The shadow waited until they were fully distracted before walking over and picking the fake prince up. Ryland moaned, but no one heard. Shifting slightly into his shadow form, dark enough to be hard to see in the shadow, yet solid enough to carry the heavy man, he quickly and silently made his way to a different room not so far away without being seen.
Devin glanced up when the door opened and saw one of his family carrying Ryland, who was unconscious. He himself felt like fainting, but Ryland looked a lot worse. His left side was splattered with blood, and the messy bandage on his shoulder was soaked through with red.
Devin stood up quickly, startling the shadows standing closest to him. He teetered for a moment but caught himself and took a step forward. “What are you doing?” he asked the Tja carrying Ryland, his tone accusing. “This is not the plan!”
The shadow bowed slightly and set Ryland down on the ground before stepping over his body. “I know, Neri, but the human is dying. I know you did not wish for that to happen.”
Devin peered at the unconscious form of his cousin behind the now fully shadow man. The Tja was right. Ryland would die very soon without help, and he was needed for the next stage of the plan. But Devin doubted any human doctor would be able to heal the man, not after he had lost so much blood.
Devin sighed and ran a hand along his face. This battle was going from bad to worse. Not only was he drained of his power, but now Ryland was going to die. He couldn’t heal him. Dark magic was powerful, but it couldn’t heal anything, at least not really. The only way for dark magic to truly heal a wound was if the spell had a lot of power behind it, which Devin didn’t have right now.
“This battle is a lost cause, Neri-shna. You said this would work!” one of the shadows jeered.
“Silence!” Devin yelled at the creature. “We have come too far to turn back now.” Devin put his hand to his chin, thinking, but came up blank. There was simply no way to fix this without killing himself, and that was not something Devin was willing to do.
“Draw on our power,” one of the shadows suggested.
Devin turned to it. “What?”
The Tja-maq shifted its footing. “You can’t use too much of your power because of your unusual form. You will die. We, however, will simply fade into the shadows.”
“What!” one of the other shadows protested. “It will take months to regenerate! Years, maybe, with that spell in place.”
“We gave the Promise to help him, so we must in any way we can,” the first shadow stated calmly.
Devin thought about it. This was true. If he drew on their powers to heal Ryland, they would fade into the shadows to regenerate. The only problem was they wouldn’t be able to help him until after they had regenerated. But if all went well, he wouldn’t need their help again. Not for a while.
Devin nodded, and all the shadows in the room inhaled sharply. They didn’t want to do this. He understood that, but they had to because of the Promise.
“Give me your powers,” he commanded. The Tja-maq didn’t move for a moment, but then, compelled by the Promise they had made, each stepped forward into a circle. Devin regretted dismissing the wounded Tja-maq, but hopefully there would be enough power to heal Ryland’s wound.
Devin held his arms to his sides, elbows bent, his palms facing the ceiling. He placed his feet shoulder-width apart and took a deep breath to steady himself. Speaking softly, he began chanting in a different language, a language so old and evil it would shake the bones of all those who were not creatures of darkness. What he said roughly translated to: “Take what you have for my own.”
Ryland whimpered in his unconsciousness from behind him.
The shadow creature on the farthest side from Devin began to glow, and a stream of shining darkness flowed from him into one of Devin’s waiting palms.
The draining didn’t seem to affect the shadow at first, but after a few seconds, it began to fade out of existence. The screaming came next. The Tja screamed over and over again until, suddenly, it disappeared, and the stream of dark energy vanished into Devin.
The other shadows hissed and glanced at each other. Devin understood why. It was like seeing one of their own die, even though they knew he was not dead but was instead a part of all the shadows in the room, and other places. The Tja still existed, seeing, but not understanding. There, but not really there. It was a state of suspension where time seemingly did not exist.
An instant later, the next shadow in line had its power drained, and its cries filled the room until it instantaneously vanished. This happened over and over again until there were no shadows left, and Devin and Ryland were the only people in the room.
