Circle of Reign

by Jacob Cooper

  If Thannuel was involved in something… She hated herself for even entertaining the notions propagated by Wellyn’s propaganda. If he knew something…then Reign could have been used as an element of control. The harder she tried to expunge her mind of the possibility the more she focused upon it until finally, the picture came more fully into view.

  No. No, it couldn’t be true. It was nearly unconscionable to imagine a child under the age of innocence being threatened in the entire Realm. The laws of all Senthara on this point were solid as the Granite—solid as the Granite Throne, Moira almost thought, but recently the Granite Throne seemed less impervious than ever. Then, like a tidal wave of the Sea of Albery crashing against the Jarwyn Mountains, the truth thundered against her.

  No! I won’t accept—But nothing else made sense. This was the only thing that made sense.

  Thannuel…was not the target. Oh, Reign, my sweet girl!

  Frustrating, angering questions began to find answers in her mind that had lingered and refused to be quelled. The disparate links found connections…all but her husband being involved in treachery. She had to believe he had died honorably, as he had ever lived.

  Reign must have seen—what would she have seen? What could she have?

  Moira began to take the fragmented pieces of what she knew and puzzle them together.

  There were people in forest, late at night. They were not wood-dwellers. Moira had felt at least one on horseback and another on foot. But it was obvious that they had come from somewhere else, far enough to not easily be felt but close enough for Reign to find.

  If Reign did witness something that scared her, she would have run. And Moira knew her little one would have run toward safety. Toward the hold. Thannuel would have felt her eventually. She must have been pursued. Pursued by what?

  A confrontation ensued and somehow Thannuel was overcome. The heavy gait of the one fleeing northeast from the scene was as fast as a wood-dweller, but the vibrations she had felt were not those of an Arlethian.

  Aiden reported the man had been carrying someone else across his back, either dead or wounded. The horse rider? Moira wondered. A soldier, she finally decided. This seemed to be right in her mind after gleaning insights from her inquisition of Wellyn. Others besides soldiers used horses but generally not those of the West. But why not use the horse to escape faster? And then she remembered.

  This monster that fled was faster than a horse. She had assumed that Master Aiden had been exaggerating, taken by the horror of that night…but she was not so sure now. Surely nothing less than a beast of the fathomless abyss could have defeated Thannuel. Northeast, he ran.

  Northeast of Calyn was much of the Eastern Province, including the state city of Erynx. But Moira also knew Iskele, the North’s state city, where High Duke Wellyn resided with his Khansian Guard, was northeast from Calyn.

  The guilt she had felt that kept the sorrow and regret at bay was now gone, replaced. Sorrow and regret still attended her, but were now held in check and overshadowed by a new master: purpose.

  No, not purpose. Fury.

  She must see Lord Therrium at once. But would he believe her? Would he act on nothing more than her word? What could he really do? What would he do?

  She had considered waiting until morning and sending word by wing to Banner Therrium for an urgent meeting at daybreak, but decided she could not wait any longer. The stain on her family’s name was already unbearable and she feared for Hedron: how he would grow up, what he would think of his father? Would he believe the masses over time? Become indifferent? Bitter? Or just forgotten? They had called him Kearon at the market, she remembered. No, she must go tonight. Emboldened by her new certainty, she was resolute in her decision despite Shayla’s counsel for patience.

  “Galvey,” Moira called to the coach’s driver. “We’ll stop in briefly at the hold to resupply and get fresh horses. Prepare the carriage as quickly as you can for a short trip to Hold Therrium.”

  “Tonight, Lady Kerr?” the elderly master equestrian of House Kerr questioned with weariness in his voice.

  “Yes, tonight. We will go as soon as you have made ready. Also, prepare a message upon our arrival to be sent by wing to General Roan. Bid him come to me at once.”

  “As my Lady commands.”

  Yes, Antious, there was something he was going to tell you. And we’re going to find out what.

  Master Aiden would be there, at Hold Therrium, as well. As master of the hold guard, he would likely be able to be in attendance when she addressed Lord Therrium. Yes, this would work.

