The King Trials

by D L Sims

  Mr. Hesito gathered twenty men, including Khett and Lonis, and they rode to the other side of the village.

  “No one’s left alive,” Lonis whispered.

  The Sinero estate was still standing, the iron gates closed and locked. The buzz of wards enveloped it. Khett sighed in relief. There was hope blooming in his chest.

  “Meena!” Mr. Hesito yelled, climbing down from his horse. “Meena!”

  The door to the manor opened, and a slender woman with the same tawny skin and blue-black hair as Lonis stepped out, followed by a handful of men, women and children, most of the Sinero servants, and a few villagers as well.

  “Nei-yu!” She ran to the edge of the garden, just before the line where the wards began. Tears streaked her face. “Lonis, my son!”

  “Mother.” Lonis clambered down from his horse and raced to just before the fence. “Are you alright?”

  “The Mezerans--”

  “We saw,” Mr. Hesito interrupted. “Are you the only ones left?”

  “I think so. We tried to take in as many as we could, but the Mezerans were vicious.”

  “Can you lower the wards?”

  Mrs. Hesito turned to tell someone to remove the wards, but the sound of maniacal laughter stopped her. Out from the alleyway stepped ten Mezerans, hair wild and skin scarred in elaborate designs. No two looked the same, one man was pale with red hair, Khett guessed he was from Oïosa, one was a woman with red-brown skin and thick black hair, and yet another was the color of the Pepperwood trees with hair the color of blanched sand.

  “Elthare’s elite guard,” the red-haired man teased. “Only twenty of you? I’m insulted.”

  “There are more in the village,” one of the soldiers dressed in Amadon green said.

  “Oh, we heard you coming. The thousands of your finest soldiers will be no match for Mezerah’s Mighty Hand. More of us will come, and we will come in droves.”

  “And we will kill every last one of you.” Khett held his sword fast.

  The man laughed. “Young Prince Pedgram. Although, you’re not a prince anymore, are you? Your kingdom has some odd traditions, prince.”

  “Enough talk,” another soldier dressed in Royal white and gold barked. He charged at the Mezerans, swinging his sword.

  The Mezerans dodged, and the woman swung her axe, slicing a long, deep gash through the soldier's horse. The horse whinnied in pain, falling to the ground. The soldier rolled away to avoid being crushed, but more Mezerans appeared from the shadows and descended on the soldier. His screams cut through Khett’s eardrums.

  The Mezerans started forward, and the Elthrians met them mid blow. The sound of swords clanging against sword and axes filled the air. Grunts and screams followed.

  Khett stabbed his blade through the neck of a Mezeran, only to be pushed away by another. He fell to the cobbled street, cracking his head against the stone. Blood flowed from the wound into his eyes, but he climbed to his feet, rolling out of the way of the sharp axe that would have met his sternum.

  He kicked up, connecting his boot with a Mezeran’s face. She fell back, and he fell upon her, slamming the hilt of his sword into her nose. His powers flowed through him, and the street lurched like a wave, cracking down several hundred feet. The Mezeran fell into the chasm, screaming.

  Behind him, he heard the sounds of grunting and steel against steel. He turned to see Lonis engaged in battle with two Mezerans. Khett climbed to his feet, driving his blade into the back of one man and using his free hand to push the other man into the dark hole he had made.

  Lonis toppled over with the other on top of him. Two daggers swung violently; one cut Lonis' arm, and the other stabbed into his shoulder.

  “Lonis!” Khett yelled, lunging forward and driving his axe through the Mezeran’s skull.

  The man fell forward onto Lonis, but Khett didn’t pause to see if Lonis was okay. He turned to kill more Mezerans, driving his blade into their bodies and using his powers to rain rock and rubble down on their heads.

  Then something flashed silver in his eyes, and he fell to his knees.

  Blood poured from the gash on his neck and down the front of his tunic. The last thing he saw were wild Mezeran eyes and a wicked smile.

  Then everything went black.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Two

  They had been at sea for three days, and it would take another two to reach Soldare, and another to reach Lysic. Grant was already ready to die of boredom. And worry.

