Warren put his hand in front of Emron. Already, citizens were casting uncomfortable side-glances their way.
“Remember why we’re here,” Warren said.
Emron stepped back, his eyes narrowed at the stranger.
“How much farther?” Vallerie asked.
“Not much,” the stranger said as he continued leading them down the street.
True to his word, they arrived at a sizable building a few minutes later. A simple sculpture above the door frame depicted a healer tending to a room full of wounded men.
“Your companion is inside. I’ll wait out here.”
Warren nodded and opened the door for Vallerie and Emron before following them inside. Only a few dim lights lit the main room where ten occupied beds lined the left and right walls. A tall, thin woman sat next to one bed, tending to a man missing his right arm. She looked up as Warren shut the door behind them, then stood and brushed her hands on her dirty apron. Warren refused the urge to rub the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry. There isn’t any more room,” the woman said.
“A man was brought here the other night. Where is he?” Vallerie asked.
The woman frowned as she fidgeted with her apron again.
“He would be a stranger to you,” Warren said.
The healer nodded in understanding.
“This way.” The woman led them to a side room.
Cassidy lay on the only bed in the room, one hand behind his head, the other resting on his stomach.
“About time,” Cassidy said, sitting up.
Vallerie ran to him and enveloped him in a hug. Warren leaned against the doorway and chuckled.
“Ow,” Cassidy winced, but Vallerie clung to him as if she would lose him if she let go.
“You leave me worried sick. I finally find you, and all you have to say is ‘ow?’” She kissed his neck and cheek and ear.
“Yeah ow. I’m not exactly a stuffed toy ya know?” Cassidy said, but the smile on his face betrayed his rebuke.
Vallerie pulled away, a little embarrassed from her outburst. One of Cassidy’s hands had been bandaged to his elbow, the other Vallerie held with both of hers as she invited Warren and Emron closer. Warren noticed Cassidy’s left leg had been bandaged and braced from thigh to shin.
“So you’re not dead,” Emron said.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“How do you feel?” Warren asked.
“Like I’ve been mauled,” Cassidy said, looking at the shredded armguard on the table next to him.
“Glad to see your sense of humor is still intact,” Warren said.
“What sense of humor?” Emron scoffed.
“Funny, I was about to ask what happened to yours? Oh, that’s right, you never had one,” Cassidy teased.
“I got one,” Emron said.
“Oh, where?”
Emron held up his fist and shook it a bit. “Right here, and,” Emron held up his other fist. “It has a twin brother.”
“Somehow I feel like they won’t be as humous for me,,” Cassidy said, reaching for the crutch next to his bed.
Watching the two banter reassured Warren.
A commotion in the main room silenced the team. Then two armored men shouldered through the door.
“Which one of you is Warren?”
“Who’s asking?” Cassidy said.
One of the men took a threatening step toward Cassidy. Before he could get any closer, Emron moved in front of Cassidy’s bed.
The soldier put his hand on his sword.
“Enough. I’m Warren. How can I help you?”
Help wasn’t exactly what he planned on offering, but he needed to defuse the situation.
“You need to come with us.”
“My teammate is too injured to move right now. What’s going on?”
He studied their armor, considering his options. The polished metal showed no signs of having actually been used in combat. That did little to reassure him. If a fight broke out, at least one of his friends would be injured by the guards’ swords.
“Your team will be staying here. Don’t resist.”
“Warren, this is a bad idea.” Cassidy warned.
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Warren said, already heading for the door.
As he passed Emron, he pretended to bump into him and slipped him the map of the city.
7
T he man that had led Warren and his team to the infirmary wasn’t outside when Warren and the guards exited. Instead, two more armored men eyed Warren. Warren opened his mouth, about to ask where the stranger was, but stopped himself. He didn’t particularly like the man, but whatever their differences, he’d led them to the infirmary. If he absconded before the guards arrived, Warren didn’t want to ruin his escape. Then again, he might have been the one who alerted the guards. Either way, asking about him wouldn’t get anywhere.
Soldiers surrounded him and led him into the street. The two by his sides kept their hands on their swords, while the one in front stomped a path through the throngs. A fourth followed somewhere behind the group. Warren had gotten himself into a fine mess this time.
Several miles of twists and turns later, Warren could no longer recall the path back to his team. Dislike of the situation only grew as they arrived at a boastful castle. Twelve spires gleamed without a single spot, the entire castle radiating light. There didn’t appear to be any stone slabs or mortar work. Wide, polished steps led the way to elegantly crafted gold doors.
What is this place?
“You’ll have five minutes to speak to Kruziik before standing before the Dsyniict Council. Use it wisely,” The man in front said, opening one of the gold doors for Warren.
“Dsyniict Council? What’s going on?” Warren asked as they shoved him into the building.
Warren found himself in an ornate room decorated with four large paintings and a table holding a vase of flowers in the center. Kruziik stood pondering a painting to Warren’s right. Wrinkles creased his brow, and brown hair streaked with gray was tied behind his head. Though his gaze was toward the painting, he wasn’t looking at the art. His eyes were creased with concern and frustration.
