Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3)

by Missy Sheldrake

  “Flitt!” I whisper frantically, patting the ground beside my head and shoulder. She isn’t anywhere. “Flitt?” I ask again with the sudden dreadful thought that I might have landed on her and crushed her. I roll to one side frantically and comb through the enormous blades of grass. “Oh, Flitt, please, where are you?”

  When she giggles, I’m taken by how much louder her voice seems to be. It fills the bright space with such a powerfully pleasant feeling that I almost forget to be angry with her.

  “Cut it out,” I grumble. “No more games! How could you take me away like that? I have to go back!” I push myself to my feet and nearly trip over the strange figure my eyes are still having trouble focusing on through Flitt’s blinding light.

  “I’m not playing games,” Flitt says. The figure stands up and moves toward me and I reach for my sword. “Really, Azi, are you that thick?” she giggles again. It’s not until she steps forward and places her hands on my shoulders that I realize the figure is her.

  “You’re my size,” I blink and shield my eyes.

  “Nope, guess again!”

  “I’m your size?” I shake my head. “But why?”

  “So you won’t try going back. Nobody’s going to be threatened by a tiny Azi with a tiny sword.” She giggles again, as if this is nothing more than an amusing game.

  “Nobody?” I raise my sword to her.

  “Oh, please.” Flitt laughs again, this time a little nervously. “You wouldn’t.” Her light flashes a little brighter, and through it I catch a glimpse of her multi-colored ponytails.

  “Wouldn’t I?” I stalk closer to her, gripping my sword tightly.

  “Nope!” she says airily. She’s right. Frustrated, I turn away and start to pace. My eyes are still blurred and partially blinded. I shake my head to try and clear my vision and then it dawns on me.

  “Do you think you could tone it down a little?” I spin to face her again.

  “Huh? Oh, sorry,” she chuckles and dims the light she casts.

  It helps. Slowly the blindness fades until I can see the towering green fronds of grass waving overhead against the crisp blue sky. The beauty of the scene does little to calm me. The more I think about what just happened, the more agitated I get until I find myself fighting to breathe through the grips of panic.

  “What—” I try to calm myself, but it’s too difficult as the gravity of the situation crashes over me. “What was that?”

  “Uh,” Flitt lifts herself with her wings and floats beside me as I pace frantically. “A Mage battle, I think. At least that’s what it felt like.”

  “But,” I grasp for the right words, but I can barely form a thought let alone a sentence. Rian. Eron. King Tirnon. Da. Margy. Mum. Saesa. All that darkness. All that chaos. The Mages, they were there to prevent that. They were supposed to be protecting the High Court. “How?” I manage dumbly.

  “Who knows? Rian saw it coming, though. He warned me. Told me to get you out of there if something happened.” She pauses behind me as I turn to face her, seething. Her glittering wings flutter to keep her aloft, and her eyes shift from blue to green to yellow as they widen. “Azi, calm down!” she cries, half annoyed, half frightened.

  “How could you? How could you listen to him? You made me leave all of them there to fight without me! Whatever it is, it’s powerful enough to get through all of those defenses. And now they’re there facing that danger, and I’m here hiding away like a coward! I don’t care how small I am. I can’t stay here knowing what’s happening there. I’m going back.” I close my eyes and think of Rian and start to feel the shift in the air around me, but Flitt shoves me back, breaking my concentration.

  “You can’t,” she says. “You can’t risk it.”

  “Oh, I can’t, but everyone else can? What sense does that make, Flitt? In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a Knight. It’s my job to put myself between others and the threat. It’s my duty to protect those who are too weak to fend for themselves, and you pull me here, away from them. All of those innocents, just left there…” I sink into the grass and press my eyes with the palms of my hands, trying hard not to let my emotions overwhelm me. Crying won’t help. It’ll only make me feel weaker and more helpless than I already do.

  “Azi…” Flitt comes to my side and rests her arm across my shoulders. Peace and joy flow from her in waves, and even with my eyes covered I know her light is shining bright around us in her effort to change my mood. “I had to get you out of there. You’re too important. Rian knows that. Everyone else knows it, too. Even Eron knew it as the ax fell. It’s the honey dripping from the comb all over again. You have a rare purpose. You’re special. Why is it everyone else can see that except you?”

