Crownless

by M H Woodscourt

  Sharo’s voice reached him first. “It is a terrible cost, Master Jinji.”

  “Nevertheless, I would take it, should no other course be found,” was the reply.

  “Let us view the situation and attempt another route before we accept a desperate measure.” Aredel’s even tones.

  Jinji lifted his eyes and speared Jetekesh with a look. His face softened. “Your Highness. That’s a handsome dagger.”

  Jetekesh smiled. “I only hope I wield it well.”

  A tinge of sorrow lit in the storyteller’s eyes. “I pray you need not use it at all, but it is better that you are armed against our foe, come what may.”

  Sharo stirred. “It is time we leave the elder path. It will fade soon.”

  The faint glow of Ashea flitted from the treetops to land on the fae prince’s shoulder. “The way to the fortress is open.”

  “Thank you, Ashea.” Sharo’s light eyes danced between each man before him. “I ask none to come with me. It is dangerous, and there is little chance any of us shall make it out alive, except by some miracle.”

  “Say no more.” Jinji rested his hand on the prince’s unoccupied shoulder. “I, for one, believe in miracles.”

  Sharo smiled. “As do I.” A wind rose and brushed through his snowy hair, revealing the prince’s ears. They lifted into a point. Wonder rushed through Jetekesh like dousing water. Fae indeed.

  The prince of Shinac took the lead. They traveled the old pathway for another hour, then crested a hill, and finally trudged down into a fair valley that started where the redwoods failed. A prickle ran down Jetekesh’s spine as he crossed the forest boundary, and the wind gave a shriek. Shadows fell before him, and he faltered, blinded.

  His vision returned in a single heartbeat, but the valley had vanished. Before him rose a mighty fortress like jutting spikes from the broken earth. Louring clouds hung low, while thunder cracked and drummed within the celestial shroud.

  Jetekesh’s mouth gaped. His throat ached. Before the great fortress spread a concourse of campfires. A veritable army had formed, not made up of armored men and horses. This foe was a thing of nightmares. Jetekesh quavered and stumbled backward. When Ashea had described the hordes of foul creatures, he had imagined the trolls and ogres described to him by his childhood tutors and servants. These were nothing like those hulking, brutish monsters.

  Sleek, winged, shadowed figures prowled around the flames, dancing in slow, deliberate, circling clusters. Tall. Graceful. Deadly.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  Fear had pulsed through him when he thought he might have to flee from a filthy, blundering troll. Stave off a hive of wicked pixies. But this…this was something else.

  “Spirits save us,” whispered Sir Blayse beside him. He kissed the first knuckle of his left hand and pressed it to his forehead. “Unsielie. Of all dark fae, why must it be they who gather here?”

  Ashea’s wings hummed like a flitting bird. “It is a contract. They have agreed to enter Nakania with Lord Peresen to enslave the mundane world.”

  “Why?” asked Sir Blayse.

  Ashea shook her head. “To wreak ruin, I suppose. They hate humans and love to spill blood.”

  Jetekesh looked between his companions. “What can we do?”

  Sharo stepped forward. “We go on. Amaranth, remain here, my old friend.” He drew his sword. It throbbed a note as he raised it high and strode forth. Lightning seared the sky and thunder rolled. The sword caught the light and flashed with color. Even after the lightning vanished, the sword maintained its luster.

  A great hiss welled up from the dark fae army. Every eye followed the small company, but the tall, winged creatures parted before them. Jetekesh caught sight of the pale faces, the fair features, the black thoughts behind ethereal beauty. Men and women both. Strange black armor flashed and glittered in the stormlight and embers. His heart beat against his throat. Sweat trickled down his face. He flexed the fingers of his left hand, while he clutched his dagger in his right fist.

  Why weren’t the dark fae attacking? Why let them by?

  The pathway closed behind them as they moved toward the fortress. The Unsielie followed, delicate black wings lifted like nets to catch their prey should they turn and flee.

  “Lord Peresen is letting us pass,” whispered Sir Chethal.

  “So he is,” said Prince Aredel. “All the better, for it saves us time.”

  The earth sloped upward until it touched the start of a stone bridge arcing high above ground to end at the fortress gates. Sharo took the bridge, sword still lifted above his head, and the rest of the company followed. The Unsielie halted at the base of the bridge.