The room was silent, but in Devin’s mind, he heard a rushing of wind and wails of people long gone. He gritted his teeth. The pure amount of power he now held in his body was overwhelming, so much so that he almost couldn’t control it. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling shadows drip down his cheeks like black tears. He knew he should rejoice now that he had all their power inside him, but something was interfering, making it hard to grasp onto the energy tightly enough.
The curse, he realized. He had to get rid of the excess energy soon, or it would kill him.
Taking deep breaths, he concentrated on the words of the healing spell, repeating them over and over in his mind. He turned around and pried his eyes open, staring at Ryland’s prone form and the gaping wound of his left shoulder. Taking a deep breath, Devin gathered the dark energy inside him and focused on Ryland’s wound. He opened his mouth to say the incantation but found himself screaming instead. Raw power coursed through him, tearing him apart from the inside out. A pain unlike anything he had ever known encompassed him, and he cried out again in agony. He quivered violently, trying to make himself say the words as he struggled for control.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. With a scream, he flung all of the power from himself, right into Ryland’s wound.
Ryland felt something prick his shoulder, but strangely enough, it didn’t hurt. He felt peace and exhaustion but no pain. Slowly, he opened his eyes and squinted at the brightness of the lights in the room. Finally, when his vision cleared, he saw Devin standing in the middle of the space, looking down at his hands with a strange expression.
“Devin?” Ryland asked as he slowly rose to his feet. “What happened?”
Devin glanced up quickly, and an expression of relief came onto his face. “It worked,” he said simply, staring back down at his hands.
“Are you okay?” Ryland took a cautious step forward, peering at his cousin. Was there something wrong?
“I feel . . . better than I have in ages.” Devin held up his hands to the light for a moment, then drew them back under his cloak and turned to face Ryland all in one movement. He grinned widely. “How is your shoulder?”
“My what?” Ryland asked. “Oh!” He pulled the bloody bandage from his arm, shocked to see healthy skin glowing back at him through his torn shirt. He rotated his shoulder, testing it for pain. “How did you do that?” He reached up to touch his shoulder as if making sure it was real. His fingers instantly tingled, and it felt like something slimy was spread there, something disgusting, though he could see nothing. Drawing back quickly, he wiped his hand on his tunic, trying to get rid of the strange feeling.
Devin watched with a slight frown before smiling. “It took a lot of effort, so appreciate it.”
“Thanks.” Ryland nodded, still looking at his shoulder with awe. Though, something felt . . . wrong about it. Shaking it off, Ryland turned back to Devin. “Where have you been?”
Instantly, Devin looked annoyed. “I have been doing my part. Who do you think released the prisoners and disabled the traps? Who do you think found the prince and sent someone to lead you to him? Me, of course.”
Ryland grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were doing all of that.”
Devin shrugged and waved a pale hand. “It doesn’t matter. You need to go fight the prince.”
Ryland bl
inked. “But I don’t—” His brow furrowed. “You said you sent someone to lead me to him?” His voice trailed off, and he gazed at his cousin.
Devin nodded. “He’s holed up in a few rooms down the hallway. He only has a couple of personal guards with him, and he has no idea his forces have been decimated, so he should be easy to deal with.”
Ryland nodded and straightened his clothing. “Right. Let’s win this thing.”
Devin shook his head, and Ryland’s brow furrowed. “You’re not coming?” Ryland asked, but he already knew the answer.
Devin grinned at him. “I have other things to take care of.” He grabbed his cloak and drew it around himself, then stopped, eyebrows furrowing and mouth compressing in an angry line. Shaking his head, he walked out the door instead of teleporting.
Ryland sighed and shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Okay then.” Stepping from the room, he took a moment to orient himself to where he was within the castle. After a few moments, he managed to find his men, who were in a panic about losing their unconscious leader.
