by B. T. Narro
“Answer the question.”
“He did not.”
Darren had a lot of practice listening to lies, unfortunately, from the many people he had to threaten on behalf of the paper-falsifier in Jatn named Raenik. Sometimes Darren just knew when his victim told a lie, not that he could pinpoint how, but he trusted the feeling because it always turned out to be true. And he knew Jarrel was lying here.
Unfortunately, that meant Gavval was involved, which really did mean this was only the beginning of their troubles. That was a concern for later.
“You don’t have my son in there,” Darren said with certainty. “You don’t have Siki, either. If you did, you would’ve shown them by now. I will return to Dasfis with this news…unless of course I’m wrong?”
“You are wrong about so many things, DVend.” Jarrel spoke with controlled anger. “Ask how are you going to live with yourself after making such a grievous error like throwing away the life of your youngest child?”
“I do not need to ask myself such a difficult question. I’ve already asked an easier one, which is if you actually have Siki and Leo in there, and you’ve answered it for me.”
Darren turned and started down the hill.
“You are a fool! You should say goodbye to them if you plan to tell Dasfis to attack. They will be the first to die before we kill the rest of you!”
Darren ignored Jarrel, but he did turn as he noticed Lane pointing in warning. Darren got up the shield in time for the first arrow to bounce off. Five more shook his steel barrier, but he held firm.
“Clear!” Lane yelled from behind.
Darren lifted his head over the shield for a look. The windows were empty. Darren rushed down the rest of the hill.
“He does not have our children,” he told Dasfis. “He plans his retreat now.”
“How sure are you?”
“Sure enough to risk the life of my child.”
Dasfis gave a nod. The prince asked something of Darren that another Analyte translated.
“Where are they, then?”
“I don’t know,” Darren admitted. “I believe I saw my youngest, Leo, ride off with KRenn. But I have no idea where Andar and Siki could’ve gone. I wonder if they might’ve taken a walk…or done something else together. From outside the palace, they could’ve spotted the approaching army and fled because they didn’t have time to return to the palace.”
“They would not be together for any reason,” Dasfis said with a bite to his tone. “Siki dislikes Andar, and she is engaged to be married besides that.”
“Then perhaps they went out somewhere, separately,” Darren said, refusing to argue with the king. “It doesn’t matter right now. I suggest instead that you send scouts to the west. You’ll want to keep an eye on both Gavval’s troops and Jarrel’s after they leave the palace.”
“Leave?” Dasfis was incredulous. “They are to die.”
“They will charge out as we attack.”
“Which is why I’m ordering the palace to be surrounded.” He spoke to his men in Analyse, but Darren interrupted.
“It is a mistake to surround the palace,” Darren said. “They have Owen Harell.”
“One mage.”
“The strongest mage,” Darren corrected him.
“We have mages as well.”
“You would need more.”
“We outnumber them!”
“Not by a large enough number to stop them all. They will pick the weakest point and rush it before everyone is in position. We have to be the ones who rush the palace, and with all our forces together. We will still claim many kills as they run. This is the only way all of our allies will live.”
“You propose letting Jarrel leave, after everything he has tried?” The other Analytes echoed their anger as they turned on Darren.
“DVend’s right,” Lane said. “Many of ours will die, and Jarrel will escape.”
The prince said something, still enraged for reasons Darren didn’t understand.
“Whatever we decide, it must be soon,” Dasfis translated for his son. “We do not want to give them the chance to escape.” He said a few quick words to his councilmen, who quickly seemed to agree with him. Then he turned to Darren. “We are surrounding the palace.”
“Sire—”
“I have decided. You can either cooperate or not.”
FLip Trange came through, a worried expression on his face. “What’s happening?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Darren was glad FLip had decided his followers would stay out of this fight. They had cautiously followed behind the Analyte army during the charge from the capital to the palace. These religious folk, many in white garments that were somehow unstained, looked a little embarrassed as they stood awkwardly on the grass. FLip and his followers had been greatly helpful to the rebels, caring for the wounded, feeding the hungry, and cleaning the dirty robes of all. Darren was glad for their support, but he did not want them fighting here. They would only get in the way in what would clearly be a short yet brutal battle.
“I want you near me,” Darren told Lane.
“But you said yourself that Jarrel will rush the enclosure where it is weakest. We are unlikely to see battle if we are together.”
“We will see it from a distance where we can decide how we wish to proceed.”
“Then I expect the rest of our rebels to be beside us.”
“Of course. Send the order down the chain.”
“Where will we all stand?”
“That is up to Dasfis.”
Lane nodded and left Darren to wait for his turn to speak to the king. Darren found himself wishing Erisena was here with them. She had a plethora of summoned creatures at her disposal, but there was no time to for anyone to carry her here. Jarrel would flee as soon as Dasfis started to surround the palace. From within the structure, the distant sound of hammers bashing in walls echoed over the land. Jarrel and his men would spend every last moment looking for the treasure, as it was likely hidden behind a false wall.
“The rebels are ready,” Darren told Dasfis.
“Defend the western road.”
