Kingdoms and Chaos (King's Dark Tidings Book 4)

by Kel Kade

  He turned, seeking the mage who had launched the attack and found Boulis preparing another. Rezkin drew two throwing stars from his coat. Boulis lost his spell as he was forced to deflect the stars. His next spell was sloppy, and he accidentally took the arm of one of his own men in the casting. Rezkin stepped toward Boulis but was stopped short when a thin stream of fire shot past him to take out two of the soldiers beyond. He glanced over to see Mage Threll give him an apologetic smile. He lobbed another star in her direction. Her eyes widened as the star spun toward her, and then it lodged in the eye of the man behind her. He screamed as he grabbed for the star, slicing his hand in the process. Mage Threll turned, thrusting her hand toward him, emitting a blast of power that knocked him off his feet.

  Boulis sent another swarm of sparkling explosives in Rezkin’s direction. Rezkin ducked as he raised the black blade, swatting several out of the way, while he snatched a few others out of the air. He looked down at his hand where he held the insubstantial sparks. He could see the tiny spells squirming within them, trying to get out. It was as if they were alive.

  Boulis screamed, “You cannot do that! No, it is impossible! What are you?” He pointed at Rezkin as he shouted, “Demon!”

  It was not the first time someone had called him that, and he doubted it would be the last, but Rezkin figured he would know if he were a demon. Rezkin threw the sparks back at Boulis, who erected a hasty shield. A soldier threw himself in front of the would-be king, and Rezkin could not imagine how the man had garnered that kind of dedication from anyone. Luckily for the soldier, Boulis’s spell was not as effective against armor, and the man was left with only a small, gaping hole in one cheek.

  Rezkin moved to advance on Boulis, but the man continued to back away behind his soldiers. Rezkin forced his way through, cutting down anyone who stood in his way, just as he had promised. When he reached the throne room doorway, Rezkin peered into the corridor. More soldiers lined the way.

  Brandt stepped up to his side. “Are they with us or against us?”

  “I do not know. They may not know.”

  Dark Tidings’s eerie voice echoed through the corridor. “All who stand in my way will die.”

  The soldiers stared at him and then the closest turned their gazes to the floor. Rezkin looked down to see that his clothes were dripping with blood into a crimson pool at his feet, and bloody footsteps marked his passage. The black blade continuously crackled with green lightning, and pieces of flesh clung to his form.

  “Demon!” shouted Boulis from the other end of the corridor.

  The soldiers looked back at Rezkin and hardened their resolve. Then, they attacked. Rezkin waded through them, followed by Brandt, then Farson, Mage Threll, and Coledon, as well as several of the royal guardsmen. Together, they slaughtered every soldier in the corridor. Rezkin led the way through the tower that Boulis had entered. They ran up the stairwell, Rezkin sensing for the use of the talent at every landing. Always, Boulis seemed to be above him, so they kept going. Rezkin was the first through the doorway when they reached the top, and he was immediately inundated by a cloud of explosive sparks. He pulled the short cape from his shoulders and used it to sweep the sparks from the air so they would not strike his companions. He balled the cape around the sparks, hoping that his own will was enough to prevent them from exploding.

  Boulis had begun to light the signal fire that stood in the center of the platform. Rezkin reached past Farson to Mage Threll. He pulled her from the stairwell onto the platform then pushed her toward the signal fire as he searched for Boulis on the other side. Mage Threll began a spell that caused a fog to form around the signal fire. The fog slowly condensed into rain, and Rezkin was impressed that she had made an actual cloud. His thoughts on the potential uses for a cloud were interrupted by Boulis’s scream.

  “You are too late. I will not let you have my birthright. The throne is mine!” Boulis held in his hands a small clay pot marked with arcane runes. He placed the vessel on the ground and pulled the stopper as he began to recite an incantation. Black fumes spewed from the open container, crawling up his legs. “H’g’gak shiewei cruikina—” The incantation was curtailed when a dagger sprouted from Boulis’s throat. A horrid screech emanated from the black fumes as they shriveled into themselves. A burst of power knocked everyone on the platform from their feet when the vessel suddenly exploded.