  Chapter Eleven: The Dusk

  Tib

  I’m here for my sister. That’s what I keep telling myself. I didn’t really think much of the trial at first. Didn’t bother coming to watch. Then Ruben came home for luncheon one day. Said they were questioning Eron about Viala. Ruben didn’t know she was my sister. Nobody in the house does, except Saesa. Once I heard some of the trial was about her, I started coming to listen. I guess I was curious about what she was like before. I wanted to hear the story of her and the prince. Try to figure out how it all went so wrong.

  They never used her new name. The one she’s known by now. Ki. They don’t know about how she was given a second chance. Nobody does. Only Iren and the fairies of Kythshire. And Saesa and the Elite.

  Azi struggled with that for a while. With not telling the king. We talked it over for a long time. She felt torn, since really Ki is still alive. Like maybe she should tell them. Maybe Eron shouldn’t be tried for that part of it. In the end I helped her see reason. Second chance or not, Eron killed her. I saw what happened when I wore Valenor’s cloak. Saw what he did. How he held her, looked into her eyes, and drove his sword through her. How he dropped her on the floor like refuse and waited for her to die. Watched her last breath leave her. He was cold. Wicked. Whatever he gets, he deserves it.

  I think of all that while I sit here, watching. Think of Azi’s pain and her struggle to do the right thing. The good thing. Think of my sister and the choice she made, too. To stay true to her new life. To keep her promise to Iren, even in the face of death.

  Saesa’s knee is bobbing up and down. The soft heel of her boot tap, tap, taps on the stone floor. She does that when she’s nervous or excited. It bugs me. I nudge her with my elbow and she shrugs an apology and goes still.

  Sir Benen is called to the platform. He was a good choice by the king. A strong arm, a sharp blade. More mercy than the prince deserves. I wish he had chosen me. I’d have done it really slow. Made him think about every horrible thing he did. Made him repeat it back to everyone here. Made him sorry.

  He isn’t, though. Eron tries to play helpless and innocent. He tries to make the king feel sorry for him. Tries for sympathy. It’s hard for me to hear a lot of what’s said. Hard to concentrate. The wards are strong in here. Magic is so thick in the air that I have trouble thinking. It presses down on me. Blocks too much out.

  “Oh no,” Saesa whispers as Eron calls for Amei. “Oh, Tib.”

  I can’t concentrate on what’s going on up there. Something else is nagging at me. A warning feeling I can’t pinpoint. A draw. A pull. A scent. Something foul, like death. Something that stings my senses. It’s hard to describe. A screen over the light. The point of a needle peeking up through the weave of fabric. I have to leave. I have to run. I try to get up but Saesa stops me with a hand across my chest.

  “What are you doing?” she hisses.

  “Something’s wrong,” I say, and my words somehow make me more aware. Something is wrong. The window. I look up and see it too late. A figure shrouded in blue against the blue sky. It shifts slightly. Raises a hand. That’s when Eron starts talking. Shouting strange words.

  “Move,” I whisper to Saesa, shoving her. “Get out of here, now!”

  She swats me away. Doesn’t hear me. She’s t
oo caught up in the Prince’s execution. Everyone else is, too. Nobody else seems to notice what I notice. Except Rian. Up ahead in the front row he’s watching the figure, too. So is Gaethon. Rian turns to Azi. He looks at her, scared. Shakes her. The ax rings out. Thuds to the block. Everyone starts screaming. Even Saesa. They get up and start trampling around. Along the front, the Mages start casting.

  “Tib?” Saesa gasps and jumps to her feet beside me, flailing at the air. Her eyes are wide. Searching. I don’t understand it. It’s bright as day in here. Then I realize what’s happened. A spell. Darkness. No one else can see. I grab Saesa by the shoulders and pull her out of the path of the surging, panicked crowd.

  “Outta the way!” Someone swings a fist and I shove Saesa to the side just in time to avoid it. Another wave of magic washes over the gallery and half the people scream. The crowd rushes the aisles, trying to get out. I glimpse Bryse and Cort pushing ahead, clearing the way for the terrorized victims of the fear spell.