“What’s going on? Where am I?” Warren asked.
“Why didn’t you just listen to me?” Kruziik sighed without turning away from the canvas.
“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?” Warren folded his arms over his chest.
“We didn’t have time to explain. I still don’t,” Kruziik said, finally shifting to Warren. “My people have remained hidden in this swamp because of our secrecy. Our law requires intruders be placed on trial until their punishment is determined.”
“That seems extreme. Doesn’t your king know what’s happening out there? Instead of saving lives, your laws abandon them.”
“We are governed by the Dysniict Council, and I would refrain from insulting their rule again,” Kruziik said flatly.
Warren exhaled. “Fine, what can you tell me about the trial?”
“You’ll be presented with your charges and asked to confirm or deny them. If you deny them, your punishment will probably worsen.”
“And that punishment would be?”
“For trespassing there are two likely outcomes.” Kuzuiik paused.
Warren ground his teeth. “Well?”
“Your team will be slave-drudgers for the rest of your lives.”
“Slave-drudgers?”
“Crews that clean up after collapses.” “What’s the second?”
The man grew silent.
“Kruziik?” Warren said impatiently.
“They will sentence you and your team to death.”
Warren rubbed a hand over his face as a cool sweat formed on his brow.
“So that’s it. Slavery or death?” Warren said, dropping his hand.
“That is why I told you to stay hidden. With all the chaos down here, a single body wouldn’t be noticed, but for so many strangers to appear armed and ready for ba
ttle...it didn’t take long for word of your intrusion to reach the council.”
“Who said we were looking for a fight?”
“Several villagers saw you draw your blade on Zane.” Warren remembered the raft.
“That was a misunderstanding, I thought we were going to our deaths. Ask him.”
“The council has already heard his report and has arrested him for his treasonous acts.”
“What!” Warren’s heart lurched.
It was bad enough that he’d led his team to their deaths, but the stranger—Zane—only tried to help.
“Aiding intruders is among the highest crimes.”
Warren rubbed both his hands over his face. What had he done?
“What’s going to happen to him?” Warren stared at Kruziik, trying to calm his breathing.
“I suspect it will be no better than your own fate.”
Warren gritted his teeth. None of this should have happened. He should have never brought the rest of his team here. He had to figure a way out of this for the team and Zane. It was the only way to redeem himself. No, there would be no redemption for him. He’d crossed that line long ago. Now his only recourse was saving an innocent man’s life and freeing his team to find the beacon.
“Why tell me all of this? Why are you here?” Warren asked.
“Zane is my grandson,” Kruziik said. “He is a kind soul. There may still be hope for him if you tell the council you threatened him. I have no right to ask this of you, especially since your punishment cannot be lifted. But please. I have little family left.”
Warren leaned over, palms down on the table. His mind spinning. Sleep deprivation befuddled him. He didn’t want to incriminate his team any further, but Zane...Warren cursed under his breath. He couldn’t condemn an innocent man.
Warren nodded. He owed Zane for his help.
Kruziik’s expression softened. “Thank you.”
“I’m not done yet. Why was I the only one summoned?” Warren asked.
“You are the leader of this team, are you not?”
Warren swallowed his argument. The others would follow him into the depths of the Darkness Realm with no hope of surviving if he asked them to. This was his fault.
“Yes.”
“Do you speak for your team and all its members?”
“Yes,” Warren whispered.
“Then what need is there for the others?”
Warren stood there for several long seconds, staring at the table, trying to think of a way for his team to be pardoned, but found nothing. He couldn’t warn them either. He had to face the council and hope, by some slight chance, his team would escape.
“There has to be some way,” Warren said, looking up at Kruziik.
“I’m sorry, there isn’t anything that can be done for you or your team. You will either be enslaved or sentenced to death. Either way, your journey ends here.”
Frustration boiled under Warren’s skin. He wouldn’t accept that. He turned and slammed his fist against the front door, then regretted it. He leaned his head against the cool metal and closed his eyes. He had to make peace with the facts.
“Warren, it’s time,” Kruziik said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Tiredly, Warren pushed himself off the door and turned toward the gold doors behind him. They seemed much more daunting now. Before entering, he straightened himself. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, then let the air slip from his lungs as his eyes flicked open. He pushed past the threshold and strode into the next room.
Darkness hugged the edges of the round room, a gold chandelier hung above a gold seal etched into the floor. Twenty-four masked and hooded figures in black robes sat in marble thrones behind a tall judicial stand that stretched around the room. The top of the stand towered a full foot higher than Warren. Masking his racing heart, Warren knelt on the center seal. Twenty-four rigid guards stood at the foot of each figure, their tall spears and spotless silver armor glimmered with gold accents.
“You are the one they call Warren?” A matter-of-fact woman asked.
“Yes.”
“You are charged with trespassing and the terrorizing of the people.”
“Do you deny your crimes?” asked a man with a youthful voice.
“I do not; however, if possible, I wish to speak concerning them.”
Momentary silence fell over the council.
“Speak now,” the first woman said.
