darren was about to object, but it seemed pointless. “What news?”

  “A large army of barbarians took Jatn and then swept through the cities to the north, attacking the capital as well. They left Halin alone, probably because of its walls, but they could’ve even taken the capital by now.”

  Darren fell into the nearest chair to him. His sister was in Jatn last he’d heard. She was young and beautiful, but not nearly as young as little Rygen. She was Leo’s age, only fourteen.

  “Gods,” he muttered as he took a moment to find his strength. “They must’ve seen half your army marching east and gathered their forces.”

  “Aye, they’ve been wanting our cities for quite some time.”

  Darren didn’t think “our cities” was the right way to describe them, but it wasn’t important. “Is a plan in place?” His mind was already at work in case it wasn’t. They should be able to spare many men. Darren could go back with half of the rebels to ensure Jatn received the attention it certainly wouldn’t receive if only the king’s army returned. With the rebels working with the human army, this shaky alliance might hold. And if not, Darren would kill Jarrel Marks and Gavval Orello when they were no longer helpful.

  “I’ve sent back twenty thousand troops to deal with them,” Mavrim said. “But you must already realize that this army’s priority is to take back the capital first. Jatn will remain lost to the barbarians until we finish clearing them out of the north.”

  “Call back five thousand of them! Bring Erisena up here. She and I can figure out exactly how many rebels are needed to take back Jatn with five thousand of your troops. Have the other fifteen thousand men at least sweep through Jatn to drive out the barbarians. It’s nearly on the way to the capital.”

  “I already tried to convince my son to do that. However, Jatn was entirely under the control of the Farmers’ Guild. Gavval wants them to fall. My family will take back control when the city is retaken.”

  “You sent your son rather than Jarrel Marks?” It was the wrong choice.

  “They spoke and decided it would be that way.” Mavrim cocked his head. “You seem confused. Did you expect me to go with them? I need to be here. Destroying the rift is the most important matter to resolve. Besides, I do not trust my son or Jarrel to provide Dasfis with everything he needs, but my son will do everything in his power to drive out the barbarians. It’s in his best interest.”

  Darren supposed that was true. “But you should’ve spoken with me or Erisena about using rebels.”

  “Do you really think Erisena would allow any of you to leave to take back a human city? Her whole purpose in recruiting has been to destroy Jaktius Perl.”

  Darren finally took the time needed to envision the conversation with Erisena. Half of the rebels now were either Analytes or unskilled religious folk following KRenn’s grandson, FLip Trange. Mavrim was right. None of them would go back to fight for Jatn.

  Darren had to admit to himself that the damage to Jatn was probably irreversible at this point. He was overcome with grief as he realized that the only fate he could hope for his sister and Rygen was that they had escaped before the savages arrived. It probably wouldn’t make a difference if Darren went back now or later.

  He forgot where he was until he felt a hand on his back.

  “Are you all right?” Mavrim asked. “You’ve gone pale.”

  Darren steeled his nerves. “I’ll be fine. I suppose none of this changes our plan for the rift.”

  “It doesn’t. We wait for KRenn to return before we attack.”

  A bri
ef silence passed.

  “I want to trust KRenn,” Darren said, “but I can’t be sure he’s the same man after he spent a year in the dark realm.”

  “Even if he’s not the same man, he clearly plans to help. We will not disallow him from contributing to the destruction of the rift and the beast.”

  “Well, the rebels are ready.” They needed a new name for their group. They were no longer rebels to the throne now that Mavrim had released his grip on power, but that brought about another problem. Darren walked to the window and opened it for a look outside. The king was not safe here, but where could they go that would provide more protection? This city was not designed to offer safety to anyone within. There were no fortifications of any kind among the large buildings.

  “Everything we discussed last night is still to happen,” Mavrim said. “The strongest mages will kill the beast with fire. The archers and remaining soldiers will protect them. There isn’t enough room for all twenty-five thousand soldiers and five thousand rebels to make use of each other when adding in Dasfis’ eight thousand soldiers. We will still be victorious with twenty thousand human troops leaving.”