  “What’s happening?” Saesa cries. “I can’t see!”

  At the front I hear them calling for the princess and my attention snaps back to the platform. Spells are flying everywhere without a target. The Mages are on high defense. They’re just as blind as everyone else, though. It’s idiotic in a crowd like this. Bolts of fire crash into peasants. Lightning crackles out over the gallery. People are screaming. Crawling over each other. Beyond the Mages, palace guards are ushering the royal family to safety. I take Saesa’s hand and pull her against the chaos. Tuck her into an alcove beside a column.

  “Stay here,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Tib, no! I need to find my Lady Knight!” she cries. Her helplessness only drives my anger more.

  “You can’t see, Saesa. No one can. Stay here or they’ll trample you. Or hit you with some bolt. The Mages are casting blindly. People are falling everywhere. Just wait here until they all get out or they’ll plow right over you. I’ll come back when it’s safe. Promise.” That seems to calm her a little.

  “Did you wear it?” she asks me.

  “Course I did,” I lie. I know she’s talking about my bandolier. The one Mevyn gave me, all decked with throwing daggers and vials of potions. I was stupid to take it off before I came. To tuck it safely in my drawer at home. I didn’t think I’d need it. I have some daggers, though. Like always. One in my boot. One in my belt. One in my sleeve.

  I look up at the window where I first saw the figure. The glass is gone. Strange I didn’t hear it break. Odd there’s no shards on the floor.

  The hall is clearing now. The stone floor is littered with people. I don’t know if they’re injured or dead. I don’t want to know. Up near the platform, a fight has broken out. Yellow and blue. The Elite are battling something I can’t see. Palace guards are trying in vain to pull the King to safety. I rush toward them and skid to a stop.

  Red everywhere. Blood. Swords clashing. Something purple in the center. Purple like the Prince’s doublet. It doesn’t make sense. Their opponent swings and steps and turns to avoid them. His blade glances off of Benen’s armor. For a blind fight, it’s impressive. Six on one. Their opponent is a fair warrior.

  Even King Tirnon has his sword out. When he refuses to leave the fight, his guards try to step to shield him. Their eyes blankly search the space before them. None of them can see what I can. If they could, they’d stop.

  I creep closer. Watch in disbelief. My stomach twists in knots. The Prince. That’s who they’re fighting. He’s wounded, though. His doublet is stained crimson from the neck to the belt. I creep closer. I realize why. The sight is enough to send me to my knees. The Prince, fighting boldly. The Prince, stepping surely. The Prince, swinging his sword. Strong. Spry. Headless.

  I try to stay on my feet but I can’t. My legs shake like jelly on a spoon. I fall to my knees. I scream for them to stop fighting. They don’t listen.

  “Tib?” Rian calls out. A soft breeze rustles my hair. A streak of green. Shush hovers in front of my face.

  “Over here! Left, okay right, wait. Step over that Mage. Right. You made it.” Shush pushes to Rian, guiding him through the fallen and around the battle. When he reaches me, Rian puts a hand on my shoulder. He crouches beside me.

  “What do you see, Tib?” he whispers.

  “The battle. They’re fighting the Prince. But he’s…he’s dead already.” I can’t say more. Rian tightens his grip on my shoulder.

  “What else? Mages? Sorcerers?” he asks.

  I put the Prince out of my mind. Turn my attention to the rest of the Court. The spells have stopped, mostly.

  “Some of the Mages have fled,” I whisper. “Others are lying on the steps. The gallery has cleared out. Everyone has run away. Master Gaethon is stalking someone on the platform. He’s pressed against the wall, whispering something. He doesn’t see—Master Gaethon, look out!” I shout, but too late.

  A bolt of red shoots toward him. He’s blind to it. Can’t defend himself. It goes right through his wards like they’re not even there. He’s thrown against the wall and tumbles down like one of Margy’s rag dolls.

  The scent comes again. It barrages me. Death. The needle. The sting. Laughter, deep and wicked. I follow it to the block, to the source of the blast.

  “Tib,” Rian hisses, “what do you see? Tell me!”

