Mark of the Banished

by Salandra Wolfe

The wizard’s name. Names are power . . . What is his name? Caspian thought to himself. His brain whirled around, trying to make sense of all the many puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit together. He struggled for a moment longer, then gave up. The effort was making his head pound even more.

  I have to get up. The thought suddenly appeared in his brain, urgent and compelling. He groaned in protest, though he knew it was right. If he didn’t move, he wouldn’t go anywhere, and he most certainly would die.

  But no one will help me. Not when they see my face, Caspian thought. How ironic that my own symbol is my downfall. A stamp of royalty, but it makes others reject me.

  He fought with himself for a moment before managing to sit up. He groaned in pain, and the sound of it echoed through the forest, then came back to him, the noise like an angry roar.

  Closing his eyes tightly, he breathed for a moment, then forced himself to stand. Through pain that felt like he was reliving the branding, he thought dimly, Maybe there’s someone outside the borders who will help me. He didn’t know of anything outside the borders; no one in Algar did. They had never seen evidence of anyone living out there, and they had never tried to expand. Perhaps it was superstition about what was beyond the borders, but Caspian’s family had always felt content with their lands, and none of them had wanted to bring attention upon the kingdom by vying for more. Algar had always benefited from remaining isolated from any neighbors it might have, and the Algris family hadn’t wanted to jeopardize that. Sure, individuals citizens had left the kingdom, wanting to know what was beyond the borders, but all who left never returned, and their disappearances only enforced the general fear of what waited beyond.

  Caspian took his first step—and fell flat on his face. He sucked in a sharp breath as an all-consuming pain washed over him. His urge to give up was like a giant wall in front of him, one that was impossible to climb. A cough fought its way up his throat, reminding him of his sickness, which probably wasn’t making the branding wound any better. He forced down the cough, taking deep breaths instead.

  Caspian forced himself to rise and take a few more steps before he fell again. Each step was painful, each breath an agony, but he kept moving. He could feel his strength being sucked from his body by the earth beneath him every time he strode forward, but he kept going, because if he didn’t, all was lost, not just for him but for Algar.

  Soon, his vision went, giving way to fatigue and pain. He saw nothing but blurs around him, and he decided to close his eyes to save some small amount of strength. He was reminded of the darkness he’d felt when his father had been murdered.

  Caspian’s mind wandered to Ryland. He couldn’t believe that Devin, a man who claimed to be the lord’s friend, had murdered both of the older Lykes. Caspian felt a dull sense of sadness, but he hadn’t known them well enough to really feel anything at their loss. His father had been close to them, but Ryland and Caspian hadn’t run in the same circles when they were younger.

  His jaw clenched as he thought of the battle for the castle. He had tried his best to prepare for the battle. The prince suspected Ryland didn’t know the king’s personal library—the one reserved for the royalty—also contained maps of the tunnel system. Using those maps, Caspian had planned a defense. Strangely enough, the outside entrance of the tunnels hadn’t been marked. They had only found it when one of his soldiers had quite accidently fallen through the magically concealed exit and found himself outside. This piece of luck had made Caspian feel like maybe he was meant to win, that perhaps he really could defeat the dark wizard and help Ryland back on the right path. Even when he’d been taken with fever the night before the battle, he was sure of success.

  But he had failed, and the giant brand on his cheek attested to it. In the end, it was all for nothing. He still didn’t understand how all the traps and all the men, everything he had done to prepare, had failed. It must have been magic, the wizard’s dark magic. Nothing else could explain it.

  Caspian stumbled over a tree root, and he knew that if he got up again, it would be the last time he would do so. He would fall again eventually, and then his struggle would be over for good.

  Wearily, he lifted his head to observe his surroundings. Through blurry eyes, he saw forest, forest, and more forest. No hope in sight.

  Caspian closed his eyes, letting the gentle sounds of the forest wash over him. Birds chirped softly, and the wind ruffled through the trees. His whole body involuntarily relaxed as he listened to the forest sounds, and the pain in his cheek seemed to fade into the background.

