by Sean J Leith
How could she be so thick? This isn’t helping the situation at all. “Could you hurry up? This is useless!” she roared.
“I’m almost finished,” Lira said solemnly. She muttered a few more words, finishing her prayer. With the last few words, Lira whispered a couple of divine incantations, and placed a hand on the rim of the statue’s base and—
Click. With that, the base lit up, and the floor shook slightly as the wall behind the statue slid open. Kayden couldn’t believe it. She was still irritated, but slightly amazed.
“Useless, huh?” Lira gave Kayden a sassy smirk.
Kayden laughed heartily, patted her on the back, and waved the others into the newly open door before them. “I’m going to pretend that never happened. I won’t give you the satisfaction, princess!” She leapt over the altar and glanced suspiciously at the statue as she passed to the doorway beyond. Her torch led the way, ahead of the others once again. Another room was beyond, pitch black as could be. The wall shut behind them. Her right hand twitched nervously as she held the torch, feeling the darkness closing in on her. The wind howled stronger here than before.
“My lady, are you okay?” Magnus asked as he placed a gauntlet on her shoulder.
“I’m fine.” She swatted his hand away, looking back to see Magnus’s sullen eyes. “I hate being unable to see. It’s unsettling,” she said with a cold tone. I can’t stand it.
“Well, looks like the tiger’s a little pussycat.” Domika jabbed her with another snarky comment.
Fury boiled over. Kayden shot a dagger up from her belt, but she tried hard to resist the temptation to slice the idiot’s throat. “What?” she growled. Turning at a blistering speed, she drew a blade to Domika’s neck.
Clang.
Magnus’s gauntlet held her blade back. Not only had she never seen him move that fast, but she didn’t think it was even possible.
Domika sent Magnus a curious, sultry eye, gently placing a hand on his gauntlet, effectively lowering his hand and Kayden’s blade. “Thank you.”
Kayden’s gaze never left Domika’s. “I wasn’t actually gonna do it.” She sheathed her weapon once more and turned back to the room ahead with a huff. “I just don’t like her.”
“Please, my fair ladies, we must work together in this plight. We fight for a good cause, do you not agree?” Vesper piped up from the back. “We must move on, or we could surely get caught!” He chuckled with a subtle vibration in his tone.
“All right, let’s keep moving. I don’t want to have us all die down here because I got irritated.” Kayden coughed up a laugh before entering the new open room. The ceiling was twenty feet high, and the walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves of battered, broken wood and cracked stone. Several books remained along the cases, some on their side, opened and torn, others straight and proper.
Lira’s mouth drew open, and eyes alight as if she’d found a treasure trove. “This is the King’s private library!” She skipped over to the long stone table surrounded by stools and started looking through the books that were there. “I knew he had a private library in a temple, but I didn’t know it was this one!”
“Princess, stop—” Kayden said, trying to stop her, but her words dropped to a grumble. “Do you think there’s a way outta here?” After no response, she replied to herself. “It wouldn’t make sense for a King to have one single way into his private library.”
“I agree,” Magnus said quietly.
Well, that’s someone. “Check for doors. Might be one like the last room.”
Domika sighed behind, and Magnus went to look at some of the shelves. Lira searched through some of the books on the table, and under the table.
Vesper put his hands on his head and spoke up. “My dear friends, doors or no, please do not touch the King’s belongings! It is improper to disturb—”
With that, a subtle voice spoke a word that echoed through the room. Leave…
Kayden raised a brow and looked around. “Ves, was that you?” She glanced over to him, seeing his throat tight as could be, as if he choked on something. He shook his head violently with eyes buggy as could be.
As she touched one of the books on the shelf, a ghostly figure in full plate rushed from one side of the room, right toward her. “Leave this place!” Kayden drew a dagger in a flash and threw it before it arrived, but the thud of steel into wood echoed from the other wall. She yelped, pinned against the wall with an armored—and translucent—individual in front of her.