  “Master Gaethon is struck. The man from the window is standing by the block,” I hope Rian can hear me. My throat is dry with fear. My voice too shaky even at a whisper. “He’s got a sack tucked neatly under his arm. The fabric is already soaked red. It drips onto the blue of his robes. He’s smiling, like this is all a joke. Raising his hand toward the fight. Casting a spell. Eron’s fighting harder. The guards are still trying to pull His Majesty away.”

  Rian thrusts his hand toward the block, releasing a crackling bolt of light that the Sorcerer dodges easily. The Sorcerer glares and turns toward Rian.

  “Missed,” I whisper. “He sees us.”

  I jump to my feet. Put myself between the two of them. Scream something foul at him. He smirks at me. I draw two of my daggers.

  “Tib, don’t!” Rian tries to grab my arm but I’m too fast. I charge up the stairs. Raise my daggers to fling them at the Sorcerer.

  He leers at me. The white of his eyes and teeth seem to almost glow against the black curls of the Mark that cover his skin.

  “That’s the one. Get a good look. Mark him in your memory,” his voice drifts through the space between us. His words aren’t meant for me. He’s pushing his thoughts to someone nearby. Someone small. More than one someone.

  “Black hair.”

  “Black and straight. Skinny.”

  “Sunteri boy.”

  “’Course he’s a Sunteri boy! You remember the story. Idiot.”

  “He’s weak. Small.”

  “Knobbly fingers.”

  “Slanty eyes.”

  They dive out of thin air. Small creatures, like fairies. Three of them. They aren’t fairies, though. These are twisted and dark like tree roots. Their skin is scaly like a snake’s. Their wings are leathery and lined with veins. One of them hovers in front of my face. Hisses at me. Bares sharp teeth that drip with poison. A foul puff of air wafts over my face.

  “That won’t work, fool! Pay attention!” another of them pushes.

  “Get away from me,” I shout with a slash of my dagger. A breeze blows from behind me. Brushes the creature’s breath away. Pushes them back a little. Shush hovers just behind my shoulder. Rian stays close, ready to cast.

  “The Dawn,” the smallest of the scaly fairies sneers at him. “Far from home, aren’t you?”

  “The Dusk,” Shush replies. “You have no place here.”

  “No more than you do. Who broke the rules first, eh?” the small one shivers and glares.

  “Yeah, who opened the door?” this one is a little larger, with a rounder face. Shush clenches his jaw. Doesn’t say anything.

  “Enough banter. Fetch the Prince,” the Sorcer
er commands.

  “Stop ordering us. You’re not in charge,” the third creature taunts.

  “Well, he can hear us maybe, and he doesn’t know who’s what. Except now maybe he does, witless!” says the round-faced one.

  “Yes, fetch the Prince,” says the smallest. “Now. But let them see him first.” The dark fairies dart off toward the battle. The Prince is still fighting. The King is still there.

  The Sorcerer laughs, deep and cruel. He raises his hand with a swift motion. The clashing of swords stops. I feel the blindness lift from them and know what they must be seeing. A few of them scream. The king cries out in anguish.

  “Oh, no,” Lisabella gasps, “no, it’s the Prince! Oh, your Majesty, I’m so sorry!”

  I don’t let them distract me. I know better than to turn my back on a Sorcerer. I fling a blade at him, breaking his wards. I throw my second as Rian sends a streak of energy over my shoulder. It doesn’t meet its mark. The Sorcerer vanishes before it reaches him. Rian races past me to tend to his fallen master.

  I scream in frustration. Draw my last dagger. Spin to find a target. Anyone, anything to take my rage out on. The dark fairies are on the Prince. Cloaked by the Half-Realm. Shush streaks toward them. I try to aim, but I don’t have a clean shot. The dark fae grab the Prince’s lifeless body. The king drops to his knees. His sword clatters to the floor. The white fur of his robe soaks up the pool of red. He reaches toward the Prince as the guards try to pull him away. Just as His Majesty’s fingers brush the purple doublet, the dark fae laugh. They vanish. So does Eron’s corpse.

  “No!” His Majesty bellows. He claws at the stone where his son lay just a moment before. Lisabella kneels beside him. She whispers to him. I can see the pulse of her peace ebb and flow. It soothes him. Keeps him calm.