  Something about this didn’t feel right to Darren. “Did Jarrel and your son make this decision on their own?”

  “Yes, because I do not have power over them like I did years ago.”

  “At least tell me the troops dedicated to you have remained.”

  Mavrim looked insulted. “I haven’t completely forgotten how to defend myself from rebels, DVend. It doesn’t matter if these rebels are with you and Erisena or within my own army.”

  He had a point, Darren supposed. Mavrim had learned from a young age how to stifle any uprisings against him, rather than how to govern his people.

  “Tell me Owen Harell is staying here,” Darren said. Owen was the most powerful mage in the human army. From what Darren had heard, he could be even stronger than Lane Writhe. It was a shame he hadn’t decided to rebel against the throne like she had.

  Darren’s heart skipped as he thought of her. He knew what would become of them as soon as this was all over—the emotional tension was palpable—but he wouldn’t let it distract him.

  “Surprisingly, my son agreed with me that the strongest Ascendant should remain here.”

  That sent off alarms in Darren’s mind.

  Someone knocked before Darren could figure out what to do with that information. He drew his sword reflexively.

  Mavrim took on a serious look as he asked, “Who’s there?”

  “Jarrel is here to see you, sire,” a guard answered.

  “Is it just him?”

  “Yes.”

  Mavrim started toward the door.

  “Wait.” Darren stopped him. “Do you recognize that guard’s voice?”

  “No, but many guards are loyal to me who I wouldn’t recognize.”

  Darren gestured for Mavrim to stay still, then put his ear against the door. He would’ve heard something if Jarrel had killed Mavrim’s men in the hall. But archers could’ve drawn at them and whispered threats.

  “It’s important, sire!” Jarrel sounded angry.

  There was no way out of this room anyway, the one window too high to jump out. If this was an attack, they would have to escape through this door.

  Darren quietly got his hand around the handle, then opened it with a sudden jerk. He closed it upon seeing the very scene he’d imagined: a large group of soldiers, some archers aiming at Mavrim’s guards as they held up their hands.

  Jarrel’s sword stabbed at Darren as he shut the door on the army commander. Steel cracked the wood and threw the door back open. Jarrel shouted a curse in pain.

  Darren came at the commander to finish him quickly, but officers of the army, their rank evident by the stars on their uniform, filled the doorway. Darren stepped back and threw the door into the first charging man, knocking him sideways. Darren knocked the next one in the helmet with the hilt of his sword.

  The two officers fell, leaving Jarrel open to Darren’s attack. Something powerful fixed Darren’s sword in place as he tried to move it, nearly pulling his shoulder loose from its socket.

  Artistry, he realized. As Jarrel came at Darren with his sword free from the link, Darren realized that Mavrim wasn’t the only man here who had kept his skill with Artistry hidden over the years.

  Darren dodged to avoid being impaled, leaving his sword stuck in the air.

  “Mavrim, break—!”

  “It’s done!” the king announced as Darren’s sword fell. But now Jarrel and a few others were between Darren and his sword. The army commander was quick and strong, attacking with precision. Darren ducked and rolled to avoid each strike, soon making his way back to his sword. But another guard stepped on it as Darren tried to pick it up.

  Darren had to jump backward to avoid another strike. He was still without his sword. Swordsmen had filled the room, half closing in on Mavrim as he held out his hand and seemed to be keeping them steady with a link.

  “Commander!” one stationary man yelled.

  Jarrel swept his hand down, no doubt breaking Mavrim’s link. Sure enough, the swordsmen—some of them officers—rushed the king they had sworn to protect upon joining the army. Darren jumped to throw his weight against the nearest one, pushing him into the other. Both crashed against the wall as Mavrim hurried to the only vacant corner. Darren stood in front of him without a weapon. He grabbed a chair and held it up like a shield.