He stood at taller than all but Magnus, wearing grand plate armor lined with green accents and silver rings. His hair was a dirty blond with a large, bushy beard, a pointed nose, and icy blue eyes.
The man hissed his words through his ghostly teeth. “What are you doing in my library? None are allowed here.”
Vesper coughed and cleared his throat, hand trembling. He slowly walked forward and knelt in front of the figure. “My liege,” he said, “Why do you come to us, great king?”
Still pinned to the bookcase, Kayden raised a brow. “This is the king? He sure looks younger than I remember,” Kayden placed her hands on her hips, head tilted to the side in confusion. “I ain’t kneeling, though.” Why should I? It was ridiculous. Kayden didn’t praise anyone without earning her respect first, especially if they were born into royalty. He was a good king, or so Kayden heard, but what did he do for her? She’d lived through hell, and only when he died did she come to a feeling of freedom.
Lira smirked at Kayden and stepped forward. “Why do you come before us, King Bracchus?”
“I study here,” the King said. He backed away, and a book formed in his hands. “Begone, before I call the royal guard.”
“Royal guard?” Kayden’s head tilted further. “You’re dead.”
“Kayden,” Lira hissed.
She just shrugged in response.
“You,” he looked toward Kayden with a vicious eye. “Are you here to kill me? Well, the Royal guard shall be here any minute, and there is no way out.” Slamming the book in an obvious manner, she made out a hand-written scribbled title Paths of the Past. The ghost king’s hand drew to his side as if feeling for a weapon he did not possess. “The blade—Where is my blade?” the spirit began to panic.
The rusted blade? Kayden wondered. The blade that only those of the royal family could hold, at least, more than a few moments without burning a hand off.
Bracchus’ ghost glanced around the room, as if looking for it. “I must find it. I must get it to her before it’s too late—” He backed away toward one of the bookcases, and shelved the ghostly book where none sat, and it vanished. He soared off in a panic toward the back wall and vanished into the stone.
“Wait!” Lira yelped. “I have so many questions,” she said with a pout. As usual. The princess and her Questions.
The others stayed dead silent.
Kayden looked at each of them—they either stood frozen, open-mouthed, or confused. “Have none of you seen a spirit?” Kayden had one-too-many times. Far too many.
“His spirit is bound here,” Lira said, hand clasped to her chest. “Who was he talking about?”
“Not important right now. We have to get out, first.” With a shrug, Kayden said, “Being bound here isn’t special or surprising. It’s rumored that he was murdered, so it makes sense. Probably stuck here til he’s put to rest.” Kayden started looking around the broken bookcases, tapping a finger to her chin. “He was telling us something.” She thought about the book he held. She only read it a few times, but it never had the title on the cover—only images of roads winding into the sky, no words. But the book was only copied widely a few years ago. The ghost seemed much older—or younger—than that.
She eyed where he placed the book, seeing a small, barely visible indent in the base of the case. “Everyone, look for a book with a cover with roads going to the sky. No title on the front.”
Domika raised a brow. “Does the rat know how to read books? That’s oddly specific.”
/> “And you’re oddly irritating. Just look.” It didn’t matter if she knew how to read or not.
The fire-headed idiot threw up her arms and walked toward another bookcase. “Fine.”
Kayden threw herself up a few levels by jumping from shelf to shelf, to the top to check the books up there.
Nothing. Just a few measly novels about deities. Temple stuff. The Finery of Illadis was one, Arias of Light was another. Those were both pretty boring ones from what she remembered.
Lira shuffled the books on the tables, scratching her head. Vesper walked rubbing his hands in a shaky manner, and Domika seemed like she just didn’t care. Magnus stood opposite to her, on his tip-toes, reaching to see books a few shelves up.
After checking the rest of the top shelves, she hopped back down to the ground. “Nothing up there. Just—” She stopped a moment, seeing Magnus with a hand outstretched, a tattered tome in his hand with winding roads leading toward clouds across the front. “Boring stuff,” she finished, smirking at his dopey smile.