  Rezkin pulled himself from the ground and checked that the others were well before approaching Boulis. The man was dead, of course, but Rezkin was always cautious when approaching dead men. After pulling his knife from the man’s throat, he gathered the pieces of the clay pot for later examination. He grabbed Boulis by the ankle and dragged him across the platform to the stairwell. The royal guards offered to take the body, but Rezkin refused. He dragged the man the entire way down the tower and then through the corridor toward the throne room. Moldovan had remained on his throne, while the courtiers who were not permitted to leave cowered between the drainage grooves that were carrying blood and body fluids toward the drainage gutters along the walls. Stepping over corpses and splashing through puddles, Rezkin made his way back to the dais where he dropped the body that had been battered nearly beyond recognition.

  “Boulis is dead. Give me the sword.”

  Moldovan said, “This could all have been avoided if you had killed him in the first place.”

  Rezkin removed his mask and waved around the room. “This was the voice of your people. The dissenters are dead or cower in fear. Esyojo rule is secured.”

  Moldovan grinned. “This is why you will rule an empire.” He stood and picked up his scepter in his gnarled fingers. “You are an emperor, so I will not ask you to kneel.”

  “You do not ask me to kneel because you know I will not.”

  The king chuckled. He pulled an amulet from beneath his robe. It had a large garnet set in the center with tapered spirals of gold at the top and bottom. He tapped the scepter to the amulet. He said, “Duyana espekel umbalai.” He tapped the scepter to Rezkin’s right shoulder, then his left. Finally, Moldovan pressed it to Rezkin’s forehead and repeated the incantation. “Duyana espekel umbalai.”

  The garnet in the amulet began to glow a deep red, as did the scepter. He handed the scepter to Rezkin, then removed the amulet and placed it over Rezkin’s head. He said, “Speak the ancient words.”

  Rezkin considered not saying the words, but after all his troubles, he was not going to walk away without the sword. He glanced at Farson and then said, “Duyana espekel umbalai.” The scepter glowed brighter then dimmed as the stone’s light grew intense. Finally, the light in both died. Somehow Moldovan looked older after it was finished. The color had faded from his flesh, and his gaze was more distant.

  The man looked at Rezkin and said, “Our family has not ruled Ferélle for so long by chance. Our power sustains us, as it will you. I know you do not intend to stay. You must name a regent, and then take me to my daughter.”

  “The sword,” said Rezkin.

  “Yes, yes. You shall have the sword. But you already know where it is.”

  Rezkin tilted his head and realized that he did know where it was. In fact, he knew much about the castle, its power, and the history of the royal family that he had not previously known.

  Moldovan nodded knowingly and said, “Esyojo is a legacy, one carried within the king, transferred via the scepter, amulet, and incantation. Now, none but you can wield the enchantments of this stronghold.”

  Rezkin turned to his companions, examining each of them. All were bloody, but most of the blood did not appear to be theirs. Mage Threll looked fatigued. He had seen her watching the impromptu ceremony closely, and he hoped she would be able to explain whatever had just happened. Beyond them, the courtiers clung to each other. While their cries had diminished, their fear persisted as they stood amongst the corpses of their fallen peers.

  “Why you four?” Rezkin said, turning his attention back to his companions.

  Mage Threl
l glanced at the others, who did not readily answer. Farson was busy surveying the room, Brandt appeared apathetic, and Coledon naturally deferred to the female. She said, “Coledon speaks Ferélli. You needed a mage, but Journeyman Wesson was not ready, and he is keeping the prisoners in check. After him, my talent is most suited for battle.” She glanced at her uncle. “The strikers agreed that you would prefer Shezar to remain in charge of the ships, and my uncle thinks he needs to follow me everywhere, besides.”

  Rezkin glanced at Brandt. He shrugged and said, “I was bored.”

  Rezkin descended the dais. He looked at Coledon and said, “Kneel.” Coledon did so, and Rezkin laid the black blade, still steeped in Ferélli blood, on top of the man’s head. He said, “Coledon Anshe, I name you king regent. Stand and claim your scepter.”