  Darren knew the king could not create a lasting link with another Ascendant here, but that meant Jarrel couldn’t either. Just like with everything else, it was much easier to destroy than to create a link.

  “Help!” Mavrim yelled toward the open window nearby. “The king is under attack!”

  But there was a commotion outside. Darren took a quick glance out. Down on the street, Analyte citizens were screaming as they ran from something.

  Darren saw a flash of movement in front of him and got his chair up in time to block an overhead slash. Darren thrust the chair into the chin of the attacker, sending him back a few steps as he grabbed his bloody mouth and cried out.

  Two men attacked at once. Darren blocked one sword with his chair and kicked the stomach of the other soldier.

  Unfortunately, neither man dropped his weapon. These were skilled fighters. Darren looked over the small horde of them in the room to see archers in the hall preparing to line up a shot at him.

  No one had said a word. They did not mean to take Darren or Mavrim prisoner.

  Three men came at Darren. He had no way of stopping all of them. He could only hold out the chair and move behind it as three swords struck down. The force was too much for him to hold up his makeshift shield. The chair was batted down, leaving him exposed.

  Mavrim aimed his hand at the rushing soldiers. They froze and groaned. Darren spun and kicked the nearest one in the temple. All three fell. Darren grabbed a fallen sword and rushed Jarrel, who merely lifted his arm. But Darren was ready for his sword to be linked to the others this time. He hopped, spun as if to fling something heavy with all his strength, and heaved the weapon by its hilt.

  It felt as if Darren had hold of a rope tied around a large rock as he flung the sword out in front of him. All the swords except for Jarrel’s flew across the room. Jarrel ducked under Darren’s spinning blade. It tore past him and sliced right through the leather armor of another soldier, cutting the man clean in half. Darren grabbed Jarrel’s wrist as the corrupt commander swung at him.

  He flipped Jarrel over his hip. Jarrel landed, sprawled between Darren and the king, but he still had hold of his weapon. Darren was about to stomp on his wrist when Jarrel reached out and made another link, this time between Darren’s boots.

  “Break it!” he yelled to Mavrim as he tried to stomp. Darren could feel the pressure from one foot transferring into the floor under his other boot.

  “It’s done!” the king replied too late. Jarrel rolled out of the way as Darren tried to break his wrist,
but at least he left his sword behind in his hurry.

  Knowing someone must be coming from behind, Darren kicked outward without taking the time to look. He felt his boot connect.

  Darren snatched Jarrel’s sword off the ground and swung hard at the commander, who was still getting up, but Jarrel dove toward his men to avoid the attack.

  Seeing as how everyone was now too scared to charge Darren, he thought he might be able to talk his way out of this, for fighting through all these men was impossible.

  “You will not have the support of the rebels if anything happens to me or Mavrim,” he told the men. “You will never destroy the rift without us.”

  “We’ll destroy it when it’s time,” Jarrel answered.

  What’s he planning? Did he want to displace the Analytes? But for what, to take over their land?

  “What’s the purpose behind this?”

  With a sneer, Jarrel ordered his men, “Finish this now.”

  This was only the beginning, Darren realized. They must want something more immediate than taking Analyte land.

  The palace, the riches that must be hidden or locked in there.

  “Help!” Mavrim yelled out the window. “We are under attack by our own men!”

  Where would Erisena be right now? Darren had spoken with her and Lane this morning after KRenn showed up. They had been eating in a building near this one when Darren was summoned by Mavrim.

  The soldiers loyal to Jarrel still seemed hesitant to attack Darren, so he decided to take them by surprise by rushing them. One was too slow, taking the point of Darren’s sword in his leg. The other stepped back before changing his mind and trying to strike, but Darren got to him first and rewarded his bravery with a deep cut down his arm.

  Unfortunately, one man went around Darren and rushed the king in the corner. Darren was so busy fending off three of them that he could do nothing but hope Mavrim would make a link to stop the man. He did, in fact, stopping the blades of everyone, including Darren’s.