War of the Princes 03: Monarch

by A. R. Ivanovich

  General Deasun looked ashamed. He turned his eyes to the ground, but held his strong chin high. “The ship was empty. There was no sign of the pilot who signed in with the harbormaster. Deadly smoke was coming up from the engine room. It was the only place we couldn't search.”

  “Sadie,” Kyle said, taking a step back from Deasun. I was relieved to know that Carmine at least hadn't been caught, and the next time I saw that Lurcher, I vowed I'd give her the biggest bear hug that I could. She'd been ordered not to harm Carmine and to protect the ship. We were lucky to have brought her. A bit of the edge faded from Kyle's rare fury.

  “I understand your anger, but believe me, I am not your enemy.” Deasun shifted between looking at Kyle and the Hussar who held herself at knifepoint. “Why would I bring you all together if I wanted to harm you?”

  Dylan released his hold on the woman and she let her sword fall to the floor. She did not pick it up again. Her smug and self-righteous expressions were replaced with wild fear.

  “Kyle,” I called to him, hoping that now he'd be calm enough to help Rune.

  He blinked, breathing heavily, and looked back at us like he was seeing us again for the first time. “Sorry,” he said in a tone that was far more natural to him.

  “Why isn't he waking up?” I demanded. It wasn't easy to believe that Deasun was an ally, and I couldn't hide the edge in my voice. Everything he'd said and done was a contradiction since the very moment we'd met him with Headly in the throne room. I would not be taken in by apologetic words.

  “It's not as bad as it looks,” Deasun told us. “The sedative dulls the pain of injury. He may be sensitive to it.”

  Deasun motioned to Hussar Prie, and she swept to the floor to remove Rune's bonds. She was not gentle when she removed Dylan's. The young lord cried out when the metal wire was unraveled.

  “It was the least we could do,” General Deasun said.

  Dylan grimaced. “If I could throw lilies at your feet, I would. Pain medicine after a beating! What hospitality.”

  Kyle stepped around Dylan to get to Rune, and when they locked eyes, I wondered if Dylan would demand that his wrists be healed first. He didn't. The quiet was unlike him.

  Kneeling, Kyle placed a hand on Rune's back, and closed his eyes. I marveled, watching the noticeable change as the swelling in Rune's face went down. The tips of Rune's fingers twitched, he breathed deeply, and his blue eyes flashed open. In a burst of movement, he pushed away from Kyle and me, and launched to his feet, patting at his waist for his weapons.

  Rune's attention was intensely focused on the Hussars and their General. None of them seemed particularly happy to see him awake. “Hey.” I stood and reached out a hand to him. “It's okay. We're all okay.” When his gaze settled on me, it softened, but only a little. He didn't fawn or fret over me, but stared intently at our perceived enemy.

  Kyle moved on to heal Dylan's arm, and the lord flexed his hands appreciatively. I could see the relief on Dylan's face, but it was short lived. He didn't seem to trust our situation any more than I did. All four of us edged nearer to one another, grouping up defensively. The Spark begged to be released, and I tapped my fingers against my leg. If we were lucky, I could at least cause a diversion and we could escape.

  Rune moved to stand protectively between General Deasun and me. The gesture wasn't made because I needed to be guarded like a porcelain doll. I knew with every fiber of my being that Rune valued my life more than his own. “What is the situation?” he asked the formidable general directly.

  Their connection was tense, unique. It was as though they shared in some sparse and secret language. “Treason... in some variety or another,” Deasun said tightly.

  Rune didn't ask any other questions, one answer seemed to be all that he needed.

  “I have risked all to bring you here for a purpose that is of greater importance than any other,” the general said, looking past me, into the heart of our group. “There's something that you must see.”

  A leaden fist hammered against the hidden door, following the perfect sequence and rhythm of the mechanism's code. The lights flashed out, and when they returned, the enormous bulk of Prince Varion filled the entrance to the meeting room.

