Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1)

by Sherwood, J. J.

  Itirel moved to dangle beside him, hanging confidently by one hand as his free hand held his lance down at his side.

  Sellemar glanced down once, even as his mind warned him against it. He could see the first stairs far below him and his gut dropped anxiously. Damn, perhaps Itirel could survive a fall like that, but if he fell… that would break more than his legs.

  He forced his gaze upward and began to creep up the side of the railing toward the top of the staircase, nodding his head toward Itirel to stay where he was. Sellemar had no sooner reached the top when there was the unmistakable shatter of glass and a loud and definite thud.

  “What in Ishkav’s name…” Sellemar heard Kraesin breathe in blasphemy, the sound of footsteps padding cautiously toward the staircase.

  Sellemar’s grip tightened on the narrow ledge, his fingertips aching. ‘Faster,’ he willed. He could see Itirel’s eyes widen in concern, clearly detecting that Sellemar’s stamina wasn’t going to keep him at the railing for much longer.

  The footsteps receded to the opposite end of the staircase and Sellemar could wait no longer. He pulled himself up enough to catch a glimpse of the man leaning over the side, peering warily into the darkness.

  Finally: the man’s back was to him and Sellemar had his opportunity. He instantly swung himself up, hooking a leg over the side of the railing and nimbly twisting over the edge.

  Kraesin swung around and drew his blade in immediate response to the slight sound. “What the—! Who are you?” he demanded, raising his sword. “How did you get through the guards?”

  But his questions were merely rhetorical. Sellemar made no attempt to answer, grabbing the dagger from his mouth and throwing it sharply toward the man’s chest. As he twisted to move out of the path of the blade, Sellemar drew his sword and met the human’s forcefully. He threw his weight into him, sending the lieutenant reeling back into the railing.

  He had one shot at his advantage.

  Sellemar swung his leg out, knocking the human off balance and with a forceful thrust, slammed his left fist into the human’s face. With a final, swift kick to the upper chest, the human teetered over the railing and with a piercing cry of surprise, vanished over the side.

  There was a sickening thud below as his bones cracked against the marble floor. Sellemar sheathed his blade and hurried to the railing, reaching a hand out to Itirel. The Noc’olari handed him the lance and pulled himself up with ease. “Good work,” he praised as Sellemar turned to dash for the door.

  “Hurry up. More than one human will have heard that.”

  “What is going on?!” the sudden panicked voice of a lady rang out from within the room beyond.

  Sellemar pushed the door. Damn. Locked. He took a step back and slammed his body against it.

  “Shit,” he swore, stepping back again. Elven architecture. He rubbed his shoulder.

  “Kraesin didn’t have the keys on him, if you were wondering,” came Erallus’ voice behind them.

  Sellemar turned—he had almost forgotten about the male. “Come help me with this door,” he ordered sharply.

  The two stepped back.

  “Stop, before you hurt yourselves,” Itirel barked, pushing Sellemar forcefully aside and taking his position beside Erallus.

  Sellemar glared, but remained to the side. Itirel had a lot more power to put into his body—even with magic excluded.

  “Go!” Sellemar ordered.

  They gave the door a powerful kick, throwing their weight into it. They heard the edge of the door crack against the bolt, the metal no doubt splintering against the doorframe.

  “Again.”

  They could hear the creak of breaking wood.

  “Again.”

  The third kick sent the door flying open. Wood splintered on the other side of the door as the bolt was broken loose, flying inward and clattering against the marble. The door slammed into the wall behind, shaking dust from the engraved moldings and sending a tremble through the floor at their feet.

  “Praise the gods!” the female inside gasped in a cry of relief, a hand clutching her chest.

  Sellemar hardly had time to assess her condition. He pushed through the two males. She was clothed and appeared uninjured. That was enough. “Time to go,” he barked, walking briskly and grabbing her wrist. “Before the palace becomes alerted!”

  He heard the sudden, distant sounds of footsteps above them, thudding against the stone.

  “They are alerted,” Itirel informed unnecessarily.