  Fingers of fear clawed against Jetekesh’s throat. His shoulders ached.

  The gates loomed ahead, but the bridge spanned forever. Why weren’t the fae creatures following to tear them to shreds?

  An eerie dirge rose behind them. Jetekesh willed his ears to stopper the noise, but the piercing voices cleaved through his frame like a sword.

  “Heed them not,” whispered Jinji.

  Jetekesh started. Jinji walked beside him. When had he moved from his place behind Sharo? Jetekesh looked ahead, flushing. “I’m fine.”

  “That’s a brave lad,” said Sir Chethal behind him. “Courage is proved in lands like these.”

  Jinji coughed into his hand.

  “Are you all right?” asked Jetekesh.

  Jinji waved his free hand, keeping the other pressed to his mouth. He nodded and kept walking. A ragged cough tore from his throat. He bent forward as a harsh fit seized his body. Aredel dashed forward to catch his shoulder.

  Sharo stopped and turned, keeping his blazing sword aloft. “We cannot stop. It will be our deaths. Can you carry him?”

  Aredel nodded and hoisted Jinji into his arms. The storyteller didn’t protest but wiped his hand across his lips. A smear of blood marked his face and hand. He stared at the stain on his fingers, then looked wide-eyed at Aredel.

  “Run.”

  The dirge ceased. The flutter of wings welled up below the bridge.

  Jetekesh glanced back. His breath caught in his chest. The Unsielie had taken flight, and the sky darkened against the gossamer lace of their black wings. The pitch-colored eyes had turned into a searing white.

  Sir Blayse shoved him forward. Jetekesh stumbled, righted himself, and scuttered toward the fortress.

  Sharo stayed his ground, sword raised against the airborne foe. “Keep going!”

  The others pushed past him. Aredel took the lead, cradling Jinji.

  “What made them…made them act?” gasped Jetekesh.

  “Blood,” Sir Chethal answered. “Causes a frenzy. Makes them want more.”

  Heart ramming his rib cage, Jetekesh urged his legs to move faster. He could hear the teeming hordes like a swarm of wasps. Sharo must be dead now. He couldn’t defend against so many! Against his will, Jetekesh glanced back. Tripped. His knees struck stone as he bit his lip hard. From the ground, he saw Sharo still standing, his sword pulsing with a light that drove the horde back hissing and crying.

  Sir Blayse caught Jetekesh’s arm and hauled him back to his feet.

  “Come on!”

  Jetekesh staggered against the lancing pain in his knees. He still clutched his dagger. Panted. Ran on. Hair clung to his sweat-drenched face. The gates loomed nearer. So close.

  What comfort was that? The gates belonged to Lord Peresen. There was no safety here. No light to run toward.

  Jetekesh stumbled again. Go. Run. Flee. And then, fight.

  The gates rumbled open as Aredel reached them, Jinji in his arms. Jetekesh stumbled to a halt. The two knights stopped beside him, gasping.

  Between the two swinging gates stood a man. He moved forward, arms extended. He was a powerful man, built like his fortress, with black helm and armor, cloaked in dark velvet. A close beard lent strength to his jaw and dark hair curtained his face. Sharp eyes of deep green peered down on Aredel, gleaming in the
light of myriad torches.

  A lightless smile touched his lips, and he spoke in a rich voice. “Welcome, Jinji Wanderlust of Nakania. I have long anticipated our meeting.”

  Jinji lifted his eyes, pain lining his face. The smear of blood against his cheek was a dark blotch in the torchlight. “Lord Peresen. I cannot say I am honored, for I try not to lie.”

  A crack of laughter broke from the large man’s chest. “Come within. Bring your companions.” Those green eyes flicked beyond the party at his gate. For a moment, he watched Sharo fend off the dark fae. “Quii dac!” The command rolled like thunder across the long bridge and the Unsielie withdrew at once back into the sky, leaving Sharo alone with his sword. The fae prince lowered it and turned. Jetekesh watched him sprint toward them, still gripping his sword.

  Lord Peresen waited until Sharo reached the gates.

  “Hello, Lord Uncle.”

