by C D Beaudin
Feet silent on the ground, he’s so far into the ruins, he’s making no contact with the soldiers. It was a smart plan on the royals’ part, moving the wounded deeper into the city and building a wall around them, no matter how weak it is. He had the cover of night on him when he had taken Gotham over the Resistance and spied on them. He wasn’t actually all that far from the ground.
Crozacar had been pleased with the information he brought forth. If all the Red Warriors are guarding the wounded, then it will be a target worth firing at. Albeit a hard one, but when we win, we’ll be eliminating the most skilled soldiers they have and the countless wounded ones.
A gaping hole in their already shaken ground.
Slipping through the shadows, Kepp wonders if they can see him from up there. If Eldowyn or another elf is there, they might see him coming. But his odds are pretty good. He’s creeping along the base of the mountain, covered by ruins of what was a larger building in the days of old. Part of him wonders who lived in these buildings, why they were destroyed. Well, he knows why they were destroyed. It was war. But why the war? What were Crozacar’s reasons? Another mystery that likely won’t be solved.
He knows a hint about Revera’s reasons, though. Most probably think he knows more than he does. Her parents neglected her and left her to die in Kuzakai surrounded by Dalorin. She found food in Kahzacore, met Karak, and the rest is history. There’s obviously more to the story, but she probably has no intentions of telling him after nearly two decades of keeping her secrets safe. But there’s more cost to her secrets than some know.
When he was in Kevah, the day Tamon died, when Awyn fell into the ground… Those few moments he was in his brother’s arms made him feel like maybe he could get over this vendetta he has against his family and forgive. He was so close.
Those days in the desert, in Rohidia…he actually tried to be good. He could get to know his brother again and live a normal, happy life. Or, at least one fighting against Revera, which would be a better place than where he is now, allied with Crozacar.
There were so many warnings. Revera disappeared, sometimes for weeks at a time. She erased the good in Karak and she resurrected the souls on the Isle. But putting Crozacar’s soul into Karak’s body…that’s a step over a line Kepp didn’t know was there. He never thought there was a limit to what Revera could do—and now that he knows there isn’t…he doesn’t even know why he’s still fighting this war.
Or even why he’s still alive.
The plan is to infiltrate the wall. The Knights will attack the Red Warriors and kill the wounded while the Kahzacorians deal with the other armies. It may seem impossible, since there’s only a few of them, but they’ve all been trained well. Plus, they have a fire-breathing dragon.
Kepp’s scouting for any weak spots, or any easier ways in, even traps they might have set up. Crozacar was going to send Nakelle, but Kepp had volunteered. He needed some fresh air.
As always, Revera is nowhere to be found. Crozacar is making all the decisions, and Kepp can’t believe it, but compared to Crozacar, he actually misses Karak. The realization leaves a bitter flavor in his mouth.
Approaching the smoothed path up to what would have been the palace, it’s only a brief time before he reaches the elevated, flimsy fortress. The shadows and mountain hiding him, he should be invisible to the warriors inside, that is until he sees sentries posted outside the wall. Spirits. He grits his teeth. He can’t fight them without making noise. Looking for another option, he turns his face upward. Wood, rock, and rubble make up the walls. The wall isn’t that high. It’s around ten feet. He’s just kidding himself.
Securing his sheath and quiver, he grabs hold of a nick in the wall and gets his footing, starting his climb. He doesn’t know exactly what’s on the other side of this wall. Well, more like who. Eldowyn could be back here, maybe even Adriel. Aradon definitely is, Saine maybe. Definitely not Awyn. And Ethiah? She’s still a question mark.
Hoisting himself onto the top of the wall, he nearly slips over from the rain. Managing his balance, he remains perched on it. He won’t even attempt to walk along it, he doesn’t have elven stealth or grace. Gripping the sides, he flattens himself, crawling along as one would vertically climb a rope. Finding the mountain, he drops down to the ground. Praying to the Spirits he doesn’t regret it, he slips farther into enemy lines, the shadows and rain his only shield.
