No Man's Land

by C D Beaudin

  “They horrify me now. But the man I used to be just saw a body of blood and bone. A beating heart. My sword was just as swift. It felt guiltless for so long, but…well, I saw the darkness eventually.”

  “And you changed.” As she says the words, the scene around them changes. The bodies disappear, and they stand in an empty plain.

  “But what if I don’t want to change? What if I want a balance between being the Bowman and Slayer?”

  “Didn’t Kaniel tell you to be neither? Make a new Aradon.”

  He huffs, scratching the back of his head. “You know, I’m not even surprised you know that.”

  “I’m sorry to invade, but there are some things I can’t avoid learning when I step into one’s head.”

  He looks at her. “Yeah…” He sighs. “And Kaniel is right. I just don’t know who Aradon is, I guess. I know who Slayer was. A killer. Heartless. I know who the Bowman was. He was good and killed for a reason. He was in love with Sefa.”

  Her heart sinks.

  “But I’m not that man anymore. I’m not Slayer. Nor the Bowman. Sefa’s dead but I still have the need to kill. It’s an addiction.”

  “Is it one you can fight?”

  He shakes his head.

  “You’ve tried for so long.” She puts her hand on his cheek. “But you need to keep trying. When this war is over, if we ride home with our flags flying in victory…then we need to keep trying.”

  “We?”

  She smiles. “I’m falling for a man with demons. I choose to help him beat them.”

  He smiles, a small, encouraging smile. “And the man you’re falling for? Who do you see him as?”

  “I see a man with shadows in his past and uncertainty in his future. Someone who wants and needs something he can only have for a little longer. Who will make a great king, a great leader. I see a choppy haircut, a cropped beard, blue eyes, and the scars that go along with them. The scars that keep you remembering. Not only the physical ones, but the ones that no one can see.” She moves her hand to his chest. “I’m falling for a man who doesn’t know who he is, and that scares me.”

  “I don’t want to scare you.”

  “You don’t scare me. But you not knowing who you are, scares me. Me wanting to change—erase—a part of you, that frightens me. I won’t try to force you to change, Aradon. But I will help you if you ask for it.” She sighs. “But what can I say? A little monster never destroyed the world.”

  “Big ones do.”

  Ethiah’s head tilts. “And which one are you?”

  A clanking wakes her up.

  Ethiah’s eyes open, and she sits up. The men are standing at the cell door, cramming their heads together to look out of the slim cell window. “What’s going on? How long was I asleep?”

  “An hour, roughly.” Eldowyn looks at her. “Someone knocked the guards out.”

  Her brow furrows. “Who?”

  “If I knew I’d tell you.”

  “Spirits, Eldowyn,” Adriel scolds from the bed. “We’ve been in this cell for two days and you’re already turning into your brother.”

  Eldowyn’s eyes darken. “Our brother.”

  Adriel looks away.

  “There’s no time for this.” Ethiah scrambles to her feet, rushing to the window. “Hey! We’re in here!”

  Eldowyn covers her mouth. “Don’t shout, you clot pole. They could be trying to kill us.” His harsh whisper sends spit into her face.

  Wiping it away, her jaw tightens. “If they’re knocking the guards out, they must be here to rescue us.”

  “Or one of the other prisoners. Some of the men in here are worse than Aradon.” She gives him a look, and he recants his statement. “Maybe not Aradon.”

  Ethiah sighs but shuts her mouth when she sees a shadow cut through the torchlight. They all silence themselves, holding their breath but ready to fight if the shadow turns out to be an enemy.

  Spirits let this be a friend, not foe. Ethiah grips the locked door handle tightly. She needs it for balance and support as she waits for their destiny to unfold. It’s fate’s turn to deal the cards, but if it deals a wildcard they could be done for.

  Or saved.

  But she’s learned not to get her hopes up.

  And there, in the torchlight is a tall figure. Her silver eyes are illuminated with the glow of the fire, the same light glinting against her sword.

  “Sauriel,” Eldowyn’s voice is breathless and grateful.

  She unlocks the door and for a moment, just looks at Eldowyn. But the moment is brief. “Come, we need to hurry. The queen may already be dead. The people attacked the palace a few hours ago.”