  And then, she thought, it won’t matter if Therrium is inclined to help or not. Antious and Aiden will burn the Realm down once they hear my words.

  “My Lady, is this wise?” asked Shayla, who sat across from her in the coach. Ghryn and Fhayil, the other two common servants with them, diverted their eyes. Shayla had never shied away from speaking her mind, sometimes to the point of seeming insurgent. “The first moon is already high. Surely Lord Therrium would receive us more enthusiastically in the morning. We will need him to be in his best mind.”

  Perhaps she is right. It can wait one more night. As these thoughts played in her mind, the fury burned hotter as if in response to any thought of procrastination. The feel of the thick coarse material of her husband’s cloak in her hands with the Kerr family’s insignia sewn into it fortified the decision. Her resolve hardened.

  “Your counsel is wise, Shayla. But we will go tonight nonetheless. We cannot rest one more night. I cannot.” She paused as they came through the wide stone arched gate into the inner courtyard. “You may stay at the hold if you wish,” Moira added. “It has been almost a span since we left for Senthara. I will take another with me. Shane, perhaps, or—”

  Moira stopped speaking as the coach entered the arched entrance on the south to the hold’s inner courtyard and came to a stop. She could have sworn she just felt—no it could not have been. It wasn’t possible, not here. She was gone, far from here or even worse. Taking a deep slow breath through her nose, she closed her eyes and calmed her ever-hopeful heart. The smell of blooming flowers and new, healthy foliage that had recently begun to resurface was soothing.

  The first scream came from the east wing of the hold. Moira opened her eyes. A second scream echoed, someone much younger this time. Shayla and the other common servants inside the carriage went stiff. Shouting and pleadings arose, both men and women. A grunt came from just outside the carriage as it rocked slightly. Moira felt the thud of a body hit the ground and looked out her window to see Galvey sprawled on the ground, his box coat flapping in the wind and a pool of dark liquid spreading out under him. A crossbow bolt protruded from his abdomen. The postilion, a boy of only thirteen who had accompanied the party, yelped in pain and fell from the forward left horse but rose quickly and scrambled to crouch behind the left front wooden wheel. A thick arrow pierced his right shoulder and the force of it had knocked him from his mount. It was amazing the lad wasn’t screaming. The vibrations of several men heading toward the carriage at speed alerted Moira to possible incoming attack. She judged their number, three, and distance, roughly forty paces. They approached from the northeast section of the courtyard. More screams from the servant chambers in the east began erupting and the hold was coming alive with confused and alarmed inhabitants.

  “Shane!” she screamed. The others in the coach began to open the left door, facing the west portion of the hold. “No!” Moira commanded, but it was too late. Ghryn and Fhayil were cut down as they ran frantically to nowhere in particular by two more arrows. Shayla screamed. Lady Kerr reached out and slammed shut the open coach door, lifted up the front seat of the cabin and retrieved a short blade stored in the compartment.

  “What do we do?” Shayla asked in an apprehensive whisper.

  “Shane!” Moira again screamed.

  “I’m here, my Lady.” Shane appeared at the right door, peering in through the window.

  “Thank the Ancient Heave
ns! We are under attack. I don’t know how many but several are surely already hurt or dead. We must—” She broke off as she took in the sight of Shane more fully. Two other common servants, men, were on either side of him, one with a crossbow. Shane had a sword drawn in his left hand. “You are already armed? You—”

  Moira stared at him with disbelieving eyes. “It’s you?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. I am sorry, Lady Kerr.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would you do such a thing? Why—” But Moira knew the answer. In her heart, she knew; and, in her heart, she now had no doubt of the monster that occupied the Granite Throne. Terrified pleas for help, shouts of betrayal, and cries of fear filled the hold. She collected herself and spoke firmly with an air of authority.

  “These are the Duke’s men, then?”

  Shane did not deny it. “Aye, my lady. Khans.”

  “Am I to be your captive? Hidden away and kept silent?”

  Shane diverted his eyes. “We are to spare no one. I am sorry.”