  The man’s smile was contemptuous. “I claim no Sielie as my kin, young Sharo. The forces of light shall fall before much longer, and you shall fall with them.” Lord Peresen turned his back to the party, cloak billowing. He marched into the fortress.

  Aredel followed, at Jinji’s quiet urging. The rest trailed after, with Sharo in the rear.

  “I did not realize your foe was your own kin,” murmured Sir Blayse.

  “I did not mention it,” said Sharo. “He is my father’s brother.”

  “Ah.”

  Jetekesh glanced back to find Sir Blayse’s troubled expression as he tried to remember what he could not. Jetekesh looked ahead again. The interior of the fortress was shrouded in deep shadow, despite torches set in sconces along the wide corridor. He looked up but saw nothing above him to suggest a ceiling. Only black nothing. He shuddered. Something breathed in that void.

  Lord Peresen spoke from the front. “I can guess that you intended to stop my blood sacrifice this night, but you did not anticipate the Unsielie. Is that not so, Sharo?”

  “I informed him of their presence,” said the lilting voice of Ashea.

  The dark lord grunted. “Ah, yes. The lady of the willow. Still traveling with the foolish half-fae prince? Fairies are very sentimental, I suppose.” He halted before a great stone door and pushed against it. The stone gave and swung inward, rumbling and grinding, stone against stone.

  Beyond lay a great throne room, where the throne itself stood upon a high dais overlooking the wide empty hall. Ancient banners hung from the rafters of inscribed wood. Swathes of cobwebs plumed around the banners, reflecting eerily against the lighted torches across the expanse.

  Lord Peresen crossed the flagstones, steps echoing, mail clattering. He reached the center of the chamber, whirled around, and extended his thick arms. “Welcome to the Fortress of Crevier.” His gaze speared Jinji. “It seems your life will expire soon, storyteller. Set him upon my throne. Let him survey all within my sight, come.” He moved toward the dais.

  Aredel remained still. “I would not mock Jinji, were I you.”

  Lord Peresen turned and smirked. “I mock all of you by my every action. What are you to me, stranger? Merely a mule, carting the last treasure of Nakania. Behold the fading life in your arms. A rare man indeed, so he is. Yet Nakania rejected him and called his stories only fables.”

  Aredel studied the dark lord. “You ask who I am? Shall I tell you?”

  The looming man’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Do, please.”

  “Come here a moment, Sir Blayse.”

  The young knight trotted to Aredel’s side and took Jinji from him. The Blood Prince stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his jeweled sword. Sharo moved nearer, his own blade still ablaze.

  “Shall we answer him together?” asked the fae prince. “Or would you alone prefer the honor?”

  “You came to save lives,” said Aredel. “Allow me to claim one.”

  Sharo nodded. “I understand. Thank ye.” He turned from the dark lord. “Lord Chethal, let us find his prisoners.”

  Lord Peresen laughed, a deep, booming howl. “You think to leave my sight, O fair prince of light? I will not allow it.”

  “You shall have your hands too full to bother with them, Milord Giant.” Metal scraped and rang across the room. Aredel leapt forward, swift as a lightning bolt against the sky. Lord Peresen drew his blade in time to deflect the slash. An echoing clang filled the chamber. Aredel fell back. Lunged again, motions light, fluid, tripping, and dancing across the stones beneath him as though he barely touched ground. Lord Peresen was powerful, but slow by comparison. As Jetekesh looked on, he recognized the difference in their skill. Lord Peresen could not win this bout.

  The dread lord parried, blocked. Blocked. Again.

  Aredel danced in. Out. Spun, for no better reason than to show off his speed against the man-giant. In his billowing white clothes, he looked like a small dove against a great vulture, yet he would not back down as he drove Peresen toward the dais.

  Jetekesh glanced toward Sharo, but the fae prince had vanished, along with Sir Chethal. Something soft landed on Jetekesh’s shoulder. He started and glanced down. Ashea.

  She smiled up at him, a finger to her lips. He turned back to the struggle.

  Lord Peresen bellowed. He swung hard, caught Aredel’s blade, and knocked it from the Blood Prince’s hands. It flew and landed with a clatter.

  Aredel pulled a shorter blade from a second sheath.

  Lord Peresen wiped sweat from his brow. “What are you?”