  Chapter 38: Prince Varion

  The ample round room became significantly smaller. Prince Varion towered above us all, the crest of his helm nearly brushing the ceiling. Each of his gauntlets were as wide as two of my legs and his fists were larger than my head. His father, the king, had been a tall but otherwise normal man– if his Empty body was any indication of what he'd been in life. What had Varion done to himself in seven hundred years that would result in this?

  One prince was a shadow, the other a giant. It was no wonder neither of them had conquered the other.

  “I arrived as soon as I could, General,” the Prince said in a voice that was as thick and full as the ocean. “I was not followed.”

  “Good,” Deasun breathed out, suddenly seeming tired with worry. “You have my eternal gratitude for your prompt response.”

  The prince nodded once and approached us with broad steps. He moved as normally as any person, with average gestures that were too casual for the resplendence of his gilded armor. His shoulders rolled back as he straightened his posture, his gauntlet-covered fingers twitched, and his head tipped to the side as he looked us over. Rune pushed us back, establishing a safe distance between us and the towering prince.

  “Come closer,” the prince commanded. “Those from Haven, approach.”

  Barely recovered from his wounds, Rune blocked us protectively. I ran a hand up his shoulder, and stepped around him. “We are from Haven. Sir, please hear our request. We've come from Breakwater in the West. If the city doesn't receive your protection, your brother will destroy it. Please, will you help us?” I asked, and turned to look at Kyle beside me. Only, he wasn't. My friend was embroiled in a pushing contest with Dylan, as each attempted to hide behind the other. “Kyle!” I couldn't have been more embarrassed.

  He winced, and slumped his way to the front of the group to take his place beside me. I could see that his breath was shallow by the rabbit-fast movement of his chest. His eyes rose slowly up to meet Prince Varion's shadowed gaze.

  The prince stared a long while at Kyle, and then turned to look over his shoulder at General Deasun. “You were correct.”

  Deasun came to the prince's side, as at ease as a trainer beside a tamed bear. “I stand before you to humbly request your help– your service.”

  I blinked. Was he talking to us? “Is this about Breakwater?”

  Deasun did not say yes or no. He looked at us so intently that I feared we had done something wrong. “Prince Varion was killed twelve years ago.”

  The power and simplicity of his statement slammed into my chest, rocking me back. “What?”

  “Impossible,” Rune said.

  “Yes, Dragoon. It is impossible. Varion is an immortal. My very life is linked to his. If he ceased to exist, I could not be standing here speaking with you. Unfortunately, there is no other way to describe what happened to him. Varion was killed, but he is not dead.”

  I thought of King Argent, seated upon a throne of marble wings, gray and Empty. Killed, but not dead. It didn't make sense. Overloaded, my brain began to throb under the pressure of trying to understand Deasun's meaning. If King Argent possessed the Abilities of life and creation, and Varion drained him, taking his father's Abilities for himself, he alone would have the power to resurrect the still-breathing husks of the drained. If Varion used his father's stolen power to revive the Empty, then who could possibly resurrect him if he were the one who was killed?

  Kyle was fixated on notions that were far simpler than mine. “B-but,” he stammered, pointing at the giant that stood before us. “You're the prince.”

  General Deasun's onyx eyes became sad.

  Prince Varion stood tall. “No.” His voice resounded throughout the room.

  All warring thoughts fled my mind, leavi
ng it completely empty. My jaw fell open.

  A long quiet followed.

  “You are,” Rune said. “You must be. You look exactly like him. Your likeness has been replicated in history books for hundreds of years.”

  Dylan cleared his throat, with a fist over his mouth. “Forgive me if I'm out of line, it has been a long day, but, will someone kindly explain what in three spiraling hells you're talking about?”

  “See it, if you must,” said the man who denied being Prince Varion. Reaching up as if to show us that he was unarmed, he held his behemoth arms out wide.

  Rune's muscles twitched defensively.