  Coledon blinked up at him in surprise and then stood on shaky legs. He slowly grasped the scepter and looked back at Rezkin. “Why me?”

  Rezkin said, “For one, because you are willing to ask that question. Also, you speak several languages, including Ferélli. As the former trademaster of your sister’s house, you have valuable experience. Mostly, though, because you are here.”

  Moldovan barked a laugh and spoke in Ashaiian as the others had. “An Esyojo with so much power that he passes around kingships like they were water.”

  Rezkin returned to the dais and faced his grandfather. “It is not because I have power but because people continually insist on inflicting it upon me when I do not desire it.”

  Moldovan took Rezkin’s hand in his own, and Rezkin allowed it, since it was unlikely the former king would attack him at that point. Moldovan held both of their hands side-by-side and said, “Look. Yours is strong. Mine is frail. Some would say it is from age, but I know it is because I bled my strength into this kingdom for nearly eight decades. I have governed with an iron fist, yet few have celebrated my rule. Most no longer hide their whispers that I have lived too long. In you, people find strength and courage. People wish to be a part of something great, even when they cannot find it in themselves. You are their greatness.”

  Moldovan dropped their hands and reached for the arm of one of the royal guardsmen. He said, “I will retire to my bed until you are ready to leave. Remember your promise. I will see my daughter again.”

  Rezkin turned to the disconsolate spectators and said, “Court is dismissed.”

  In a unified cry of relief, they ran as one toward the throne room door, some tripping over bodies or slipping in gore. Rezkin then looked at the seneschal and Commander Tinen. “You two will assist your king regent in learning his duties.” He turned to Coledon and said, “Rule as I would rule.”

  Coledon shook his head. “I have been in your company only weeks. I cannot say how you would rule.”

  “Fairly,” said Rezkin. “Come, I have something to show you.”

  They followed Rezkin, flanked by royal guards, down several flights of stairs to a set of large, wooden doors carved with runes. The guards stopped several paces from the doors and stood at attention along the walls on either side.

  Rezkin motioned for Coledon to step forward. “Press the scepter against this,” he said, pointing at a rune that looked like a disembodied eye. Coledon did as he had asked, and the scepter and eye glowed red for a brief moment. Rezkin pressed his palm to the door, causing it to swing inward. He led the group into a dark cave. The floor was covered in water, a lake within the bowels of the castle. As Rezkin stepped into the cavernous room, red lights flared in two lines down the center, and they could see that a stone pathway lay just under the surface between them. As they walked down the pathway, varying colors of light began to shine from beneath its glassy surface. Colorful lights and shadows danced across the natural ceiling and walls of the cave, and specks of glowing dust began to twinkle in their midst.

  Mage Threll whispered into the dark. “I would never have expected a place so wonderous in this terrifying castle.”

  “This place is old,” said Rezkin, “older than the castle, older than Ferélle.”

  He stepped onto a small platform in the center. It was just large enough to hold the four of them a few inches above the water. The lights along the pathway winked out, and they were left surrounded by a glowing lake. Rezkin pointed to a groove in the floor and said, “Place the scepter there.” Once the scepter was in positioned, the surface of the lake began to shimmer. There, in the water before them, appeared a map. It was not drawn or painted, but rather an exact image of the city. Rezkin turned the scepter, and the image shifted to show a different place. He brushed his fingers across the crystal at the top of the scepter, and it was as if they were standing in the town, staring down the street. They could see the people moving about. A little girl pointed to an enchanted butterfly made of cloth, a stray dog grabbed a biscuit from a merchant stall, and a woman snagged her coat on a broken cart.

  Rezkin said to Coledon, “You may use this to watch over the city.” He pointed to a number of other grooves in the floor. “You will find images of other cities in those.”

  “This is fascinating,” said Mage Threll. “I have never heard of anything like it. I could spend the entirety of my life studying this.”

  “Mages have,” said Rezkin. “Only a few are permitted the knowledge to use it. No one knows how the lake works. They know only how to use it. They create new orbs to spread in other cities, but none have been able to reproduce the lake itself. I believe this predates man. It is a remnant of the Ahn’an.”