“When my team committed the crime of trespassing, it was not done with ill intent, nor had we known of our crime. Concerning the charge of terrorization, my team had no part in that action”―Warren paused―“I, alone, threatened Zane and forced him to bring us here. Neither him nor any member of my team has acted according to their own will. They only followed my orders.”
“By pardoning your team, you have offered to accept their punishment upon yourself, is this what you wish?” a woman with a high and nasally voice asked.
Without hesitation, Warren agreed.
“And what if the punishment is death? A single death for the crimes of many is hardly just,” an old man said.
“I do not have the right to plead for their lives, but plead I shall. They are ignorant of their wrongdoings. Is it just to punish one who knows not of their wrongs?” Warren asked.
Again, silence fell over the council, each moment longer than the last. And Warren grew more aware of the drumming in his chest with each thrumming beat. Then, finally, one of the figures spoke.
“You have courage,” a deep-voiced man said. “But your courage cannot save your team. We sentence you and your team to death at sundown.”
“No!” Warren cried, standing. The guards fell upon him in an instant.
He dodged past the first strike and punched the guard in the face. The attack disoriented the man enough for Warren to yank his spear from him and block the next few attacks.
Warren backed toward the doors, refusing several openings to kill a guard or two. He shoved a soldier back before being overwhelmed. Pain flared along his body as he was beaten repetitively by the soldiers. He didn’t realize he’d fallen to the ground until two of the guards seized him by the arms and hauled him away.
They dragged him through hallways and down the steps, then through more concourses. His head pounded as though the guards’ continued their thrashing.
Cool stone and stale air centered his focus. He pushed himself to his hands and knees. He was in a prison cell. A few wooden planks, too short and narrow for Warren to lie on, hung from two chains bolted to the wall. A bit of scattered straw covered the ground. With eyes aching from a fierce headache, he looked at his chest. His body hurt everywhere, but he didn’t see or feel any significant wounds.
Why hadn’t they killed him? He wasn’t even bleeding, was he? Warren sat down on the bench, wincing. Carefully, he lifted a hand to his head and brushed his left temple with his fingertips. Pain shot through his entire head, and he pulled his hand away. Red covered his fingers. While it bled and caused him pain, he didn’t think the wound was deep.
Softly setting his head against the wall, Warren wondered where the others were. He hoped they’d found a way out of the city and would complete the mission.
8
W Arren had started to drift off when he heard shouts and the prison door open. His heart stopped as several city guards threw Cassidy into the cell across from him. Vallerie came next. She punched one guard in the face before another shoved her into a cell. Warren cringed out of sympathy for the man she’d hit―that eye would be black in a few hours.
“You better run!” Vallerie yelled. “You treat my husband like that again, and it’ll be the last thing you do!”
As Warren stood, a guard flew down the hallway before he tumbled across the floor several feet. Warren raised an eyebrow. Another guard backed away down the hall and stopped next to his cell. He peered at Warren with pleading eyes, who shrugged. Finally, four guards later, they forced Emron into the cell next to him. Collecting their batt
ered companions, the guards hurried out of the prison.
“Warren!” Cassidy said, finally seeing him.
Vallerie gasped. “What happened to you? You look awful.”
“So, this is what no trouble looks like,” Cassidy huffed.
“I can’t see him, what happened?” Emron asked.
“Warren’s been mugged,” Cassidy replied.
“What?” Emron said.
“Warren, what happened after you left?” Vallerie asked.
Warren eyed Vallerie and Cassidy, ensuring their bombardment had ended. When they both stared back, he explained their imprisonment.
“Okay, but what happened to you?” Cassidy asked.
“I made a choice and paid the price.” He didn’t want to worry the others.
“You can do better than that,” Vallerie prompted.
“The council sentenced the team to death. I couldn’t let you suffer because of my poor decisions,” Warren said at length. “So, I acted rashly and got myself beaten. Not that it did any good. I-I’m sorry I…”
Warren leaned his head against the bars, unable to finish.
“Sorry?” Cassidy scoffed. “I think I can speak for everyone when I say we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t want to be. We had just as much of a choice as you.”
“I gave the order to come find you. I left you alone. I should have made a dozen different decisions. I got us into this, and the entire realm will pay for my idiocy,” Warren said.
He could already imagine it. The realm was overrun by the Darkness. With nowhere for survivors to run, everyone would die. The Darkness had won.
“We haven’t failed yet. We have until sundown to get out here,” Cassidy said.
“And what’s your plan to escape? These bars aren’t made of flax,” Emron huffed.
“Vallerie, this kind of thing is your specialty,” Cassidy said. “Ordinarily I’d agree, but I don’t have any of my gear.”
“Hair pins?” Cassidy suggested.
“Really, Cass? Even if I had one, I can’t. I’ve already considered it. The locks are too complex. Besides, there are a number of guards out there that even I’d have trouble getting past on my own—never mind with the entire group and you with your injured leg in tow.” Vallerie pinched the bridge of her nose.
The Ajoiner Realm (Defenders of Radiance Book 1) Page 7