  “I am called the Blood Prince of KryTeer. Let that be enough.” A fire burned in Aredel’s eyes. Mockery. Amusement. Pleasure.

  Understanding dawned in Peresen’s face. His lips parted. “So. You’ve come after all: the dread prince who bathes in the blood of his enemies to gain their strength. Not a myth at all, but a being of flesh and sinew. Well.” His basso laugh rang from the wooden rafters. “What an honor I face this day! I shall not withhold my strength any longer. I have found an equal at last.”

  Aredel tossed his head. “Has not one Sharo, prince of Shinac, bested you before?”

  “He and a dragon outsmarted me, ‘tis true. But against my brute strength, Sharo alone stood no chance. You, however, are a challenge worthy of my venture.”

  Aredel’s lips rose. “Let us hope your boasts are not empty.”

  Lord Peresen unstrapped his cloak and let it drop to the stone floor with a thud. He unlatched his breastplate, removed his gauntlets, laid aside his helm, and stood before Aredel in his chain mail. “Shall we begin anew, Prince of the Blood?”

  “Let’s.” Aredel slid his legs apart, short sword held before him at an angle. He sprang forward. Lord Peresen caught his blade against his own, and Aredel rebounded. He leapt again. Peresen deflected him.

  Aredel’s speed quickened. He seemed to vanish before Jetekesh’s eyes. Lord Peresen spun in time to fend off the Blood Prince, but Aredel ducked. Aimed for the man’s leg. Lord Peresen kicked him, and Aredel stumbled backward. He wiped his chin. His eyes blazed, and he wore an open grin.

  Jetekesh glanced at Ashea. “Who will win?”

  She shook her head. “I could not say. Both are skilled. Both are clever. Neither likes to lose nor play fairly when the stakes are high.”

  Jetekesh frowned. “Aredel will win. He’s the strongest. No one can best him in combat.”

  “Very likely, you are right,” said Ashea.

  “I’m useless here,” said Jetekesh. “I want to help. But how?”

  The two men swung at each other, dodging, dancing. Aredel narrowly escaped a fatal stroke. He drew a dagger and slashed toward Peresen’s face. Nicked skin. The man-giant hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Jetekesh.”

  Jinji’s voice.

  Jetekesh hurried to Sir Blayse’s side and looked into the storyteller’s pale face. “What is it?”

  The storyteller smiled weakly. “Take me up.” His gaze lifted. Jetekesh followed it until he spotted a flight of narrow steps carved against the east wall of the throne room; mere slats
of stone jutting from the wall to make each step. It climbed gradually up to a door mostly hidden against the limp banners.

  He turned back to Jinji and nodded. “Sir Blayse.”

  The knight lowered the storyteller to his feet. Jetekesh wrapped Jinji’s arm around his neck and they crossed the throne room by inches. Sir Blayse hovered close, sword in hand, eyes riveted on the fight. At last Jetekesh reached the hewn stairs, and he hauled Jinji up, step by step, breath by breath. Sweat trickled down Jetekesh’s skin. Jinji was lighter than he should be, but he grew heavier each passing moment.

  “Wh—where does this lead?” gasped Jetekesh.

  “A tower. There we will…find the prisoners…” Jinji’s tone was strained and feeble. Jetekesh glanced at him and found a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

  “Shouldn’t we let Sharo—?”

  “Sharo…is too far…away.” The urgency of Jinji’s voice made Jetekesh shut his mouth against further protests. He concentrated on hauling Jinji up each step, while the storyteller hugged the wall and did his best to lift his legs. Jetekesh wobbled a few times, perched on the ledge as he was, but he refused to look down and make this harder. He could do this. He wasn’t useless.

  Mother would faint to see me like this.

  The thought made him smile grimly.

  Halfway. Keep going.

  The clash of swords continued below. A deep shout suggested Aredel had gotten in another slice. Jetekesh resisted an urge to glance down. He took another step, pulling Jinji with him. His foot slipped. Biting his lip, he leaned inward, but felt the clutch of gravity fight against him. A hand pushed him upright.

  He glanced back. Sir Blayse was on the step below, smiling. “Keep going. I’m here. You won’t fall.”

  Warmth spread through Jetekesh’s body. “Thank you, Sir Knight. If you weren’t already honored so, I’d knight you myself.”