  “How do you know so much about it?”

  Rezkin furrowed his brow and stared at the water. “It is as if the ceremony awoke something in me—a memory that is not my own. I know things now that I did not before, but it is as if I have always known them.”

  “Spells do not usually affect you,” said Farson.

  “It was not Moldovan’s power. He only activated it. This is much older.”

  Rezkin peered into the dark water that was intermittently painted with swirling light. He pulled the Dark Tidings mask from the tie at his belt and secured it over his face.

  “What are you doing?” said Mage Threll. “You are not going in there. You just said that it holds ancient power that can affect you.”

  Rezkin glanced her way and then stepped off the platform. His stomach met his throat as he instantly plummeted to the bottom, as if falling through air to collide with the ground. Before he struck, in what was sure to be a deadly crunch, a liquid blanket wrapped around him, slowing his descent. He breathed deeply through the mask as he slowed to a stop, and the aqueous fabric held him aloft while he searched for the bottom. His boot touched the hard rock, and the fluid grip released him. Rezkin steadied himself and looked around in the darkness. Lights swirled in the distance and sometimes closer. He could feel the water surrounding him, dampening his movements, but he trod over the rock floor as if held down by a weight. As he searched for the sword, he took care to avoid the light. In those dark waters, amongst the lights, it began to feel as if he were in a dream. It was reminiscent of the meditative trance he entered in lieu of sleep. After minutes or hours, he no longer knew, he began to hear music. As the music grew louder, more light surrounded him. He spun, looking all around, and found no way to avoid them. They closed in on him until he was immersed in light.

  Rezkin began to feel calm, the same soothing tranquility that inundated him at Caellurum. His persistent hunger began to subside, and the ache of fatigue was vanquished, replaced by a clarity he had not realized had been missing. The small Caelian stone around his neck heated, but Rezkin was captivated by a figure in the water. At first, he thought it was distant, a vague outline of a person moving toward him. Then it reached out and touched his face, and he realized the being was much closer.

  The watery figures began to take shape, some of them appearing feminine, while others were masculine. Nixies, he thought. They surrounded him, perhaps by the dozens. They chittered like ripples in a creek. It sounded like laughter. They stroked his face an
d hair and tugged at his mask. Then, they began to pull in earnest. His arms were wrenched behind him, and they swept his feet from beneath him. Tackling him to the ground, they snapped his head back and forth as they pulled at the mask. Rezkin kicked and twisted as he struggled against the insubstantial beings. The stone around his neck began to radiate heat. One of the nixies reached for it and pulled back with a shriek.

  The water was suddenly filled with tiny bubbles, and the nixies backed away. They kept their distance and watched the bubbles pensively. Rezkin scrambled to his feet and stood in the center, knowing he had no strength or power to fight them. The song changed, and the bubbles began to take on a shape of their own. A woman’s figure shimmered in the water where the lights bounced off the spherical surfaces of the bubbles that composed her. She reached for Rezkin’s mask but did not touch it. She tilted her head and reached again. Then, the bubbles shifted to produce a new form, one with whom he was familiar. It was a treelike creature with feather-tipped twigs atop its head. The bubble form shifted again to resemble a sword but not the Sword of Eyre. It was Kingslayer. The form shifted again to resemble the woman.

  Rezkin remembered what Bilior had told him about the other ancients. He was in the water, but this creature was made of air. He said, “Hvelia?” The sound escaped the mask in a globule of bubbles.

  The being tilted her head and then reached for the mask again. Rezkin’s heart raced as he grasped its edge. Even if this was truly the Ancient of wind, there was no guarantee she would be amicable. There was a chance that Bilior had been lying about their deal. Rezkin took a deep breath and then pulled the mask away. A stream of bubbles instantly covered his face. He secured the mask to his belt by feel, and when his vision cleared, Rezkin was astonished. There, in the depths of a black lake in a dark cave, was an entire underwater world he had not been able to see through the enchantments on the mask. The nixies appeared more substantial, with individual features and expressions. Many of them jumped in excitement and cheered as they clapped each other on the back and hugged in celebration of some achievement.