Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1)

by Sherwood, J. J.

  The wall turned inward, a flicker of blue orbs lighting the golden archways of the ceiling beyond. Sellemar stepped down onto the stairs, turning to look back at Erallus expectantly.

  The soldier lowered his head. Alvena could see the pain rekindle in his eyes when he finally looked up. “I cannot leave this city knowing that Ilsevel has killed my king. Hairem had a will… I cannot leave without trying to make things right. Yet the guards at the gates saw me escort Alvena out…”

  Sellemar’s eyes remained steady. “You think you can go back?”

  Erallus’ countenance reflected the same unwavering determination. “Yes. I will go before the council. They know of Hairem’s will.”

  “Hairem’s will?”

  Erallus hesitated to elaborate for a moment. “…That I am to be king should Hairem die without an heir,” he finally spoke.

  Sellemar’s eyes widened. “Does Ilsevel know this?!”

  Alvena stared at Erallus. King? Erallus was king?!

  “I am no coward!”

  “You idiot!” Sellemar suddenly rebuked fiercely. “We are not talking about cowardice! We are talking about common sense! You cannot go before the council! Ilsevel was not afraid to murder her own husband. Her father sits as head of the council. They will never believe you that she murdered Hairem. And it does not matter that they know that you are the rightful king—they will not support your placement as king, and without their support you will fail. Ilsevel will name you a traitor, and you shall be executed. No good can possibly come of you going back!”

  Erallus’ lips trembled and he pursed them tightly to steady himself. “I must—”

  “Desist from your stupidity,” Sellemar barked, and Alvena stepped away slightly in surprise. He was silent for a moment, brows furrowed in concentration. “There is another way that the remainder of your life may still serve a greater purpose for Hairem.”

  Erallus cast his eyes aside. Alvena could only catch a flicker of grief from his expression, and yet she knew there was submission in it as well.

  Sellemar turned back toward the darkness. “Come, Alvena. I will lead you to the end of this section of path. There is no need for you to die in this city. You shall be on your own then, but I will ensure you make it to Ryekarayn.” He turned around a bend in the stairs, his voice echoing back to them, “And Erallus, I shall be back to deal with you after.”

  Alvena bit her lip, looking back at Erallus. What did he mean—“remainder of his life”? She turned, throwing her arms around Erallus tightly. ‘Thank you for everything!’ she whispered. She stepped away, bowing deeply.

  Erallus’ eyes softened. “You are welcome. You served Hairem well. I will pray for your safety and your future. Stay on Ryekarayn, Alvena. Do not come back to Sevrigel,” he spoke, forcing a smile. He handed her the sack and Alvena could see the shimmer at the corner of his eyes as he fought back his grief. “I will try to set things right.”

  Alvena watched as her hands numbly took it. This was it… She inhaled sharply, and vanished into the darkness after Sellemar.

  “Hurry now,” the male called back to her.

  The stairs soon faded and the path became a curved tunnel with golden ceilings cracked and faded with years of neglect. From what Alvena could tell, they were descending the length of the canyon and would probably come out at the canyon floor. The palace would be a small thing in the distance far above them then.

  And she’d be farther from home than she had ever been before.

  “Here,” Sellemar spoke firmly. He stopped, turning toward her. The little blue lights above cast his handsome face with shadows. He looked weary, as though what had occurred took some unknown toll on him. Three paths lay before her. “The middle one is the path out. Continue from here. Use the stars to guide you. Head west, for the coast. Follow the river and the canyon. The nearest city is a few days from here.” He reached into his front shirt pocket, producing a piece of wrinkled parchment. “When you get to the coast, take any ship bearing the blue phoenix crest—it is the crest of the True Bloods. Show the captain this letter. When you arrive on Ryekarayn, go to the Sel’varian Realm. Show the guards this. You will be taken care of.”

  Alvena reached out and took it slowly. She looked back the way they had come, her brow knit with concern. What would become of Erallus?