  “Why did they wait this long?”

  Sauriel’s impatience is clear. “They weren’t all of the same inclination about killing the queen. The insurgents slaughtered those loyal to the crown, those who resisted. Now, let’s get out of here.”

  They rush through the dungeon, ignoring the shouts of the few prisoners and the limp bodies of the guards.

  “You didn’t kill them, right?” Eldowyn asks as they run through the dim corridors.

  “Does it matter? They’re traitors.”

  “They were just trying to survive.”

  Sauriel looks back at him, but her feet keep moving. “We’re all trying to survive.”

  Ethiah sees the dark glance they share, as they carry on through the prison.

  Weaving through the dark palace, Sauriel gives a signal, and they rush to the other side of the hallway, pressing themselves against the wall, silent feet, silent breaths.

  “How are you here?” Eldowyn whispers as quietly as he can, which is hardly audible to humans.

  “I was on my way back to the Kawa.” She looks around the corner. “I needed to see you again, so I turned back.”

  “You didn’t catch up with us?”

  Sauriel disappears around the corner, Eldowyn following her, watching as she takes down a guard in a few swift motions. Her blades cut him, and he falls, not unconscious.

  Dead.

  She looks back at him. “No. I arrived here last night. The city’s in an uproar, divided by those loyal to Awyn and those loyal to the ‘new world order’.”

  “That’s what they’re calling it?”

  Another guard rounds the corner, shouting at their arrival. Sauriel leaps into action, Eldowyn joining her this time. He doesn’t have time to make sure she doesn’t kill the man as a guard jabs a knife at him. Eldowyn easily dodges, elbowing the back of his head, sending him to the floor.

  “Limp, but not dead.” He glares at her, not caring if he shows his smugness.

  She clearly notices it, isn’t impressed, and narrows her eyes. “This isn’t the time to be neat and tidy.” She signals to Adriel, Ethiah, and Babinoux, and they follow them through the tall palace hall, stopping at the corner the guards came around. “Swift and precise, Eldowyn.”

  He smirks. “Just how father hated it.”

  Sauriel grins, and glides around the corner, the three of them following her, but four soldiers show up, and Eldowyn immediately steps in front of Adriel, sword drawn. John takes his own sword out, not hesitating to cut down his own men. Sauriel takes one out, but John handles the rest.

  She looks at him, clearly impressed.

  John shrugs. “Not my men anymore.” He looks at Eldowyn and Adriel. “Now they’re enemies of the crown.”

  “I’m glad we have the same understanding,” says Eldowyn as he looks around the next corner. Gesturing with his head, he moves to the next wall, Sauriel no longer in the lead. Flattening themselves against the wall, Sauriel eyes him.

  “How’d you become leader?”

  “I suppose leadership is attracted to me.”

  Sauriel grins. “It’s not the only one.”

  Eldowyn huffs. “So we’re not fighting anymore, then?”

  “Since when has that stopped us from dalliance?”

  He dips his head. “Excellent point.” He checks the corner, moving to the
next hallway, stealthy as a Radian spy. Two guards show up, not in the palace garb. They’re commoners. Guilt fills him as he takes them down, Sauriel just watching, Babinoux keeping an eye on Adriel and Ethiah behind them, making sure no one’s following them. He’d prefer if Ethiah would fight, but now’s not the time for blinding light while they’re trying to inconspicuously weave themselves through the dim palace.

  “Why is it so dark in here?” Sauriel whispers.

  “Awyn’s afraid of the light, she wants as few candles as possible.”

  “Afraid of the light?”

  He looks back at her. “Darkness does that.”

  They lapse into silence and make their way through three empty halls before more guards approach, this time wearing the uniforms of trained soldiers. They yell at their presence, and charge at them. “You, there. Stay where you are!” one demands, but Sauriel hooks her arm around the man’s neck when they get within fighting distance and brings him down. He fights back, though, Eldowyn doesn’t see the rest of their struggle as he focuses on not getting stabbed by another soldier.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Eldowyn says as he grapples with the man, trying to draw his knife but the man keeps his hands occupied.