It was the most likely choice of retreat, and therefore the most dangerous to defend.
“My troops will cover no more than a quarter of the enclosure,” Darren said. “We will cover the eastern road.”
Dasfis looked ready to argue, but Darren gave him a look that said he would not debate this. It was Dasfis who chose to attempt to stop Jarrel from running. He would have to assume most of the risk.
“We move now,” Dasfis said, then gave his last commands to the Analyte officers before all troops began to surround the palace. Darren met with Lane and the others and guided them toward their spot, the last opening to the east in the circular line of troops.
Jarrel shouted something from within the palace, and out charged heavily armored enemies on horseback. They sped down the hill. Dasfis’ troops had not yet finished surrounding the palace, though Darren’s rebels were in place. The charging horsemen made a beeline for the quickly closing gap. Analytes shouted as they hurried over.
Darren was too far to offer any aid as the horsemen plowed through the Analyte soldiers. They started to circle back for another push through the ranks. Lane called for rebels to charge, but that was not the right call.
“Hold!” Darren yelled to stop his troops. They turned and looked at him.
He pointed at the roof of the palace. Someone had set a torch to it.
“A bow, now,” Darren called. One archer threw him his.
Darren quickly took aim and shot down the man with the burning torch, but it was too late. The flame caught and started to spread across the roof.
Darren saw the calamity of Jarrel’s plan unfolding as a burning chair flipped and bounced down the hill. Owen Harell walked down along the trail of fire left by the flaming chair. He had the confident gait of a man who knew he was in control.
Darren ran toward the Analytes fighting off the horsemen.
They seemed unaware of what was about to happen. “Clear the area!” Darren yelled. But most of these men didn’t understand common tongue. He tried simpler words. “Run!” he yelled. “Run or die!”
A few turned to look at him, then noticed the chair and Owen Harell. Panic took over as they yelled to each other, but even more Analytes were coming to aid those in trouble, the horsemen winning the bout convincingly.
Owen was about Darren’s age of thirty-five, with a slighter build, a sharp chin, and long hair. He’d donned a black coat that rippled behind him as he threw it back, revealing a shining stone that Darren couldn’t identify.
“Out!” Owen announced as he stood his ground and made a sweeping gesture around the stone.
Darren shouted for the Analytes to move, but only a few more got the hint. The rest suddenly became aware of what was about to happen as they noticed the human horsemen riding away from them.
It was too late by then for most of them. The chair had rolled into the fray.
Darren stopped himself. There was nothing he could do now. He watched in horror as a massive fireball grew out of the chair. The flames advanced well past screaming Analytes. Darren turned to flee as it grew almost large enough to reach him. How can it grow so big?
Darren fled with the Analytes, but the fire was too quick. It crashed through the armored allies like flooding water. Darren’s back felt aflame as it encroached. He shielded his eyes as they started to burn. He felt himself outrange it and opened his eyes to see Lane running toward him.
“Lane, it will kill you!”
She said nothing as she thrust out her hand at the oncoming blaze. The fire stopped short, roaring as it singed off strands of her hair. It threatened to enclose her, but she spread her hands to each side and stopped the living fire beast.
Darren knew it was not a living creature, but he found no other way to explain its growth. It was as if Owen had given purpose to it, the way it chased down Analytes.
The fire finally started to shrink away. Owen remained halfway up the hill, his gaze on the door of the palace. Darren’s attention went to the roof. The fire had nearly gone out there as well.
It’s as if Owen transferred the intensity of the fire from the palace roof to the burning chair. Could such a thing really be possible?
Jarrel charged down the hill on his mount. Horsemen streamed out of the palace behind him. Dasfis shouted from behind Darren, but his loyal soldiers were too slow to stop the army commander as they charged toward the retreating humans.
“We need to put out the fire!” Lane said, the dread in her voice stilling Darren’s heart.
So it is true what Owen has done.
Darren noticed the enemy mage shouting, “Get it lit!”
Darren didn’t know what he was referring to. Then he saw that an enemy soldier had stayed behind. The man held another torch to the roof of the palace. It caught quickly.
Darren was torn between ordering his rebels to stay back or running up through the palace in an attempt to put out the fire. As he saw Lane rushing toward one of the minor flames on the battlefield, his instincts came up with the answer he needed. He grabbed her by her cloak.
She resisted him.
“Let go!” she shouted. “They will die.”
“It’s too late!” He got his arms around her body, pulling her into him.
She gave up, allowing Darren to check for other rebels who might make the same mistake. They all waited for Darren.
He did not shout to them, but to Dasfis. “Get your men back now, or they will perish!”
Dasfis couldn’t hear him. He was too busy shouting commands in Analyse.
Darren let go of Lane and fetched a bow and arrow from the nearest rebel archer. He aimed at Owen as the mage began casting another spell, but about a thousand horsemen were in the way. Darren didn’t have time to wait. He let loose. The arrow arced over the horsemen and seemed to strike Owen. He fell out of view.