Nodding, she turned to the space the ghost placed the book and slid it into the case. With a push, it lit up in a flash, and at the back, the brick wall faded to a translucent light, and then vanished. Behind, laid a rusty set of plate armor—and a stone indentation into the enclave wall leading upward.
It was decrepit, covered in rust and breaks all over. It seemed worthless, aged, and broken from battle—seemingly irreparably. One thing was certain, it was the armor the ghost wore.
Magnus crouched before it, running a hand along the rusty metal. “I wish to wear it,” he said, sporting a curious expression.
“Are you serious?” Domika exclaimed. “It’s a load of junk! It doesn’t even look like his armor, when he used to wear it. I say we leave it and, you know, get out of here?”
For the first time, Kayden agreed with Domika on something. It’s a crap heap. But then again, maybe it’s suitable for his personality. It’s almost endearing, she thought. “Not worth it. We have to get outta here.”
“We cannot leave this here! It was from the King!” Vesper exclaimed. He pointed his finger fiercely at Kayden and Domika. “It should be taken to his family!”
Henceforth, an argument began between Domika and Vesper.
Kayden participated briefly, but noticed Lira was helping Magnus out of his armor and into the old, cracked set as they quarreled. She soon gave up and went over to help.
“You have my thanks. It is a nice suit of armor. I cannot possibly leave it behind.” Magnus seemed happy with his find.
“Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t,” Kayden laughed. “Plus, I can’t stop you from doing it, so I might as well speed things along,” she said in a steely voice. “There, how’s it fit?” It fit horridly. The shoulders were too small, the leggings too long and loose fitting, and the helm looked all kinds of wrong. She swore he was going to get injured from the rust alone.
“It fits well,” he said happily.
It was kind of cute—innocent, almost. She wondered if he knew what well-fitted armor actually felt like. At least they were finished, so they could all get the hell out. “Hey,” Kayden said. Vesper and Domika still argued fiercely. Intelligence versus passion was a bad mix. “Hey! Morons!” she screamed. Dom and Vesper turned around, shocked to see that Magnus already switched armor, and the other three were at the ladder, ready to ascend. “In case you forgot, we’re escaping from prison.” The two arguers shot each other irritated looks, nodded, and hurried to the ladder.
Climbing up, a translucent stone wall was at the top. The instant she passed through it, the smell of old, rotten flesh charged into Kayden’s nostrils. She covered her mouth when she could, wrapping her scarf around tighter. They found themselves in the Lingrat stronghold, a military base home to operations against the rebellion recently.
Now abandoned, following defeat by Jirah’s forces, it had been ransacked by thieves and brigands. The wooden walls were black and dilapidated, burnt from fires of the rebellion. Once they rose out of the tunnel, the stone reformed, and the path vanished.
“How sad,” Lira said, seeing the dead of both sides lay there still.
By the smell, they were weeks old. Kayden was disgusted by the smell alone, but she was much happier with the light streaming in from the broken openings and what windows remained.
“Sad, but necessary. This place was the center of operations to assassinate rebellion groups and coordinate strikes from the capital. They killed rebels. Also children of suspected members,” Domika said.
What a know-it-all. Kayden brought them back to the point at hand. “That’s all nice and well, but if the stronghold was south, then we need to head east for about five days toward Deurbin, and then north for two or three days to the camp. We can probably make it in seven if we’re quick about it, so let’s get moving. They probably already think we’re dead.” She paused, looking to the stronghold they just left. “I swear, that was almost too easy.”
“That’s because we had Lira to remember it was a temple,” Domika said.” Let’s just go while we still can.”
Lira simply shrugged as she was mentioned and smiled.
“Let us go, comrades!” Vesper called, nominating himself to lead the charge.
Kayden snatched the hood of his robe, stopping him from walking any further. “Uh, nitwit, that’s west. Do you want to go to the capital?” Kayden growled. What is with this guy? Is he trying to get us killed? She disregarded her concern, and assumed Vesper was just weird, as he had been the whole time.
“Oh, ah, no, I suppose not. Lead the way, my dear!” Vesper let out a hearty laugh.