  Sellemar followed her gaze. “I am afraid the fate of Erallus is bleaker,” he spoke gravely, as though reading her thoughts. He did not try to comfort her. The honesty was chilling. “Erallus’ position as Hairem’s personal guard commands him to stay and right this injustice. He cannot go with you and do this. By staying here, he might have a final action he can take to make things right.”

  Alvena turned to him, searching his face for answers. ‘What do you mean?’ she wanted to ask. Was that it? Erallus was just…

  Sellemar pointed back down the tunnel. “Now flee, Alvena. Leave Erallus’ fate to me. And may Sel’ari watch over you.”

  Alvena turned, hurrying off into the tunnel, glancing back toward Sellemar once. He was the last bit of home she could grasp. The last comfort before she would truly be alone in the world.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “General! General! JIKUN!”

  The words fell deafly upon him. He had only ever before been so paralyzed by horror while in the Sevilan Marshes. It was the same carnage again… Everyone was dead. Dead.

  Jikun found his body jerked to the side swiftly as though he was weightless, causing him to stumble slightly. But… his sword…

  He watched blankly as it vanished under a throng of soldiers’ steel boots.

  What… How…?

  Navon grabbed his jaw suddenly, his boney fingers digging into his flesh. “Jikun. Look at me!”

  The force of tone caused the fog over his mind to clear somewhat, and yet Jikun felt his eyes strain to focus. “We’re defeated, Navon,” he whispered numbly.

  “What?!” Navon shouted over the tumult of noise. He shook his head as Jikun opened his mouth. “Jikun, we’re defeated.” He raised a hand, black wisps enveloping a nearby soldier in otherworldly howls. He dropped his hand, placing it firmly on Jikun’s shoulder. “Jikun, you have to flee.”

  Jikun’s eyes widened slightly, even as his mind struggled to grasp the concept. Flee…?

  “FLEE, Jikun! You cannot surrender! If you surrender, Saebellus will execute you!”

  Jikun looked around at his panicked troops, flinching as a male was thrown to the ground and stabbed repeatedly in his thinly armored gut. Navon pulled him further into the midst of his own troops. “They’re almost upon us, Jikun. You must go. If we surrender now, you will not be able to escape.”

  Jikun eyes shifted about once more, his ears ringing, his heart pounding violently in his chest. There was enough clarity to understand what would result from such an action. ‘But in the time it takes me to flee the troops will surely be slaughtered…’

  Navon shoved Jikun forward. “NOW, Jikun. I won’t let you die here.”

  Jikun stumbled, sightless to the ground beneath his feet. The war was lost. Sevrigel was lost. He couldn’t die here.

  No… not couldn’t. He didn’t want to die here.

  He turned, abruptly shoving through his soldiers in blind fear. Navon was right. If he surrendered, Saebellus would execute him. Even if Saebellus spared the rest of the troops, for him…

  The end was a black void. He would simply cease to exist. There was no soul to be saved.

  Death… He would not surrender to it!

  He slammed his hand against the chest of an enemy soldier, knocking him aside as the male’s body began to freeze. Navon slashed his blade through the soldier’s throat. As his sword ripped free, a nearby tent exploded, showering them with hot sparks and blood.

  But Jikun pushed on, his drive for survival propelling him through the chaos of the fight and out to the edge of the battle in a seamless swirl of smoke and blood and screams.

  He gasped at the cold breeze, the darkness that lay
ahead of them as chilling as the war behind.

  Navon turned and enveloped an enemy in black wisps. As the soldier’s body flailed, the captain threw the soldier back into the fray, whirling at once and pulling Jikun behind the shelter of a tree.

  “Now flee.”

  Jikun’s knees buckled slightly in a sudden surge of weakness. Flee… He gripped Navon’s shoulder tightly, seeing his captain’s eyes already locked back onto the battle, his body preparing to return. “Come with me,” he gasped fervently, his fingers tightening in mad desperation. “Saebellus will execute you as well…!”

  But Navon didn’t seem to hear him. He was pulling at Jikun’s clothes, raising the flaps of the shoulder plates frantically. “No…” he trailed off as he pulled back the sash on Jikun’s cloak, attention suddenly riveted on the general’s chest.