It had happened too quickly for Darren to catch where the arrow had struck. He got a second arrow ready and aimed in the same spot, but a sudden weight made the bow as heavy as a boulder. It fell out of his hands, one corner burying itself deep in the grass with a low thud.
“Lane—”
“I got it!”
The bow was light again as she broke the link, but Owen was up and finishing his spell before Darren could shoot. The dying fire spreading across the grass erupted with a flash of light and heat. Deafening screams rang out as men were burned alive.
Darren swore at the mage under his breath as he took aim. Half of Owen’s neck was stained with fresh blood. Darren must’ve only grazed him. Owen glared as if he wanted to slay Darren for this blow, but half his concentration went into his spell as he moved his arms. The fire erupted in size once again.
The heat forced Darren to drop his bow and cover his face. “Retreat!” he ordered. “Live to fight another day.”
He could see nothing but fire, a wall of it higher than any ocean wave. He couldn’t locate the Analyte soldiers, but he could hear them screaming. Anger took over as he spun to Dasfis.
“Look what you did!”
The king was gaping at the horrific sight. His gaze shifted to Darren, and a sad look came over him.
At least the king would listen to him next time.
◆◆◆
By the time the fire died out, the battle was long over. Owen had escaped on horseback with the others. The palace no longer burned. A few spots along the roof were charred black, but most of the damage was done to the grass at the base of the hill. There were only a few spots that were still green. The rest of the ground was covered in the remains of Analyte soldiers, their singed armor mixed into their entrails.
The palace had been searched. The Analyte servants who had been inside at the time Jarrel attacked had been massacred. Many of the walls had been smashed.
Andar and Siki were not among the dead.
Darren let Dasfis speak with his advisors as Darren addressed his rebels.
“I advised the king not to surround the palace,” he explained. “I told him to set up scouts along the western path. Then we’d all charge the palace together and drive Jarrel out. They would still escape, but all of the Analytes would still be alive. They could then watch Jarrel’s movement, along with Gavval’s. The two must be planning something. But now, because Dasfis refused to listen, it’s up us to follow Gavval and Jarrel.”
Darren found the worried eyes of the scouts he had grown to trust over the years since he’d been forced out of Jatn. Surely, they had learned to trust him as well, for he had never sent them somewhere from which they could not return. But this time was different.
“There is no safe path to follow Jarrel,” Darren said to state the obvious. “The army commander is expecting to be followed. But Gavval has too many troops to hide. You can watch his troops from a safe distance and expect Jarrel to join up with them eventually.”
Darren could see agreement among the expressions of his scouts, but fear still showed in their eyes. They were all hoping someone else would volunteer.
Darren added, “It’s imperative we know what they plan next.”
“I will watch over them,” volunteered Darren’s most trusted scout.
Darren nodded to him. He looked at his other trained men and waited. Another fine scout volunteered.
“I will go as well.”
“Thank you. Lane will retrieve two messenger pigeons for you.” He silently conveyed his request to her with a look, and she nodded.
“DVend,” called Dasfis.
Darren put his hands on the shoulders of his two men. “Be careful.”
They nodded. Soon they were following Lane away from the group. Darren knew most of his rebels had seen combat, but this short battle was particularly gruesome. Many had formed small groups among each other to speak, and Darren would give them all the time they needed. The rest were staring at Darren as they awaited orders.
“DVend,” Dasfis calle
d again, but Darren wasn’t done with his rebels yet. He addressed his best horsemen next.
“I saw my son Leo riding south with KRenn Trange.”
“We are aware, sir, and we are prepared to go after them,” answered one of the younger men, to Darren’s surprise. The boy was maybe Andar’s age, seventeen.
“And are you aware that about fifty cavaliers will be between them and you?”
“We are sir,” the boy answered. He glanced at the other forty riders and received nods of approval. “We will rescue them.”
Darren nodded in gratitude. “Thank you.”
“DVend!” Dasfis yelled, even louder than before.
Darren walked over to Dasfis. Lane soon joined him.
“How did Owen do that?” Dasfis asked. “That was no ordinary link. The fire diminished from the palace and swept over the grass. My mages do not understand. The fire at the palace should’ve only added some strength to the small fire on the grass, but the grass fire stole power from the palace roofs.”
Darren gestured at Lane. They had already discussed the existence of this type of link, and she knew much more about it.
“I have only heard rumors of this type of link before, but now it is fact,” she said. “A link was made between the fire on the palace roof and the flaming chair upon the battlefield. Owen didn’t stop at just holding the link together, though. He somehow transferred the power of the palace fire to the chair fire.”
“Somehow? You don’t know either?”
“The complexities of my theories are pointless for you to hear right now.”
“She’s right,” Darren added. “Right now we just need to know what Owen is capable of. He can link two things together and transfer the power of one to the other. It’s how the fire exploded both times.”
“What about the stone he had?”
“The stone would only amplify the effect,” Lane answered. “Owen is the danger. Not the stone.”
Dasfis had a breath of frustration. “Why would Jarrel’s men go through all this?”
That answer was easy. Darren gave it. “They all hope for riches and power.”
“Don’t they care what they’re doing to the rest of the world?”