  The giant man's armor made a series of clicking sounds as golden, coin-sized coverings popped open on his chest, back and arms. It wasn't weapons that were hidden beneath the disguised surface, but a series of lenses. They reflected in the electric light like shiny buttons, and soon, they began to glow. Moving pictures projected all around us on the curving red walls.

  I hadn't watched an actual film since I was in Haven, and images pouring from a prince's armor was the last place I thought I would see one. The footage was scratched and flickering, and struggled to show us its message. I could see shuddering movement all around us, but the lights overhead were too strong for the picture to be clear.

  Reaching a hand up, I felt the electric energy above me. Touching the wall or a wire would have made it easier, but I extended my consciousness upward and slowed the electric current that fed into the light bulbs. The room dimmed, and Varion's pictures became brighter. I pulled my hand in close to my chest.

  The film shook as though the person who had taken it was running. Recorded from so many angles at once, the display was immersive and dizzying. The footage was red, and not only from the wallpaper it was projected upon. A city was burning. Flames clawed up along the left wall, frightened people poured from their crumbling homes, and Northern soldiers pushed past them, running into the danger. Enemies in black coursed up through the lower streets in the distance, and a series of explosions decimated nearby buildings, showering the city's people with shrapnel and rubble. The filmmaker was nearly driven to the ground by the quake, and narrowly avoided a toppling chimney.

  Instead of stopping to rest, the person pulled several civilians from the wreck, and waved them to safety.

  The chaos of the scene was horrific. There was no sound to accompany the film, but it was so real, I could almost hear the screams.

  “Twelve years ago,” Deasun began again, allowing the footage to give life to his words, “Prince Raserion's spies discovered that Prince Varion had taken up residence in Northdale. Raserion let slip that his armies would attack here, in Caraway, but it was a feint. He struck Northdale with all of his force, cleaving the city apart in a single night. Dragoons poured through the streets like the tendrils of a black cloud, funneling into our barracks, killing our sleeping soldiers. Where Raserion found the material to create so many cannons, we will not know, but the city was heavily bombarded. Our great prince fought to save his people, but a cannonball struck beside him. Half of his armor was torn from his skin, his skin was pulled from his flesh, and flesh from broken bone.”

  “Oh no,” I whispered, realizing what was to come next.

  A cannon ball shot across the right side of the round room, colliding with the edge of a building. The filmmaker, Prince Varion, turned in time to see the cannon burst through the brick and mortar. There was no time to react. It soared down and plunged into the ground beside him.

  All four of us flinched and I covered my eyes with my hands. I didn't want to see someone be killed in gruesome detail from their very own perspective, but I peeked through my fingers anyway.

  There was a blast of light and a spray of dirt. All of the right-side lenses went black. The cloud of smoke and dust retracted and I could see the edges of the prince's left-side armor moving as though it was disconnected from gravity. Just as I realized that the bomb had thrown him into the air, he slammed into the wall of a burning building and crumpled to the ground. Flames covered the remaining cameras, and the film flickered out.

  When it was clear the footage had ended, I released my hold on the lights, and the room brightened.

  The man who claimed not to be the prince rotated the shielding over the lenses in his armor and looked down at us. “In truth, I could be called a double, a shield, or a bodyguard, but I am not Prince Varion.”

  “Our prince is an immortal with Abilities that surpass all in the world. Though the blast reduced him to bone and sinew, he did not die. After the attack, he needed to recover.”

  There was a reason they'd brought us here– a reason that General Deasun had protected us. He said it himself. They needed our help. “You lost him.”

  “One way or another,” General Deasun said. “We did.”

  How did they find out about me? It didn't matter. They knew about the Pull. Like everyone else, they wanted me to use it to find someone they were looking for. Twice now, I'd be contracted to find the very same individual.

  My stomach tumbled. Why must things be so complicated? Again I craved normalcy, tranquility, boredom– even knowing that it hadn't worked out for me before. If I could have taken all of my friends away to safety in that moment, I would have. If only safety existed. Haven was a farce of a name now. There was no haven for us.