  Jikun looked down with him, eyes widening at the trail of blood flowing from his chest.

  Navon dropped the cloak, steadying Jikun as another wave of weakness threatened to bring him to his knees. With a sharp intake of breath, his captain turned his back on the battle and numbly sheathed his sword. “Let’s go.”

  The crest across the sash fell loose as the cloak slid across his shoulders, dropping the emblem into the mud at their feet. Jikun glanced back once at the screaming soldiers, barely catching sight of them through the trees, trying to ignore their final cries to prevail against Saebellus’ army.

  He turned back to the silence of the forest around them. And with Navon steadying his steps, they fled into the trees.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The waves beat against the coastline fiercely, as though the violence of war had contaminated the very water of Elarium’s shores. The sky overhead was spotted with only a sprinkling of dark grey clouds, but the wind howled along the cliff side with a vengeance.

  Almost four days of travel. By now, the army would have been defeated, the bodies raided of valuables, and Saebellus would likely be turning his attention to Sevrigel’s true capital.

  But no elf now remained to bar his passage—none save the few withered, frail males still recovering from the devastation of the swamps. Jikun had been defeated twice. Disease, the sword—both had conquered him, rendering him powerless in the face of death. His soldiers were dead. Everyone was dead.

  Jikun felt Navon’s hands steady him as he leaned over the side of the cliff, his stomach twisting with the agony of their defeat. Darkness lay before him now.

  His hand slid to the wound on his chest, where the hole was now wrapped in the dirty sash that had once hid it. He had not recalled receiving it, but after the shock of war had faded and the pain began to eat away at him, Navon wasted no time in using it to bind the wound. Sill, their pace had slowed to a tedious crawl. Mud, forest, valley… they had trudged through it all to escape.

  His fingers trailed up to where the crest of his rank had once lain. ‘What happened to it…?’ His fingers shifted across the chainmail and dropped away.

  Jikun had made his decision.

  He cast his eyes outward over the cliff’s edge, lips parted for his ragged breaths. The darkness expanded until even the stars themselves were swallowed along the horizon. “Ryekarayn is across the channel… over fifty leagues…” He followed the glow of moonlight across the deck of a ship far below them. The thin path leading down the cliff side to the narrow shore was empty except for a few small, weather-beaten knarr vessels. In the distance, safe from the possibly shallow waters near the coast, Jikun could glimpse a number of larger ships anchored out at sea.

  “I’ve crossed the channel before. I’ve seen enough to handle one of those knarrs.” Navon replied heavily, following Jikun’s gaze. He grimaced once and shook his dirt-splattered face once, keeping sleep at bay. The shadows beneath his eyes were warning enough that the Helven had slept little.

  ‘Crossing the channel is not the same as sailing a ship…’ But Jikun kept his pessimism to himself. He was weak now. Far too weak to argue. And he could hear the anxiety in Navon’s voice. Whether it was due to the unfamiliarity of sailing or the knowledge that the southern waters were notoriously treacherous, Navon’s tone was clear enough; he wasn’t deceiving anyone. They would be fortunate to survive the crossing in a vessel so small and fragile.

  He grimaced as a sudden, acute pain shot through his chest. His knees faltered and he caught his comrade’s shoulder for support. “What are we doing for food?”

  Navon’s face remained composed even as his grip on Jikun’s body tightened. He raised the rest of the sash, bound into a sack. “What we’ve gathered along the way will have to suffice for the journey. Water, of course, will be your responsibility.”

  Water… Gods… The thought of using his magic… Jikun’s hand loosened and he sank toward his heels, fighting to appear deliberate about the movement.

  But Navon knew him too well. He hooked his hands under Jikun’s armpits. “Stay with me, Jikun.” He pulled Jikun up straight and began to move toward the path that trickled its way down the cliff side.

  Jikun stepped slowly at his side. Navon had to be thinking the same thing. Water, even on the ocean, in Jikun’s state was… He looked down at his trembling hand. He wondered if he had the strength to do anything now. His fingers slowly clenched.