  Was Lonis safe? Had the Mezerans attacked the other villages? Were they going to survive this godsdamned war?

  He paced the large wooden deck of the Royal ship, nibbling on the last bit of chocolate Lonis had gifted him.

  “You didn’t even share,” his father joked.

  Grant huffed. “This was my gift. If you want chocolate, then find someone who will buy you some.”

  Lord Sinero laughed.

  Andalen and Arlen looked ready to be sick. They were clinging to the rails of the ship for dear life, and their dark skin had been tinged green since they left the docks in Rivland. Arlen had already lost his breakfast and lunch that day.

  “Come sit with me, my son.”

  Grant rolled his eyes, but obliged the old man, settling onto the deck as his father tied knots into a piece of rope. Grant looked up at Captain Wilnen, who looked more like a pirate than the Captain of the Royal Naval Guard.

  “Have you read Lonis' note?”

  “No.” The paper, though thin, had felt heavy in Grant’s breast pocket since he placed it there. He was afraid to read the words. What if it was a letter to tell him goodbye? That he had moved on? Grant closed his eyes, and pain began throbbing at his temples. What if it was a letter declaring his love for Arlen?

  “When you told me you cared more about who a person is than what’s between their legs, what did I tell you?”

  “You said you were proud of me for trusting you enough to tell you and to be careful, so I didn’t get arrested.” Grant was still surprised at his father’s acceptance. Often he wondered how his mother would have reacted to the news. Would she have been as loving as his father? “Why are you bringing this up?”

  “What else did I tell you?”

  “You want me to be happy.” Grant shifted awkwardly. He so did not want to have this conversation on the deck of a ship with a crew of fifty and Andalen and Arlen only feet away. Even if his father was speaking low, and no one was paying attention to them, Grant still felt exposed.

  “Exactly. And do you know when I see you at your happiest? When you’re with Lonis. You and he have been close over the years, but something changed three years ago. You seek him out. You look at him the way I looked at your mother. You’re like magnets, positive and negative. You’re the sun and the moon. Opposites, but one cannot exist with the other. You love him?”

  “Really, Father. Can you not do this now?”

  Lord Sinero smiled. “Take it from someone who lost the love of his life. You should tell him how you feel, son. We only have a limited time in this world.”

  Grant scrambled to his feet. “Thank you for making things awkward. Excuse me while I jump into the shark-infested waters.”

  Instead, Grant disappeared into the galley. He made sure he was alone before pulling Lonis' letter from his pocket.

  Sin,

  5,528 days.

  That’s how many days it has been since you said hello to me when my family moved into the Sinero Estate.

  I am not a man who writes flowery prose or dramatic declarations of love. I deal with facts and logic. I am rational, calculating, reasonable. You are the opposite, in case you were wondering.

  Here are the facts:

  One: I love you. I have loved you every day for 5,528 days.

  Two: That night with Arlen was a mistake. It was the one time in my life that I did not act rationally, and it almost cost me you. I have never been so scared in my life until the moment I saw you standing in that doorway. I hope you will forg
ive me.

  Three: We are at war. Either one of us could die tomorrow, and I don’t want to leave this world without telling you how I feel.

  Four: You are everything to me, Sin. There has never been anyone else. You are it for me, and you always will be.

  Return to me, Sin. I’ll be waiting.

  Love, Lonnie.

  Tears hit the parchment, smudging the ink. Emotion swelled Grant’s chest, his heart filling until it was nearly painful. He knew what he needed to do. He had spent too long denying the obvious.

  Grant folded the letter and put it back into his pocket, holding his hand over his heart.

  He placed his head against the wall and closed his eyes, conjuring Lonis' face in his mind.

  I’ll return, Lonnie. I promise.

  Gods, this war needs to end soon.

  Tall tan buildings could be seen in the distance. Andalen had never been so thankful to see land as she was in that moment. She contemplated kissing the dock once she stepped off the ship.