  “Damn, let’s go!” Erallus beckoned urgently, running for the staircase. “This place will be swarming in minutes!!”

  Sellemar jerked the lady after him as he turned to run, Itirel bringing up the rear. Lady Ilsevel quickly fell into step behind him and he released her to regain his own balance.

  No shoes: he could hear her bare feet padding against the marble stairs, but she would have to do without such trifles.

  Above them, the sound of rushing feet grew like thunder, a wave of cries echoing through the palace as though the grounds had come to life. As they passed by the second floor, Sellemar could hear her gasp in horror, “Oh my gods… my guard… Kraesin!”

  Sellemar hurried past the body, ignoring the open skull beside him. ‘Stomach it,’ he muttered indifferently to the lady.

  They fled down the final flight of stairs and turned sharply down the hallway that led to their final breadth of escape: into the courtyard.

  “And that’s Vale!” he heard her gasp again as they approached the body lying against the wall.

  If they had needed the identity of the dead and dying of Saebellus’ hierarchy, she may have been of some use.

  Itirel moved ahead and pushed open the doors. He held them as Sellemar ran past, leaping easily over the overgrown bushes and trampling the flowers beneath his leather boots. He skidded to a stop before the statues and tapped Eraydon twice on the chest. “May I pass?” he panted heavily.

  The statue moved aside, all the more urgently as though it sensed the need of the moment.

  Sellemar pulled open the stone door and turned toward Erallus sharply. “Go first!” he barked.

  The elf quickly lowered himself into the darkness. Sellemar grabbed Ilsevel’s wrist roughly and pushed her toward the hole. “Now you. Move!”

  Itirel gave him a sharp look of rebuke.

  ‘Now is not the time,’ Sellemar returned the glare.

  Ilsevel quickly lowered herself down into the hole before Itirel, her eyes searching the darkness frantically for some hope in light as she descended without question. Sellemar looked back up to the statue of Eraydon glinting in the moonlight. “Thank you,” he breathed, and vanished into the darkness after them.

  The stone circle slid closed above.

  “Who are you?” he heard the lady below gasp. “How did you manage this? Where are you taking me?!”

  “Sellemar, my lady. And we are taking you back to the king.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Saebellus!”

  The pounding on the door grew more frantic.

  “SAEBELLUS!”

  Saebellus sat up sharply, his heart racing from the abrupt awakening. “What?!” he replied, throwing the covers from his body. His mind surged with thoughts from the soldier’s panicked tone. Was Horiembrig under siege?—Could the elves have gathered troops even without Jikun?! Insufferably bold!

  The carved door swung open without his further command and a soldier leaned in, wheezing heavily, his hand white-knuckled as he clutched the frame. “General!” Saebellus saw him quickly avert his eyes. “Ilsevel has escaped, Kraesin is dead, and Vale is severely wounded. The men believe the intruders fled into the courtyard, but no trace can be found of them!”

  Saebellus stood, black eyes widening as his face contorted in shock, anger, and incredulous disbelief. “WHAT?!” He grabbed his pants from where they hung over the frame of the bed. “Where is Adonis?! And Laethile?!” As though some notion of their whereabouts might lessen the b
low of the news.

  “I believe they rushed to Vale, General,” the soldier replied weakly.

  Saebellus fastened the clasp of his pants and swept his sword from the nightstand beside him. His lieutenant, his captain, Ilsevel… He controlled his voice as he breathed, “Where is Vale?”

  “At the doors to the courtyard, General.” The soldier stumbled aside as Saebellus briskly moved past him.

  ‘Kraesin…! Vale…!’ No doubt the males who had rescued her were from Jikun’s elite forces. How they had discovered her capture, he did not know. The ransom was not expected to arrive to Hairem for another few days! He hurried down the steps, running his hand along the weathered banister as he moved.

  “Damn him!” he swore at the mental image of the king’s visage as he stopped on the third floor where Ilsevel had been taken mere hours before. He had seen Hairem but once, as a thin, scrawny youth scrambling away with a flock of servants after they had roused the temper of the baker’s wife. His general had nearly trampled the little prince under hoof. A foolish child that had grown into a foolishly bold male.