  Moira thought she saw Shane waver. It was there, and then gone just as quickly. “And my son?” She asked, struggling not to let her lip quiver. “Swear to me you will spare my son.” The hold master continued to not meet her gaze.

  “Swear it!” Moira said vehemently.

  “Hadik,” Shane said with an almost broken voice, motioning to the Khan dressed as a servant on his left. The man immediately ran to the left side of the carriage, reached through the window and grabbed Shayla by the hair. He pulled her head through the open space violently and stabbed her under the soft spot of her chin, driving the blade up to the hilt.

  “Shayla! No!” Lady Kerr screamed.

  “Take her,” Shane commanded. Hadik and the other Khan, one now on either side of the coach, grabbed the handles of the doors and yanked them open. These men were brutal. All Khans were trained in warfare and combat tactics and served loyally without hesitation. But, they were not wood-dwellers. No Arlethian served as a Khan due to the ancient creeds between the Senthary and Arlethians. The Khans would have little chance of catching her if she could escape the coach. But Shane, he posed the greatest threat.

  An escape hatch above led to the roof. She slashed at the Khan, reaching in from the right side. He flinched back when she struck out, giving her only brief moments but enough for a wood-dweller. She undid the latch with nimble fingers and extricated herself as fast as she could bring herself up. She donned the dark cloak for camouflage amongst the night in a heartbeat’s length.

  “On the roof!” Hadik called out, followed by a sound of pain. She peeked over her shoulder to see that the postilion, the young boy who had been shot in the shoulder, had stabbed Hadik in the leg with the very arrow that had struck him.

  “Run, my Lady!” the boy cried out. She sprang down from the top of the carriage, lightly sprinted two steps forward on the backs of the horses attached to the carriage and hit the ground of the courtyard in stride. She glanced back over her shoulder to see Hadik strike down the young boy who had bought her time with his life.

  Hedron! I must find Hedron! She passed old lady Wendham lying face down in the courtyard, dead. Others were strewn about as well. The ground in front of her glistened with the blood of her servants, her people who had stayed with her through everything. Moira knew what this was, this move by Wellyn: a silencing of all possible resistance or opposition. Complete extermination of anyone who could possibly know…know what? She had come close enough to discovering something and it unnerved Wellyn to a degree that he felt forced to act before she was prepared. Foolish! she scolded herself.

  “Hedron!” She called out. “To me!”

  Snarls and growls followed by yelps of pain sounded through the night. The kennel master must have released the hounds. They wouldn’t stop the interlopers, but slow them down enough perhaps. Ancient Heavens, where is my son? Perhaps he was already dead. If so, her heart would turn to stone as she relinquished all her fire for living.

  A servant stepped out from a corridor in front of her holding a mace. Not a servant, another Khan. Moira had never been trained in any methods of battle or defense. She never had need of it before and mostly viewed it as a silly diversion for the men of the Realm. This did not lessen her drive to survive and find her son. Her speed increased, knowing that she must appear almost as a blur to the Khan in front of her. Extending the short blade with two hands out in front of her, she drove it into the man’s chest with a scream. He tried to react but was too sluggish in his movement, underestimating his foe. Her attack was crude but effective. She shook with adrenaline and retrieved the knife from its mortal sheath.

  Other Khans had closed some distance to her and were frighteningly close. She felt the vibration of a bowstring and sprang to the side, a reflex reaction she hoped moved her out of harm’s way. The arrow skidded off the stone floor to her right. Before the archer could draw again she resumed her sprint, trying to calm herself enough to listen, to feel. She ran alongside the eastern wall, heading to a battlement at the northeastern part of the hold. A thick oak tree could offer her an opportunity to escape by scaling it and jumping down outside the north wall. If she could get into the forest, she would be free. She would seek shelter at Hold Therrium. And then another thought came to her. What if Therrium were part of all this? Ancient Heavens, no! Could Thannuel’s own blood betray him? She could not be sure. She could not trust anyone, not yet. Hedron, where are you?