  “Creating a new world requires sacrifice.” It’s as if they’ve been re-written, brainwashed to follow this “new world order.”

  “Are you willing to sacrifice your life?”

  The guard looks in his eyes. “Anything.” He lunges with Eldowyn in his grasp, hitting the ground hard. Eldowyn gasps at the hard landing, but he quickly uses the soldier’s brief moment of discombobulation to get on top.

  Grabbing his knife, he puts it to the man’s neck. “I’m sorry.” He slices it across, knowing Sauriel is right. He has to be swift and precise, no time for neat and tidy.

  “Come on!” Sauriel orders, and they make their way down the hall, but they stop short when their eyes settle on the carnage displayed before them.

  Bodies everywhere. Blood spattered and smeared on the floor and walls. The drapes are ripped, the cloth in fallen men’s hands, as if they were trying to get away or cling on to something. The bodies are mangled.

  “What is this?” Ethiah’s voice is breathless, scared, and Eldowyn knows what she’s thinking of.

  Their own people’s massacre. The countless elven bodies on the ground. Most of them were frozen in ice because of the Dalorin, but others were bloodied from Revera’s sword. There is no fire here, but the torches on the walls cast his memory into his reality, and he’s back there, in the woods, Revera’s sword to Kepp. Her ultimatum to Rowan, his father. She would spare only one of his children’s lives.

  And he left Kepp to bleed.

  Revera killed him.

  “Who did this?” Sauriel ponders, voice chilled. Walking through the bloodshed of bodies, they’re careful to step over them, not to disturb the dead.

  This could be Aradon. Eldowyn thinks as they make their way around another hall, even more bodies, more blood strewn everywhere, a haunting sight that he will never be able to get out of his head. Lightning cracks outside, the wind howling. It makes it worse. Rain pounds against the window pane, the lightning shining through the ripped draperies.

  “Who—” Ethiah’s voice stops.

  They all look at the figure standing among the bodies, looking out at the storm. The woman’s body is covered in blood, hair messed, but looks peaceful as she stares out the window. In her hand, a sword drips with crimson.

  Eldowyn takes a step toward the figure. “Did you do this?”

  The person looks at them, and he sees the ice-blue of her eyes. They’re blank, but they hold a strength in them. She turns to them, the look of her bloodied body chilling. “You’re back.”

  The voice makes him freeze.

  But Adriel’s voice cracks. “Awyn?”

  Awyn’s chin lifts, still clutching the sword. “The traitors are dead.” She looks at the bodies around her, almost absentmindedly, as if they have no effect on her. “There is no new world order. There is only war.” Her eyes settle on them once again, dark and lethal. “Which do you choose?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Revera watches Crozacar with narrowed eyes. An eyebrow quirked upward, her disgust probably shows as he digs messily into his dinner. Karak seems less handsome now that Crozacar is inhabiting him, even though his body hasn’t changed. One eye is black, though. She wasn’t sure if the soul could be seen in the eyes, but now that both Crozacar and Karak are inhabiting Calen’s body, she can see it’s true. One blue eye. Chilling. One black eye. Even more chilling.

  “Is that tasty?” She glares.

  He doesn’t even look at her. “Doesn’t matter, I haven’t eaten in thousands of years.” He rips into a piece of duck. “But yes.”

  “Lovely.” Turning away, she sees the Knights aren’t too thrilled about his eating. They’re not too thrilled about him at all.

  “Why is he here again?” Nakelle whispers to Kepp, gray eyes not leaving the Dark Lord.

  Kepp’s against the wall. “I’m not actually sure.”

  Revera’s gaze shifts to Breel, who’s asleep against the wall, snoring slightly. She should lock him up, but she can’t let the other Knights know he’s betrayed her. Their belief in her is already too fragile. At least Nakelle’s is.

  Kepp is too deep to ever come out.

  She looks at Crozacar. “We need to talk about the battle. The royals of Mortal have decided to fight in Nomarah. We have one week left to act.”

  “And what do you want me to do?” he asks, grease on his face and fingers.

  She leans forward, hands on the table. “First, clean up. Second, prepare my troops.”