  The visage faded as his black eyes, like two churning pools in the Angaulise Swamps, devoured the emptiness around him. Kraesin’s body was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had been led off? And yet, Kraesin was not one to leave his post. If he had not been overpowered here…

  He stopped before the door, scowling at the two places where it had been cracked with near equal force. “Two males…?” he growled, incredulous at the work that only two individuals could do amidst his stronghold. Amidst his men. ‘…They must have found a way into the palace using the tunnels.’ He had heard of them, as had so many others. But that anyone on Sevrigel still lived who remembered their points of entry… King Hairem could know nothing about them! When the True Bloods had disinherited the continent, they had taken their secrets with them.

  Had the True Bloods been involved?

  No. He rebuked his foolishness with a violent shake of his head. It had been his mistake to assume the knowledge had left Sevrigel.

  His black eyes narrowed at the sight of the broken wood where the bolt had bent away.

  If they had entered through a palace escape, its entrance was no doubt somewhere in the courtyard. Two males, no matter how “elite,” could not have eluded the company of soldiers he had positioned outside the palace gates.

  He turned, moving quickly down the stairs. As he descended the final level of the staircase, he slowed, his lips pursing to a hard, thin line.

  Not led away… thrown.

  “General!” one of the soldiers on the stairs stood, putting a hand to his chest. “Lieutenant Kraesin is dead.”

  That much was unquestionably evident. Saebellus moved to the side of the man’s body and stopped, and yet, his eyes softened. ‘Kraesin…’ He would be impossible to replace. He turned back to the soldier. “Move his body off the steps. Lay him in Ilsevel’s room.”

  There would be time to grieve later.

  He forced his mind back on the two males. He would make Hairem and Jikun suffer for their audacity.

  He stepped off the last stair and walked quickly down the dimly lit hallway. Up ahead, he could see the forms of Adonis and Laethile, their familiar silhouettes crouched low over a body between them.

  “General!” a soldier saluted as he passed. But Saebellus gave him no regard.

  Adonis looked up sharply as the title echoed down the hall. His smooth face was creased with worry, his pale eyes shimmering slightly in the light. His delicate hands tightened their grip on Vale’s narrow shoulders. “Saebel,” his voice came to him, no more than a whisper of distress.

  Saebellus paused briefly at their side. “Let me deal with the escaped,” he spoke firmly, tearing his eyes away from the pool of blood they knelt in. He could see Adonis’ chest rising and falling heavily; the male was nearly hyperventilating in panic. He would have to calm him down, but right now…

  Right now…!

  He threw open the courtyard doors, letting them slam against the walls outside. He heard the crack of stone behind the door, the ripple of terror from the troops nearby. He fought forcefully to quell his raging temper, for their sake.

  The courtyard of Horiembrig was still, even as the guards combed it in the dim moonlight. There was no breeze, no other creatures. He watched their torchlight cast long shadows up the walls. Even the flower buds had closed in the cool night air, drooping in sleep.

  It was eerily silent, as though the gods themselves mocked him.

  Saebellus inhaled sharply and strode onto the path. His eyes flicked past the poorly cared for expanse of green before him to the large statues erected at the center of the courtyard, their fierce and stony faces still. “I know you were involved,” he breathed venomously. “SOLDIER!” he shouted at the nearest male. “Have these statues knocked down. I do not care how you do so, just attend to the matter immediately. When you find a tunnel, seal it.”

  “What about pursui—” the male began.

  “Seal it. Do I make myself clear?!”

  The soldier nodded in acknowledgement and Saebellus gave the statues a final, poisonous scowl before he whirled sharply and strode away. The briefest flicker of guilt slid in beside him, pushing the ghastly, sprawling body of his lieutenant before his resistant gaze.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kraesin.’ His troops would not catch them after their head start, and no doubt they would expect an attempt to follow. He would not give them the satisfaction of killing more of his soldiers.