  Help Breakwater. Help Haven. Help the entire Northern Kingdom. It was unending. I sighed in resignation, not knowing how I could possibly balance each task peaceably. “You're asking us to find him for you.”

  “No,” Deasun said, stepping ahead of the prince's bodyguard. His dark eyes were hard and fierce. “We have already found Prince Varion. Here.” Deasun raised up a muscular ebony arm and pointed into the heart of our group, directly at Kyle.

  Chapter 39: Kyle Kiteman

  Under the scrutiny of General Deasun and Prince Varion's bodyguard, Kyle began to chuckle. When no one else so much as smiled, his face dropped and he stopped laughing. “What?”

  Deasun was resolute. “You are Varion Argent, Prince of the North, and rightful heir to the throne of Lastland.”

  Rune turned to stare at Kyle as though he believed what they'd said. “Is this true?”

  “No!” Kyle scoffed.

  “Yes,” Deasun said. “It is you.”

  “You have me confused with someone else.”

  The bodyguard lowered his massive bulk to one knee. “We do not.”

  General Deasun, Hussar Prie, and the other soldiers in the room did the same. Only the four of us remained standing, and I fidgeted in discomfort.

  Dylan stood by, gaping. “This is embarrassing. Tell them to rise.”

  “Rise?” Kyle said. Everyone followed his order but the bodyguard who balanced diligently on one knee. “Thanks, but I'm really not your prince.”

  “You are,” Deasun countered.

  “Okay,” Kyle said pertly under his breath. “My opinion against yours.”

  He was floundering and I needed to help him lend some reason to the misdirected conversation. Telling them the reality of the situation might be awkward, but if we didn't do it now, monumental problems would surely arise. It would have been a boon to nudge Kyle, telling him to agree, just so we could use the resources of the Northern army, but I wouldn't stoop to that. If we were caught in pretending that Kyle was the prince, they would have us executed without a second thought.

  I tried to keep my tone light and unthreatening. “I'm really sorry to say this, but you're wrong. Kyle and I are from Haven. We grew up together.”

  Kyle shrugged uncomfortably. “Believe me, I'm no one special.”

  “Destiny would disagree with you,” General Deasun said. “There is no single person in this world so valuable. Your body can regenerate most any wound, but you had never sustained so much damage as you did during the Northdale attack. You were burnt and rent and broken, and required devolution to heal.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Dylan laughed. “What do you really want? What's
your angle?”

  “There is no angle,” General Deasun said sharply.

  Dylan was tense, “This is a waste of our time!”

  Rune took the General more seriously. “You said devolution. What does that mean?”

  Deasun spoke only to Kyle. “In the weeks following the attack, you continued to breathe but your body regressed in a form of reverse aging. Returning to childhood, you were able to rebuild your damaged cells more thoroughly. You would not bear a single scar. If I hadn't seen the start of the process with my own eyes I might not have believed it possible. From a grown man, you became a child again, and slipped into a coma. Of all people, you insisted that immortal was only a word. You told me that you had recuperative Abilities, that you would never grow old, but– you could still be killed. We needed to be certain you'd have the chance to recover before your brother struck again. We sought a safe place to hide you.”

  “Haven.” I cupped my hands over my mouth. It had slipped out. I didn't mean to say anything.

  For as many hundred years as we'd been separated from the Outside World, there had always been texts transported by some unknown power through an aquamarine pool. The texts had linked our technology and lore and culture loosely with the outside. Our language remained the same. Was it possible that a prince had passed through the dry waters of the Still Well and come to Haven? Maybe... but it couldn't be Kyle.

  “Yes,” Deasun agreed, nodding once to me. “The place to which all Lodestones fled many hundreds of years ago. Haven.”

  “You know of it.” Rune turned slowly around to observe Kyle as though he was considering the general's words.

  “Don't look at me like that!” he snapped. “It's not possible!”

  “Do you not recall awakening from the coma?” Deasun asked. “What did you think happened to you?”