  He looks at her, the different colored eyes unsettling. “You mean my troops.”

  Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t argue. “I misspoke. Apologies.” Straightening, she looks down her nose at him. “Rally your troops before the day’s end. We need to march tonight if we’re going to get there first.”

  “No battle was won by being first, Revera.”

  She slams her fist on the table. “Wars are. I don’t care about winning the battle, I want to win the war.”

  Crozacar’s head lifts. Taking a napkin, he stands, wiping his mouth and hands. Slowly, he turns to her in a smooth motion, his gait that of Karak’s. “I won a war.”

  “You lost it.”

  “Am I not alive?”

  Revera raises her brow.

  “If I breathe, then I did not fail. If I talk, I did not lose. And if I stand here, after thousands of years of being the soul that bound the Isle of the Dead together…then I won.”

  “You’re in someone else’s body.”

  “I’m in control, though.” He takes a few steps closer to her, looking down into her eyes. “Don’t forget that.”

  A warning she won’t heed. She knows it was no mistake removing his soul from the Isle. It’s drastically shortened the war and it will help one of her soldiers on their mission. Her most important soldier.

  Revera tilts her head. “Oh, Crozacar. You aren’t in control.” She clenches her fist, and his chest begins to shine white with his soul.

  He stumbles back, clutching his chest.

  “I put your soul in that body, I can take it out. Don’t forget that.” She throws him against the wall. “You are powerful, Crozacar. Very powerful.”

  Standing over him, she looks down as he tries to stand, but ultimately fails. “But you’re a villain.” She grabs his collar and lifts him, pressing him against the wall. Faces inches apart, she looks into his eyes. “And I’m a monster.” She cocks her head. “Tell me, which is worse?”

  He goes to speak but she smashes him against the wall. “Why are you a villain, Crozacar?”

  “I was born one.”

  “Exactly.” She clutches his neck. “I was created. This world calls me a villain, but I’m a monster. And there’s a big difference.” She lets go of his soul, and he can breathe once again, hunchin
g over, gasping in air. “I can destroy you. Don’t test me.”

  Crozacar looks up at her, but she only sees Calen. Karak was gone for a long time, Calen living in a monster’s body for thousands of years. She could have loved Calen. He practically raised her. She wouldn’t call him a father. He was a friend who turned into something more. But she didn’t need something more.

  She needed the Last Lieutenant.

  Kahzacore had been cold, but the ground had sent heat through her that shockingly ended at her waist. Hunger pained her stomach. She’d gone without food for, well, she didn’t know how long. Her body was weak and failing. She’d crawled through the thin path in the mountains, and there were times where she’d had to climb over jagged rocks and turns, cutting herself in the process. Climbing over a large incline in the path, Revera had dropped to her knees when she saw a hoard of Tarken pass by. But what they were carrying had caught her attention.

  Food. A plethora of it.

  Her hunger had eaten at her, and she didn’t care how dangerous and difficult it would be to steal that food. She’d needed it, and there was no thought in her mind that told her otherwise.

  When the group of Tarken passed, she’d slid down the incline, hitting the Kahzacorian ground for the first time. The mountains were one thing. But Kahzacore was so chilling she could barely stand, her mind fuzzed, the air thin and polluted. When she had taken a step forward, the ground seemed farther away, making her stumble to the ground, cutting her face. Her skin never should have torn that day, but Kuzakai and Kahzacore were so perverted with magic, even blunt rock could pierce elven skin.

  Standing, she’d taken a deep breath, the hunger making her desperate and stupid. If she hadn’t gotten up that day…everything would have been different.

  But the savior the world needs wouldn’t have risen.

  Weaving through the shadows, it was a long plain between her and Marduth, but she had no intention of going to the tower. Ducking behind a rock formation, the entire valley was a shadow, so in the cast of the dark stone, she was in blackness. Creeping to look around the rock, she’d watched as the Tarken dropped the food on a table. A rusty metal and wood, three-walled shack that was lopsided shielded them from the cloud-hidden sun. One dumped the vegetables and fruit in a bucket, and the water Revera saw spill over the edge turned her angry thirst into a greedy, lustful knife in her mouth.