  The injury had taken its toll on him.

  ‘Damn it!’ He looked away sharply, drawing his attention from his pathetic form, eyes flitting up the cliff side across the precipice beyond. Through the forest line, he could catch a glimpse of the towers of Elarium, the coastal western capital of success and might a reminder of his failure.

  He turned his head away, pushing down his shame.

  “Careful now,” Navon warned as the algae made the stones slick to their footsteps. “Pay attention to what is in front of you.” He steadied Jikun as his legs buckled once more.

  “I am fine,” Jikun muttered as he pushed off Navon’s shoulder. He stopped before the side of the ship, raising a leg as he unsteadily attempted to step in.

  “Here, let me—” Navon began.

  “I shall do—”

  “—help you”

  “—it.”

  Navon pushed Jikun to sit down at the rain-filled bottom of the boat. “That is enough. Just sit down and leave me to handle the ship’s preparations.”

  Jikun sank heavily against the ship’s hull, letting his head fall against the wood. As his last bit of adrenaline faded, his final state of weakness was beginning to set in. His eyelids twitched and trembled as he desperately fought to keep them open.

  Navon couldn’t know. If he doubted Jikun’s ability to make the journey, he would perhaps insist they remain on the shores of Sevrigel. And he had to ensure that at least Navon made it to Ryekarayn.

  He had been a good captain.

  And a better friend.

  He let his head fall to the side to catch a final glimpse of the southern capital city shining along the cliff side, candlelight dying as the branches of nearby trees swayed before them to block out the light. The wind howled softly into the crevices of the stones, and a final leaf broke free from the branch above and was swept high into the air. Jikun watched it twist and writhe in the wind before it landed onto the froth of the ocean to be swallowed into the water’s darkness.

  After a short time, Navon pushed the oar into the water and the ship began to cut a gradual pathway through it, away from the powerful gusts buffeting the coast, out toward the human’s coast of Ryekarayn. The waves rocked them steadily and with every stroke of the oar, the shoreline receded further into the night. Sevrigel: the only home he had known. He had fought for her, bled for her, loved her.

  And he had abandoned her. He could still imagine her silhouette against the black sky, but the darkness had swallowed any last glimpse into the night.

  Jikun turned his head away from the coast toward the bow of the ship, staring numbly into the darkness as they made their slow journey toward Ryekarayn.

  Sevrigel was forever lost to him.


  Chapter Forty

  Sellemar braced a hand against the rough wall of the stairway to steady himself as his foot slipped against a crumbling step—the watchtower of the Rilden Estate was more worn down than he had expected for a place that had only been vacant for three hundred years. He warily glanced up into the dimly lit roof, praying silently that this was not the time it finally collapsed. How naïve of Hairem’s family to let such a valuable building fall to ruin!

  The fourth trumpet blast thundered from the northern end of the city, and it was but twice more until its call would signal that the enemy had arrived at the city’s gates. He felt his stomach twist as he recalled the arrival of Ilsevel’s servant at his doorway, ordering him to arrive promptly to the council.

  And yet, despite having been told that Saebellus had arrived, he had to see for himself to truly believe it… to truly believe that Sevrigel had lost.

  He pushed off another step of the old tower’s winding staircase and glanced briefly out a narrow window as he walked. The sky was a dull blue-grey in the winter dawn. The clouds knit closely together as though for warmth, bunching together here and there toward the horizon. And with the sun hanging low in the east, Sellemar could see the light spotted through the trees around the tower below him, casting long shadows out before the trunks where little archways of light stretched in a steady pattern into the distance.

  Another trumpet blast resounded across the city.

  He pushed past the door hanging from its hinges at the top of the stairs, hearing it groan pitifully as it teetered forward.

  A final trumpet blast echoed around him.

  Sellemar strode forward, resting his hands against the broken ledge of the tower’s topmost window. The cool wind whipped his hair back sharply to nip at the tips of his exposed ears. He heard himself inhale sharply, the sound catching in his throat.