  She spotted him, crouched behind a pillar that protruded out from the north wall, hidden in its shadow. There were fewer screams now, the silence being more terrible than the screams. The dead do not scream or plead for mercy, only the living. I will do neither, Moira swore.

  She reached Hedron and huddled with him for a brief moment.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, inspecting him quickly. “Are you hurt?”

  He shook his head. She could see he was terror stricken.

  “We have to move. Ready?”

  He again shook his head.

  She took his face in her hands. “Be brave, my son, as your father would have you be.” She saw his eyes well up with fear. “I know,” she comforted him, “but we must go. Now.”

  She peered out from their secluded spot and judged the way ahead of them to be clear. She still hoped to be able to reach the northeast corner and scale their way to safety. The elevated pathways were too far and probably guarded. They moved slowly at first, but soon they accelerated. A crossbow bolt barely missed Hedron’s head and struck the stone wall on their left.

  “I have them!” a gruff voice called out.

  “Run!” Moira commanded her son. “Now!”

  They both sprinted as fast as they could but they were still several hundred paces from their destination. Four Khans ran up from the south and managed to get in front of them. Each of the Khans had a sword drawn; one man had a crossbow slung over his shoulder. Where is Shane? Moira wondered with anxiety. She looked down and saw that Hedron had a short blade in his right hand. His father’s. How many times had she scolded him for sneaking into the quartermaster’s locker? Good, he will likely need it. The thought that her son would need to fight for his life against trained soldiers sickened her.

  Something impacted Moira that she hadn’t sensed vaulting toward her until too late. Shane smashed into her and slammed her body against the northern wall. Pain seared through her left shoulder from the impact. She thrust out her right hand that held the short blade and barely grazed Shane across his left cheek. He swore.

  “Krithia!” Hedron cried for his mother in the ancient Arlethian.

  Shane grabbed Moira’s right hand with speed only another wood-dweller could track and twisted her arm behind her back, forcing the knife from her hand. She leaned forward from the pressure and tried to raise her left arm to blindly claw at Shane’s face behind her, but the arm did not respond. Only then did she notice her shoulder hanging at an odd angle from her torso and realized it must have been dislocated from Shane’s initi
al attack when she hit the stone wall.

  Moira raised her head and looked out from behind her obsidian black hair. “Run!” she yelled to Hedron.

  “Krithia, no!” he wailed.

  “Run!” the Lady Matron of House Kerr again commanded. “Run.” This last word was spoken softly and without emotion. Two Khans started to move toward Hedron, but he dashed between them with determined velocity and toward Shane. The Khans were too slow as mere humans to seize the boy. His voice broke as a primal scream shot forth from him. Swinging and slashing wildly with his father’s short blade, he attacked Shane. There was no poise or grace in his press, just a savage animalistic ferocity that proved enough to force Shane to respond. His grip on Moira’s right arm loosened, not much, but enough. She whipped her body under her arm, unwound the hold that Shane had on her and thrust her knee into his side with all her might. She was free. Hedron danced around Shane, careful not to get too close. A Khan tried to sneak up behind him and Moira watched as she saw him sense the danger closing in on him. He rolled to the side, regained his feet and was behind the Khan before he knew what had happened. Hedron’s short blade found the back of the man’s thigh, dropping him to the ground. The man cursed in agony as he writhed. Hedron ripped the weapon free and turned to run toward the great oak in the northeast corner.

  In the too few moments that the men were distracted, Moira came to the wall and battered her dislocated shoulder against it. She was rewarded with a dull pop as the ball was forced back into the socket. If it weren’t for the adrenaline, the pain would have no doubt collapsed her to the ground for several moments. She grabbed a torch from a sconce on the wall and swung it at the back of Shane’s head. The explosion of embers looked like hundreds of fireflies in a panicked frenzy before turning to mere ash and escaping with the breeze. Shane stumbled down to one knee. He was not seriously wounded, but perhaps this would give them the time they so desperately needed. Where can we go? Therrium would be too obvious of a choice, as would Antious…but they would be better protected than here. She should have left when Antious asked her to, should have—