  I’m falling asleep, he realized suddenly. The thought made his limbs twitch, waking him up. I can’t let that happen. Who knows what’s out here!

  But despite his best efforts, his eyes fell closed, and his breathing deepened. Soon, he sank into an exhausted slumber.

  “Agh!” Caspian screamed as he jerked awake. The adrenaline pulsing through his veins enabled him to sit up and glare at whatever it was that had been touching his cheek. When he saw what it was, he froze, his eyes wide and his heart pounding.

  The small wolf looked up at him, seemingly terrified. The two stared at each other for a tense moment, and Caspian braced himself for when the creature would pounce and eat him.

  The wolf threw back its head and howled. Suddenly realizing what he should do, Caspian gritted his teeth and growled at the wolf, ignoring the intense pain from his cheek. The animal froze, staring at him.

  The prince raised himself upward, growling louder at the forest creature. It tilted its head as if trying to understand what Caspian meant.

  Feeling foolish, Caspian began to bark like a dog, and he crawled forward slightly, trying to scare the creature. Almost immediately, the wolf turned and disappeared into the underbrush.

  Caspian collapsed onto his back again, breathing heavily. He hadn’t known if that would work, but he was grateful it had. Hovering a hand over his cheek, he grimaced when he realized the wolf must’ve been licking it, which caused the prince to wake up. He was lucky the wolf hadn’t decided to take a bite first.

  His stomach let loose a loud grumbling sound, and Caspian winced. He was starving. He couldn’t remember eating anything since the day of the battle. The prince looked up at the brightening sky and realized the sun was rising, which meant he’d slept for upwards of twelve hours. He should probably be grateful he had woken up at all.

  Putting a hand to his forehead, Caspian winced at how hot it was. If he hadn’t already been feverish when the attack occurred, would his body have been more prepared for the branding? He coughed lightly, trying hard not to move his face as he did so. Sickness or no, he had to keep moving.

  Caspian slowly brought himself up to his feet, feeling faint. The pain in his cheek was less now, but he knew that wasn’t something he should be rejoicing about. The longer it took for him to find help, the more likely the wound would become infected, and then he would really be in trouble. He placed his hand on his forehead again, hoping the coolness of his palms would help a little with his fever.

  Gazing around the clearing, he saw a bush to the right of him filled with little red berries. He was at loath to eat something he wasn’t familiar with, but he needed to eat something. Somehow, he managed to make his way to the bush, and he sat down, carefully picking off the berries. He ate a few handfuls, still uncertain whether or not they were poisonous.

  His stomach somewhat satisfied, he glanced around. He could see where he had come from because he’d left a large trail of broken branches and smashed leaves. He faced himself forward, fighting the tears of desperation that threatened to enter his eyes. He had to keep moving even though he was almost certain it was no use. At least his body didn’t hurt much anymore. Mostly, he felt numb.

  He righted himself, closing his eyes against the severe vertigo that threatened to topple him. He held out his hands for balance, his stomach churning. After a few minutes, his stomach went back down to where it was supposed to be, and he started forward.

  He wa
lked for hours, keeping track of the sun to make sure he continued on a straight path. His fever began to blur his thoughts together, and he stumbled into trees and branches, unable to keep himself righted. His stomach grumbled for more food, and the throbbing in his cheek began to increase its intensity. Sweat rolled down his face, stinging madly as it crossed through his burn. Still, he continued on blindly, somehow finding the strength to drag one foot after the other.

  Sometime later, his stomach churned so violently that he fell to the ground. He tried to pull himself together, but his stomach heaved again, and he retched into a nearby bush. Swiping a shaking hand across his mouth, he looked around, wondering if help was anywhere in sight. He couldn’t continue like this, not when his whole body seemed to be rebelling against him. His shaking increased, and his teeth began to chatter.

  This is the end, he realized. He was finally going to die here, far away from home, an exiled prince. He was about to shut his eyes when, suddenly, something caught at the edges of his vision.

  He jerked his head back up, and a fresh wave of pain shot through him. He ignored it, squinting. His eyes widened in unbelief. A cottage! Maybe there’s someone there! Maybe . . . he thought.