When he gets comfortable in his step, he can more easily look around the camp. The wounded are numerous, hundreds of them, crowded together like a field of dying wildflowers. The Red Warriors stay away from them, but he does notice a woman bending down to help a few. He can’t tell in the darkness, but when the torchlight catches her, Kepp thinks he sees elf ears. The women aren’t hard to notice, there are only a few of them. He sees two. The one helping the wounded and the other sharpening an elven blade.
He cocks his head. That one looks familiar. Stepping along the mountain, he approaches the woman silently, his heart beating faster and harder with every step he takes. Memories prick at him, but he can’t piece them together. He doesn’t know what they are, where they belong. Who is that?
Climbing up onto a taller, ruined wall, he looks down at her, watching as she sits by a fire, knees up, a small pile of blades beside her to sharpen. Their intricately ornate carvings are most definitely elf-crafted. Shifting, his breath catches when loose stones fall from under his feet. Below, they clatter onto the ground beside her.
The woman immediately gets to her feet, an action that sends a bolt of memory through him. But before he can even process it, he’s grabbed from his perch and pulled to the ground, a knife to his throat. He feels eyes on him, but the only ones he can look at are the silver ones of the elf glaring at him with both shock and joy.
And betrayal.
“Sauriel.” He grins. “It’s been a while.”
“Quiet, traitor.” She grabs his collar and hauls him to his feet. “Eldowyn! Aradon! Look who I just found.” She clutches him, a lock he cannot escape, the knife to his neck doesn’t make the prospect appealing anyway.
Swallowing, he doesn’t even try to struggle as the Red Warriors, his brother, the dwarf, Saine, and Ethiah—he was right—elf ears—rush toward them. It’s hard to ignore the look of anger and shame on his twin’s face, but he manages to, smacking a stupid grin on his face. “What a greeting.”
“Kepp,” Aradon spits. “Have you come to spy on us?”
“I was, but then I got distracted.” He pushes his elbow back, and Sauriel staggers backward.
Now free, the others draw their weapons on him.
He points his thumb at Sauriel. “This one’s alive?” He looks at Eldowyn. “Would have loved to know that, brother.”
“I recall you not wanting me to call you that.”
Kepp shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a never-forgive-but-always-forget personality type.” He approaches Eldowyn’s sword, letting the tip of it pierce his skin. Not breaking eye contact with him, he remains steady. “Is this the sword that can kill me?”
“I lost that sword.”
“The one father made you?” He shakes his head. “Terrible son.”
Eldowyn pushes the sword slightly, but Kepp does not flinch. “You are a disgrace to the Starborn family, to father’s family, and to the entire elf race. I hope you burn.”
Kepp smirks. “Interesting you said that.”
Eldowyn’s brow furrows, and he looks up with Kepp as he lifts his face to the sky. The rain beating down on him, it doesn’t distort his vision of the gigantic figure of Gotham in the sky. Looking at Eldowyn, he sees the fear and worry in his brother’s eyes. “Maybe I’ll burn one day. But today, you’re the one who’ll be ash.”
A harsh thud and the world goes blacker.
“You didn’t have to club him,” Eldowyn says, looking at his limp, unconscious brother.
Sauriel shrugs. “He’s more annoying than I remember.”
“He probably can’t get a word in with Revera a
nd Karak around,” Saine says, arms crossed.
Aradon glares at them all. “We have bigger issues than Kepp’s irritancy. That dragon is going to attack us at any second.” His brow furrows. “Why am I even talking to you, then?” Turning, he looks around the wounded and the Red Warriors. “Sidah!”
The Master looks from the patient he’s helping and runs over to him. “Yes?”
He pulls him away from the group; he doesn’t want to share Nomarian secrets with outsiders. At one time, he wouldn’t have hesitated to share what he’s about to impart with Eldowyn and Hagard. But now…they just don’t know each other anymore.
“Send a few men to check if the caves in the mountain are open.”
“You want us to move the wounded into them?”