Chapter Eight
The Shadow of Choice
Jirah Mirado
Night fell as Jirah travelled between the rebel camps. There were many—fifteen, to be exact. If one was discovered, there were always more to take its place like a hydra’s head. He rode by horse, galloping quickly from Dragon Camp on the east end of Lilac Lake, to Wolf on the south side.
The looming, rough-barked blackwood maples of the forest surrounded him, and it felt as though they crept closer with every strike of hoof upon the path. The wind buffeted his face strongly, and he felt the cold on his teeth. While darkness covered most tracks, Blaziks were easy to find in the dark, due to the fire-laden hair. They were not common in the forests of Loughran. He knew the capital guard would stop him, if they could.
The moon shone high in the sky like the crescent island. The crows cawed madly, crickets sung the song of night, and wolves howled at his presence in the blackwood. Stephen and Pali’ah returned to the camp, having found nothing of interest on their missions. No news came from the others, yet. He caught wind of Gorkith’s return from a messenger, so he leapt onto his horse and rode back as quickly as possible. The other camp members warned him against it, but his mind was focused on his men. His own safety paled in comparison.
Jirah thought on the successes of his teams over the past months. Ordana was defended from the hunters from camps Dragon and Boar. Captured members of Snake had been liberated by Bull and Hawk. The Lingrat stronghold had been decimated, but only after he’d allowed the warriors who yielded to leave. The stubborn drakes that were left died quickly while cursing his troops. The stronghold still lay barren now, filled with decaying corpses. He mourned for their families. I offered them freedom, I offered them forgiveness, he reminded himself.
Jirah often convinced himself that he did the right thing. He wondered what Bracchus would say now.
You are an honorable man, Jirah. Be careful, as even the most honorable can be blind, the true King once said.
Jirah wondered if Bracchus thought of himself as blind. He grew sick over the course of a year—a sickness no cleric could heal. His lips grew a shade of deep blue then black, and in the end, all of his skin was as black as the night. Only a limited few were let in to see him as his sickness progressed, and Jirah was among them. So was Fillion. You drake, what did you do to him? he wondered.
An unsettling, quick gust of wind blew across the back of Jirah’s neck. Light from his hair faded subtly. He rode faster, despite knowing what the eerie wind meant. The light of the moon shone dimly, and his path ahead faded before his eyes. Riding faster would do nothing, he knew. Not that it mattered in the end, because even the darkest shadow feared the light of flame. He saw the dirt turn black, and all color around him seeped from the area into the gloom of grey. He reined in his horse to a halt and hopped off quickly. The breeze whispered through the sounds of scraping branches and rustling leaves—the only sounds through the dark forests. Yet Jirah knew he was not alone.
“Show yourself!” Jirah yelled into the living shadows.
The ghostly figure of the Knight of Shadow—Asheron Highwind—walked out of the darkness. “Riding alone? That is bold, even for you, Mirado.” He let out a deep, hollow cackle.
Twenty soldiers armed to the teeth in plate, shield, and blade emerged from the forest around Jirah. “Shall I have his head, m’lord?” one soldier wielding a greataxe asked, towering over Jirah by a foot. “I could crush his tiny skull.” He clenched his fist tightly over Jirah’s head. The circle of knights laughed mockingly.
Jirah growled quietly, and slowly reached for his blade. He did not like quips about his height, but usually let them go. However, these men and women were hunters. Murderers. If they were going to attack him, they’d regret every moment before their quick death. They murdered rebels, some innocent men and women. Even children were not let go. It disgusted him. It was abhorrent to even think he’d ever worked beside Asheron.
“Calm yourself, Mirado. I am here to—talk.” He raised his hand slowly and waved for Jirah to relax. “And you,” Asheron pointed to the axe-wielding soldier, “you do not obtain the skill to take his head, even if I wanted it, imbicile. Know your place. Do not let his stature fool you,” he cackled. “Or maybe I should have him fight you alone—I know he would certainly not resist the challenge.”