  Quickly, he staggered to his feet before he became too comfortable and stumbled through the rest of the forest, catching himself before falling again. It would be too ironic if he fell and died here, moments before he reached possible help.

  Finally, he lifted his foot to rest on the first step that led to the door, pushing upward with all of his remaining strength. His momentum carried him forward, and he slammed into the door, then slid down it, his head ringing and tears falling freely from his eyes.

  Crumpled at the bottom of the door, hopelessness descended over him like a blanket, wrapping him up so tightly he couldn’t breathe. Death covered him like a shroud, and he cried even harder as he realized that despite every effort, now was the time he was going to die. He had nothing left to give.

  He felt more than saw the door open, and he fell to the threshold of the cottage without the support. He opened his eyes a crack when he heard a gasp. The face of an older man appeared over him, concern etched clearly on his wrinkled face. Caspian’s vision blurred, and the man appeared to disappear into the frenzy of his feverish mind.

  Algar is lost, he thought to himself right before the blackness took over. Algar is lost.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ryland sat at his desk, staring vaguely at the list of duties he had to attend to, but his thoughts were far from his new responsibilities as king. Only yesterday, he’d watched as a carriage laden with gold and silver rode down the path away from the castle, carrying all his hopes and Fayre’s future with it. He wasn’t sure where the carriage was going because Devin wouldn’t tell him, but Devin had promised the place would have the cure Fayre needed—and that Ryland was doing the right thing.

  Briefly, Ryland wondered what the cure was. Was it something ordinary, like a potion or an herb, or something strange, like perhaps a drop of dew from a specific grove, or a special moth that only lived by a certain lake? Whatever it was, he knew it would bring Fayre back to full health. Devin had already prolonged Fayre’s life thus far, and Ryland understood that his cousin only had his and Fayre’s welfare in mind. Devin would risk every bit as much as Ryland himself would to help Fayre because he knew Ryland loved her with all his heart.

  Ryland’s thoughts were interrupted by a heavy sigh from Devin, who strode through his door without knocking. With a sinking heart, Ryland realized that something was horribly wrong. He jumped to his feet and met Devin across the room, trying to read his cousin’s expression.

  “What happened?” he asked, dreading the response.

  Devin’s face drooped, and his gaze fell to the floor. “I received word from your mansion that Fayre has gotten much worse. She might not last the night.”

  Ryland felt his whole world crashing down around him. “No, that can’t be! We took over the kingdom. We just sent for the cure. We are so close!” he protested. Tears filled his vision, but he blinked them away, determined. “There’s something I can do.” It wasn’t a question or a statement. It was a dare. Ryland was daring Devin to say he was wrong, all the while desperately hoping he was right.

  Devin remained quiet for a moment before raising his eyes to look at Ryland again. “Yes, there is. I have made a special potion for her, but it won’t work well here.”

  Ryland felt hysteria building inside him again. “Well, where will it work?” He knew his panic showed through in his voice, but he didn’t care.

  “The magic will be stronger out in nature, especially far away from most humans. You should move her to the manor in the countryside where no one is around and where the magic in nature is strongest.”

  Ryland felt the hysteria subside. He took a calming breath and straightened. This he could do. He had believed all along that Devin would have a plan to keep Fayre alive. All he had to do was ask the right questions and trust him.

  “I will send some servants to take her there and tend to her needs,” Ryland said. It would pain him to have Fayre so far away, but he would do it for her sake, and for the sake of the kingdom. He needed to stay here and run things, and she needed to be over there, healing. He would visit her as often as he could.

  “The thing is, Ryland, the potion needs to be administered by the one person who loves her most—you. You have to go with her or she will die.”

  Ryland blinked several times, his mind torn. He couldn’t leave the kingdom, could he? Not when it had come at such a high price.

  But are you willing to let Fayre die? his mind asked. Ryland shook his head. No. He would let the whole kingdom fall to ruins before he let the love of his life die. Besides, he had someone to take charge for him: Devin. Still, he’d have to make sure everything was in order before he left. There was paperwork to fill out, decrees to make, meetings to attend.