Aradon nods. “We’re going to need as much battlefield as possible. We can put the cadets on defense at the caves’ openings.”
Sidah puts his fist to his chest in respect and leaves. It’s a small step, Aradon knows this. But it’s a step in the right direction. Maybe they’ll accept me after all? He shakes his head. When he was fighting, he didn’t want to be king. Back and forth, Aradon. Always toing and froing.
Fifteen minutes later, and the wounded are nearly all cleared out, the Red Warriors working faster than they’ve ever worked to put them into the mountain’s cave system. In the First Age, it was used in battle tactics and for escape routes. They were behind the palace, so those who knew about it were few—only high-ranking courtiers, Red Warriors, the Master, and the royal family’s most trusted soldiers.
Aradon knew Eldowyn and the others would find out about the caves—they’re helping bring the wounded into them. But if there was a chance they weren’t accessible—that no one heard the Nomarians mention the caves at Hillstone—he wanted to keep them hidden, so if he becomes king, he could clear them out and use them again. The caves were hidden behind rock, but he was able to clear them easily.
Looking back at Kepp, he wonders why the dragon hasn’t attacked yet. Likely because Kepp was supposed to signal those riding it. Walking over to the sleeping elf, he ties his ankles and wrists together, arms tied behind his back.
“It’s amazing how innocent one looks when they are sleeping,” Ethiah says behind him. “He’s destroyed lives…but most of us still care about him.”
“Do you?”
“I didn’t know him well.”
Aradon stands, looking at her.
Her eyes are colder.
“Something’s changed.”
“I saw you. Covered in blood.” She averts her gaze, the basket she carries full of ripped, soaked cloth.
“You’ve given up on changing me?”
“I didn’t want to change you, Aradon. I wanted to help you.” She shrugs. “I still do. But it’s out of my hands now.” She looks over at something, Aradon following her gaze to Idies as he emerges from a cave.
“He’s supposed to help me.” Aradon looks back at her. “Do you know why?”
Ethiah sighs. “Another thing that’s out of my hands.” She starts walking away from him, but he grips her wrist. She lets out a fearful gasp, and he quickly takes his hand off her. When her eyes land on his, they are timid, as though arguing with themselves whether or not to be scared of him.
And instead of letting her walk away from him, he does it for her.
Walking over to someone he knows won’t lie to him, he kicks the napping dwarf. “Hagard, get up!”
“Oi! Wha’ are ya doin’, laddie?” Hagard’s voice sounds behind him.
Confused, Aradon looks down at the dwarf he just kicked, seeing a face similar to Hagard’s but younger and encircled with red hair. He looks at Hagard as he and two other dwarves rush to them. “How many are there?”
Hagard glares at him. “Four. My little broters.”
“Brothers?” Aradon eyes them up. They aren’t much, but he also thought the same of Hagard when they first met. “You three should be with the Eronians—and you, Hagard. You should be with…whoever you belong to.”
The dwarf crosses his arms. “Aradon, we may not see eye to eye anymore, but I’ll follow you into any battle.”
Aradon huffs. “Not sure if I deserve that.”
“You don’t.” Hagard sighs. “Why did you kick Duril tinking he was me?”
“I wanted to ask…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.” And once again, he leaves.
Relieving the sentries, he paces back and forth along the outside of the wall. The cold nips at him, and the rain continues to pour, but nothing distracts him. What was he going to ask? If Hagard knew why Idies was brought back? He was there, he must know. Running a hand through his hair, he can feel the stress turn to anger, and the fear turn to need. Looking at his hands, they’re shaking. He hasn’t felt like this since Revera forced him into the Dia with her magic, his rage and lust growing stronger throughout those weeks with Hagard and Eldowyn. He remembers wanting to hurt them. But now…he wants to hurt everyone.
Anyone.
“From the looks of it, you aren’t doing so well.”
He groans at Saine’s voice, not wanting to deal with his blaming. “Go away, Saine.”
“Hey, that rhymed.”
“No, it—why am I arguing with you?” Aradon exhales, sitting on the wet ground. “Why are you here?”