  She toyed with the necklace Nixema had given her for her birthday. She never left home without it, and over the last few months it had become a lucky charm of sorts.

  “I’ve never been to Soldare,” Arlen said, leaning against the ship’s rail. “Is it true they mark magical beings and imprison them?”

  “It is,” a sailor replied. He lifted his sleeve. On his bicep was a large red circle with a curved diagonal line running through it. “My Father is an ogre. I was born in Soldare, and when King Pytir’s soldiers found my home, they killed my mother and father and branded me. I was still young, so they wanted me to work in the mines. I escaped after three weeks. Captain Wilnan found me on the beach. He made me part of his crew. Soldare is a dangerous place for magic folk.”

  “That’s awful!” Andalen exclaimed.

  “That’s the law.” The sailor shrugged. “We should dock in a little over an hour.”

  Once they were docked, Andalen, Arlen and a handful of their family’s Guard were met by King Pytir’s advisors and Prince Hektor. Hektor sneered at Andalen.

  “We meet again, Lady Andalen.”

  “Charmed,” she spat out.

  “Your hair is shorter.” The Prince tipped his head to the side, considering her appearance. “You look very much like a male.”

  Andalen refrained from rolling her eyes. “That’s the point, Prince Hektor. Please, lead us to your father.”

  Prince Hektor turned and led the consort down the sandy beaches to the heart of Solterra.

  Solterra reminded Andalen of Odenmal. Everything from the buildings to the roads to the dirt was brown. The fashions of Soldare were simple, plain dresses and tunics dyed the natural colors of the earth.

  Prince Hektor rambled about the mines and how the kingdom was producing more gold than ever. His words reminded her of what the half-ogre said on the ship, and she wanted to ask the Prince if he got satisfaction from treating magic folk like slaves, but she kept her mouth shut.

  The castle stood proud in the center of the city with stained glass windows portraying the God and saints of Soldare’s main religion. Hektor led them into the great hall, footsteps echoed off the gold-threaded onyx floors.

  King Pytir sat on his throne, and it too was made from onyx and gold. He merely nodded in greeting as Andalen and Arlen approached, each bowing to show respect.

  It was well known that the Soldaren King suffered from gout, but his illness was never mentioned, and he acted as if he were still as virile as he was at the age of thirty. Although, he remained sitting even as a handful of servants brought forth wine and cheese.

  “Lord Arlen, Lady Andalen, what brings you to my kingdom?”

  The King’s attention was turned toward her brother, but Arlen remained silent. He had always been shy. Andalen was used to taking the reins in social situations. She stepped forward.

  “Your Highness, Elthare is under attack. The Mezerans outnumber us greatly...” Andalen paused. She was not a woman who usually begged, but to save Elthare, she would grovel. She would kiss the King’s feet if she had to. “Please, King Pytir, we desperately need your help.”

  Her words were met with silence. The King sipped from his gold goblet, eyes never leaving Andalen’s face.

  “And why should I risk the lives of my soldiers for you? Was it not the Eltharians who turned their backs when we needed aid against Lysic only twelve years ago?”

  Arlen stepped up to Andalen’s side. “You owe us. You attacked Lysic without provocation, and in the end, it was Elthare that brought peace. If it were not for our late King, the dragons would have burned your kingdom to the ground.”

  Andalen groaned. Arlen may have been shy, but when he spoke, he didn’t filter his words. She had always been much more diplomatic.

  Prince Hektor laughed. “So, you do have claws after all, Lord Arlen. I always thought you to be a timid mouse.”

  Arlen ignored the prince. “Without help from your army, Elthare will not survive this invasion.”

  The King leaned forward slightly, shifting his weight off his left leg. His sneer sent goosebumps down Andalen’s arms. “My answer remains unchanged.” He stood, and a servant appeared at his side to escort him from the room. “Soldare will not come to save you. Hektor will escort you back to the docks. Hopefully, your boat has not left yet.”

  He hobbled from the room. Andalen, stunned for words, wracked her mind for something to make the King provide them with some sort of help, but she could think of nothing.

  “Elthare will remember this!” Arlen shouted.