  Patience. It had brought him this far. He would not make the mistakes of a lesser general. There would come a time and place for his vengeance.

  He stepped back through the double doors and crouched beside Adonis, watching his pale, blue eyes remain locked on Vale’s face. Strands of hair had come loose from Adonis’ half-braid as though attempting to hide his anxiety. Vale’s head was cradled in his lap and he was gently stroking his forehead, avoiding the black bruise swelling on the side. He asked nothing, as there was nothing that could push past his weight of concern.

  Vale’s face was grey and still, his cracked lips parted slightly, and Saebellus wondered what good even his Noc’olari could do at this point. “How is he, Laeth?” Saebellus asked after a moment, his voice pragmatic. Adonis already bore the weight of his own concern as well.

  Laethile sat back slowly, brushing a lock of silver hair from his face. “I used the best of everything I have, Saebel. There is… nothing more I can do for him.”

  Saebellus let out a deep exhale, even at the expected reply, his temper rising even as his tone remained coolly unchanged. “Then he will die?”

  Laethile patted Vale’s hand, swiftly glancing from Adonis and back to the general. “He’s strong—fiercely determined to see the war to its end. I think Vale will pull through.” He smiled slightly, grey eyes failing to match the optimism in his voice.

  Saebellus rested a hand on Adonis’ narrow shoulder, pushing off him as he stood. Even if his captain did survive, the soonest Vale could be of use to him was two months. “Adonis, I will need you to take over Vale’s position while he recovers. I need someone I can rely on to replace him and your unique talents will be invaluable. Kraesin is dead. I will allow Laeth to stay behind and take care of Vale, but you will have to come with me.” He paused as Adonis grew still. “He is a Noc’olari, Adonis. There is no one who can do more for him than Laeth can.”

  Adonis bent his head down and Saebellus saw him slide the back of his hand across his face. He looked up then, eyes firm even as his gentle voice wavered. Beneath that glass-like exterior, the male was strong. “Yes, Saebel.”

  “We are marching on Elarium in seven weeks.”

  Adonis’ eyes cleared, the caution breaking through his pain. “Elarium? That is Sevrigel’s southern capital… Even with part of Jikun’s army ill, can we afford to—”

  “Yes. Not only can we afford to, but if Hairem makes the mistake of attempting to defend it, I will crush him this time. He has
had his last ‘victory.’” His lips pursed. “As for the necromancer in his presence, he will inhibit us no longer. If Elvorium does not dispose of this male, I want you to see to it that he does not cause Jerah problems again.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “Truly, My Lord,” Lardol spoke with a ‘tsk’ and shake of his golden head, “was it really necessary to put the kingdom in such a frantic state like this? A royal wedding pulled together in a month?”

  Hairem found it difficult, even through Lardol’s nagging, to cease his broad smile. Ilsevel had borne her capture and bondage with true grace. But her elation at being free had driven her desire for an even more urgent marriage. No sooner had she returned than she had set about planning every detail of the wedding, hardly pausing to consult him in her fervent attempts to rush the otherwise lengthy process.

  But this did not bother him. He was overjoyed at her excitement and Nilanis seemed more than willing to grant her every request, no matter how lavish.

  “Lardol, what do you expect? Ilsevel was taken by Saebellus—that sort of trial shakes an elf. Can you blame me for agreeing with her desire to marry so swiftly on her return? She insisted, Lardol. If there is one thing I can tell you about love, it is that your life is happy if your lady is happy.” He wondered briefly if Sellemar would attend the ceremony—he had seen nothing of him after his initial return, and yet he felt so endeared to him after his mission that he had every desire to see the male present.

  “Spoken like a true spouse already. No matter. As you know, My Lord, it puts my heart at ease to see you wed to such a distinguished family… and in love. Your father—may Sel’ari grant him safe passage—was not so lucky. He would be quite proud to see this day.”

  Hairem fastened the golden buttons of his white silken shirt slowly, staring at his reflection in an almost sightless manner, as though looking far past himself.