  “Ryland, if you don’t leave now, Fayre will die before you arrive.” Devin took a vial out of his cloak and held it out to the man. “I have a horse waiting for you, and the carriage at your estate will be ready to move Fayre when you arrive there.”

  Ryland blinked and met his cousin’s gaze to make sure he wasn’t joking, but his face was gravely serious. Ryland shook his head to clear it before grabbing the vial from his cousin’s grip.

  “Right, I’ll leave now. You will run the kingdom in my absence. There is some sort of ceremony for this, but I haven’t got time. I will send letters confirming your ruling in my place and giving you advice and instructions. Please make sure to send me updates.” Ryland turned and started hurrying to the stables, his heart racing. He couldn’t believe he was leaving like this, so soon after everything that had happened, but he had to, for Fayre’s sake. He would have to trust his cousin one last time.

  “Best of wishes, Ryland,” Devin said with a little bow as Ryland swept from the room. “May Fayre get better so you can return. I will not let you down. Algar eagerly awaits your return.”

  Outside, Ryland took the reins from the stable boy, vaulted onto the waiting horse, and glanced back at Devin, who had followed him from the castle. Giving him a taut smile, Ryland waved, kicked his heels to the horse’s flanks, and galloped away.

  Devin watched Ryland ride away until he was a tiny speck. When his so-called cousin finally faded from view, he dropped his arm and grimaced as he rotated his shoulder.

  “Nature magic,” he muttered. “I can’t believe he bought that.” He turned and looked up at the castle, his castle. It had that annoying spell upon it which prevented him from teleporting, but he would figure out a way to fix that problem with Ryland gone, though he might need to wait for the Tja to regenerate before he could gather enough power. He chuckled quietly to himself, letting the magic around him build until it transformed him into his true form.

  A gasp from the stable boy almost made Devin laugh. He looked in his direction as the boy dived behind a bush in the yard.

&nb
sp; Grinning fiercely, Devin looked down at his palm, where a dark ball of magic glowed. It swirled for a moment before the darkness parted to reveal Ryland jumping off his horse at his estate and ordering servants around. Moments later, Fayre was brought to the carriage by two servants as the others packed trunks into the carriage. Devin watched as Ryland and the servants settled Fayre into the carriage and rode away.

  I will keep Ryland alive, but only for a time. Soon, he and his annoying fiancé will be nothing but a bad memory, and I will be the one everyone remembers.

  The image inside the ball swirled back to black, the darkness reflecting Devin’s face. Devin dropped it, and the ball diffused into shadow before hitting the ground. Conscious of the stable boy staring at him from a nearby bush, quaking in terror, the wizard lifted his arms, and black storm clouds descended, cloaking the entire castle in darkness.

  “It is time!” he commanded.

  The remaining Tja-maq, those whose powers had not been taken by Devin, bled from nearby shadows to stand by his side, relishing a surge of power as they stood together.

  “What do we do now, Neri-shna?” asked one shadow, his voice seeming to echo and hiss at the same time. “Shall we kill the fake king for you?”

  Devin shook his head. “No. For now we will protect him.”

  The shadows hissed. “Why?” another Tja asked. “He could return and steal your power from you. He is of no use anymore.”

  Devin clicked his tongue at the Tja-maq. “There are certain tricks to ruling a kingdom. When darkness falls and the commoners have everything taken away from them, if they do not have hope, they will rebel, not truly thinking they can make a difference, but willing to die, if not just to escape. But if they have too much hope, they will rebel all the more, thinking they can actually change things. There needs to be a certain balance to their hope.”

  “What do you mean?” the shadow asked.

  Devin rolled his eyes. “Simpleton,” he hissed. “Ryland will be kept out of sight. I will give him fake updates on the kingdom and continue to poison his fiancé so he stays far away from the kingdom, and anyone with any semblance of knowledge of his location will be killed. The people, not knowing where Ryland has gone and having no clue where to find him, will have hope that he will come and save them from my rule. They’ll believe their new situation is temporary and won’t risk their lives for change. Not until it’s too late.”