  Hektor laughed. “If your kingdom lives to see tomorrow.”

  The boat was just about to set sail to Lysic when Andalen and Arlen approached. Grant met the siblings on the deck, cutting a look to Prince Hektor on the slated dock. “Vile creature,” he muttered. “What happened?”

  “Soldarens are assholes,” Andalen replied. “Hopefully, we’ll have better luck in Lysic.”

  Arlen huffed and plopped down onto a barrel of gunpowder.

  “Ari?” Andalen questioned with worry.

  “I’m not a timid mouse!” he hollered.

  Grant chuckled. “Who said that?”

  “Hektor,” Andalen clarified as the boat pulled from the dock, heading north. “Ari, you are kind of...introverted. Everyone knows it.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m timid.”

  Andalen sighed. She didn’t want to have an argument with her twin. Besides, she was already beginning to feel sick as the ship began to push through the water. She ran to the rail and lost the remaining contents of her stomach to the sea.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Three

  They were evacuating Alithane. All ten-thousand soldiers marched Althanens from their shops and homes, and into the forest. At the town’s edge, many of the soldiers remained behind while the rest--a thousand or so--saw that the people made it to Rivland safely.

  It had been a week since Ikar and the others arrived in his town, but there had been no attacks from the Mezerans. From the fire message they had received from the warlock and witch accompanying the troops in Palamar and Rivland, things have been quiet there as well. Hours later, the heads of the noble houses decided to evacuate Alithane citizens to Rivland, and the remaining Oszerakians to Palamar.

  If the Mezerans came for the northern city, there would be nothing left but empty homes and nine-thousand soldiers to greet them.

  The only thing that matters is that they don’t get Rivland. Halon Amadon’s voice in his head was not something Ikar welcomed. He would rather hear an ear-splitting scream.

  But Lord Amadon was right; if the Mezerans took the castle, Elthare would truly be gone.

  Ikar ushered a woman and her child with a missing leg onto a cart being pulled by her feeble, old donkey.

  “It would be easier for you to travel on one of the soldier’s horses,” he told her.

  “I won’t leave Barley behind.”

  Briefly, he wondered if that was the donkey’s name
or the boy’s.

  A cold wind blew in off the ocean.

  “Ikar!”

  A small, teenage girl named Winny ran from the inn, holding a large basket of bread and fruit. She was a cousin to Roslen and Briar, but lacked their fiery red hair. Hers was a mousy brown that matched her eyes.

  “Win, didn’t I tell you to leave already?”

  “When have I ever listened to you?” she countered with a smile. “I’m leaving now, but Lady Dominikov is looking for you.”

  “My mother? Why?”

  “How should I know?” She ran past Ikar, and one of the soldiers helped her onto the back of his horse.

  The town was near empty now. All that remained were a few stragglers and those that refused to leave. The baker was still inside his shop, but the shutters had been drawn and locked. Ikar had begged him to go, but Mr. Pilsen had always been a stubborn fool.

  Ikar found his mother in the empty tavern. She was behind the bar, pouring dark whiskey from a bottle into a large gold cup. Outside, the soldiers could be heard shouting orders to the Althanens.

  “Mën Syebek,” She slurped at the drink, “you have done well.”

  “Thank you, Mater.”

  She circled the counter, coming to stand in front of Ikar. She placed a rough hand on his cheek. The scar on her chin pulled as she smiled. “I’m very proud of you, but it’s time to go now.”

  “Go?”

  “To Rivland with others. The verend are coming. You must go.”

  “I can fight.” Ikar couldn’t just leave her behind. “This is my city!”

  Lady Dominikov smiled again. “And you have done it proud, but we must protect castle.”

  “You’re not coming.”

  “No. I stay here, help beat verend.” She kissed Ikar’s forehead, then each cheek. The Lysin way of saying good-bye. “Remember, mën Syebek, serdhe ivë drahker layüt.”

  Ikar swallowed. The heart of the dragon beats within you. Another Lysin custom. One that fellow soldiers told each other before battle.