When he spied Ryland, Captain Rei ran up to him with relief on his face. “Where were you, what happened, and how is your shoulder?”
Ryland shrugged him off. “I’m fine, and so is my shoulder. Let’s get the prince.”
Rei looked at him suspiciously, and as his gaze shifted to Ryland’s shoulder, Ryland quite enjoyed the expression of shock that played on the man’s face when he saw smooth flesh through the bloody tear in his clothing.
“Well—I—um—” Rei stammered. He blinked a few times and pulled himself together. “The prince, yes.” He cleared his throat and turned around quickly. “Right this way, sire.”
Ryland grinned and pulled out his sword as he approached the wooden door that hid Caspian. Revenge was so sweet. Steeling himself, he kicked open the door and jumped inside with his sword held high. His eyes quickly surveyed the room, and two soldiers immediately jumped in front of him, their swords already in their hands. Ryland tensed for a fight.
“No,” came a whisper from behind the men, and Ryland craned his neck to see Caspian lying on a bed behind his men, weakly waving an arm. “Don’t fight. I surrender.”
The men looked at each other and sheathed their swords but continued hovering protectively over Caspian. Ryland lowered his weapon slightly, surveying the room. Besides the two soldiers and the prince, three servant boys cowered in the far corner, eyes wide with fear.
Ryland gestured to the soldiers, and they stepped to the side, allowing Ryland to approach the bed containing Caspian. He looked down at the boy, mouth turned down into a frown. Caspian blinked up at him, his skin pale and his eyes sunken.
Ryland shook his head in frustration. Had the prince caught some sort of disease? The boy didn’t look strong enough to stand, let alone put up the tremendous fight that had almost decimated Ryland’s forces.
Caspian breathed out shallowly. “I surrender,” he repeated.
“I accept your surrender,” Ryland responded, finally sheathing his sword. The soldiers behind him shifted, but they remained in place.
Caspian frowned. “You know this is wrong, Lord Ryland.”
“No. This is what is best for Fayre.” Ryland straightened, glaring at Caspian. “I am your king now, and you will address me as such.”
Caspian gritted his teeth and looked away, but Ryland didn’t notice the disrespect. King, king, king. Why did the word sound so haunting? Then he recalled a hazy image of playing with a wooden figure of himself in a crown.
One day, you’ll be king, the words swept across his conscious, and Ryland looked around but saw no one had spoken. Surely the words had been a dream. Yet here he was—soon to be King of Algar.
Ryland shook himself from his thoughts and gestured to Rei, who hovered in the doorway. “Take him,” he commanded. “The ex-Prince of Algar is now my prisoner.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ryland jerked awake when he heard the whispers. They tickled at the edge of his consciousness, begging for him to turn and look at them, to pay attention and then they would reveal their secrets to him. But when he woke up fully and looked around, nothing was there.
Flopping back onto his back, he winced as some of his hair stabbed him in the eye. He tried to blow it away with his breath, but the stubborn piece of hair didn’t move.
He lifted his right hand from where it rested against his left shoulder and swept the strand of hair out of his face. His head cleared, and he sat up again, inspecting his new quarters. These were the rooms the prince had previously inhabited. Ryland had taken the rooms because it made him feel as if he had accomplished something, which he had.
After Prince Caspian’s capture, Ryland had easily and efficiently taken control over the rest of the castle. Caspian and his remaining supporters were taken down to the dungeon where they would stay until Ryland dealt with them later that day.
Ryland had to admit, he felt cheated at how easily Caspian had surrendered. If the prince had tried to fight back, Ryland could have taken out his anger against him properly and taken care of his punishment at the same time. As it was, with the prince consumed with some kind of sickness that sapped all his strength, there would be no honor in killing him in bed, and Ryland had been forced to delay his revenge.
Ryland rubbed his face and ran another hand through his hair. He had forgotten to cut it over the past month as he’d planned the attack, and now it was much too long, but he would fix that today. Today he would put on kingly robes and be officially crowned as the new King of Algar.