“I could tell you. Or I could have fun with this.”
“I assume you’re going to choose to have fun?”
“Bold assumption, but accurate.” Saine sits beside him, letting his legs dangle off the edge of the ledge. “I feel different, lately.”
“Is it rude to say I saw this coming?”
Saine looks at him, confused. “Saw what coming?”
“I mean, you and Kepp were closer than any man should be with a friend—”
“No, what?” Saine’s eyes are crazed, but it makes Aradon laugh. Saine’s jaw tightens. “Comedy doesn’t look right on you, but I must admit you aren’t terrible at it. Though, a man with a knife isn’t the right audience for that kind of joke.” He shows off his blade.
“Well, at least I’m good at something.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Something other than killing.”
Saine nods, slowly and awkwardly. “The only thing I’m better at than killing is lying.” He sighs. “I’ve lied to Adriel, to my best friend…to everyone.” He glances at Aradon. “Do you ever feel like…” Saine looks out on the horizon, and Aradon follows his gaze. The sun’s rising, a beautiful stream of colors, even over the raging battle below.
“Like our road’s coming to an end?”
Saine looks at him. “Yeah. What do you think it means?”
“Common sense. We’re in a battle.” He tilts his head. “Or something a lot worse.”
“Don’t say it.”
“We should.”
But neither of them says anything.
“Spirits, you two are like girls with your melodrama.”
They look behind them to see Idies standing there, arms crossed, looking down at them. He’s taller than Aradon, and Saine. His build is bigger, even after being dead for thousands of years. He couldn’t take them both, but individually they could be snapped in half if it weren’t for Aradon’s killing rage, and Saine’s need for revenge. Saine would keep anyone from killing Aradon, so he could do it himself.
“What do you want, Idies?” Saine asks.
“Don’t want anything, but I have what you two want.”
They look at each other, and spring to their feet.
Idies smiles. “Actually, Aradon. It was Ethiah who pointed it out to me, but I see it now.”
“What?”
“Yes, she didn’t go into details, but you two were in a tent and something made her feel the energy coursing through you.”
Our kiss. “And what does that have to do with Saine?”
“She may have snuck a touch when he was sleeping, so she could know for sure if he was also…affected.”
Saine quirks an eyebrow. “That’s not disturbing…” He exhales. “Anyway. What do you mean by affected? Are we sick?”
“Ah, yes, you could say that.”
“Why don’t you say what should be said,” Saine threatens, his steps gaited with danger.
Idies remains unfazed. “This is your last fight. The Besged Cross is coming, for both of you. You’re going to be stripped of your Besged power and will die as human men.”
Aradon swallows, and Saine’s voice cracks. “Liar.”
Idies nods. “Fine, you got me. You’ll probably die before the Cross is complete, I just saw Gotham circling the mountain for the fifth time. And I know that dragon. Every circling is a warning. As if…he doesn’t want to fight unless he has to. He doesn’t do them all at once, but I’d say once he gets to ten…” His breath and hands imitate an explosion.
Aradon clenches his fists. “I’m not dying a man. There’s no way.”
Saine looks at him. “Do we have a choice?”
“No,” Idies answers, a smug look on his face. “Not at all.”
Aradon huffs. “All right then.” Straightening, he looks to Idies. “How long do we have?”
“Five days, maybe. Less, more. It’s not the same for every Besged.”
Aradon nods, looking at the sunrise. It’s calming, and with the Cross looming over his shoulder, there’s a clarity to it. “Then I guess I better die before the week’s end.” He glances back at them. “And I know how to do it.”
Saine’s eyes are worried. “How?”
Aradon unsheathes his sword. “By summoning the beast.”
With the wounded completely cleared out, Aradon, Saine, and Idies gather together. His hand on his sword’s hilt, Aradon looks at the spot where Kepp’s tied, the elf now awake and staring intently at Eldowyn, who’s drinking what Aradon hopes is water with Hagard. Raising his chin slightly, he draws a breath.