Somehow, the coronation felt rushed, but Devin insisted it should happen the day after they took control. Once the new king was crowned and the people accepted him, the war would be truly over. Logically, it made sense, and emotionally it felt good to take everything away from the prince just as he had tried to take everything away from him.
Ryland shook those thoughts out of his head and began to dress.
If Caspian survived the night, I will administer his punishment later today, he reassured himself. Justice will be served.
After he readied himself, complete with brand new clothes and a haircut, his servants quickly rushed him down to the throne room, where the ceremony would take place.
The palace was open for visitors, and dozens of Ryland’s forces were seated in the viewing area. But the rest of the large crowd was made up of regular citizens, come to see their new king crowned, whether they liked it or not. So many people were in attendance, in fact, that hundreds had to stand along the sides and back of the huge throne room, the crowd pushing out of the room into other parts of the castle.
Ryland gulped as a servant escorted him to the front of the room. His eyes searched the chamber for Devin, but he wasn’t there.
Of course not. Why would he be here on the most important day of my life? Ryland thought scathingly. He’s never present when it matters.
The soldier Rei, who was seated on a small wooden chair near the throne, stood and smiled at him. Ryland nodded back, relieved someone he knew would perform the ceremony. In Algar, it didn’t matter who crowned the king, as long as the people supported his rise to power. After Ryland had promoted Captain Rei to General Rei for helping him during the siege, he was the best choice for the duty.
Ryland only hoped the people would stand behind him now, because if they didn’t, this whole thing was for nothing, and his reign would be over before it even began.
Rei placed his hands on Ryland’s shoulders, looking again at the left one where the huge wound had been the night before. He opened his mouth, then paused for a moment before drawing back with a shudder. Ryland’s brow furrowed at his reaction, but he didn’t comment. There were far too many people there for idle conversation.
“Citizens of Algar,” General Rei started, holding up his hands for silence. There hadn’t been a lot of noise in the first place, and soon the cavernous room was noiseless. It was almost an eerie silence, and as Ryland shifted, his robes made a c
omforting swishing sound.
“We are gathered here today to witness the crowning of a new King of Algar, His Majesty, Prince Ryland.” This comment was met by silence, and it seemed as if every soul in attendance was holding their breath. Ryland actually did hold his breath. This next part would determine whether or not he would become Algar’s next king. It would be terrible to come so far only to be denied what he had fought so hard for.
“If there is anyone who rejects the new king, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace.”
Ryland bit his lip, and his eyes scanned the entire room. He could see everyone else doing the same, at last making some noise as their seats creaked when they turned around to look at their neighbors. But no other noises broke the silence. No one shouted, “I object!” Not even a cough or a sneeze sounded in the throne room. Everyone was silent, as if they were afraid of what might happen next.
After a very lengthy pause, General Rei went on, “Let us all witness that the new king has been accepted by his people, and it is now his right to rule, forever and always.” A few people shifted in the crowd, but no one spoke.
Rei turned to him and nodded. Ryland went down on one knee, bowing his head, a symbol of his submission to the will of the people.
Rei nodded toward a small boy, and the boy stepped forward, awkwardly cradling a magnificent sword, which Rei took from him. It had a gold and silver hilt that was covered with many symbols that held no meaning whatsoever. One of the sword’s cross guards was long, graceful, and white, while the other was short, sharp and blockish in shape, and colored a purplish black. The ends of the cross guards also faced completely different directions, one pointing toward the blade, the other pointing away from it, as if they wanted to be different in every way possible. The whole thing, hilt and blade, was encrusted with all sorts of jewels. It was possibly the most beautiful thing Ryland had ever seen, though it was not very practical. The gems on the blade would make it useless in battle, and from the way Rei was holding it and wincing, it was not only heavy, but the gems on the grip were sharp, making holding it uncomfortable.
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