by Bo Burnette
Finally she pulled herself onto the flat roof and tumbled onto the thatched wooden slats. She could look out over the entire town from here—from the watchtower on the cliffs all the way to the gates. Placing an arrow on her string, she peered down at the kerfuffle by the gate.
The first thing she noticed was the flash of a burgundy cape.
Philip rushed into the thick of a fight already begun. Swords and knives were flying between at least eight combatants. Brallaghan was swinging his sword up into two others at once.
With a shout, Philip darted into the fight. If only Erik were here. His cousin had returned to the city with the king, queen, and Ilayda, planning to come back the next day for the rest of the games. Now he had no one to cover for him.
Except, perhaps, Arliss.
But he didn’t need Arliss to cover for him. As if to prove his own point, he slashed at one of Brallaghan’s opponents, knocking one of the fellow’s knives out of his hand.
The knife-bearing warrior, his eyes barely visible beneath his burgundy hood, tumbled down and retrieved his weapon, leaping around Brallaghan and towards Philip.
Philip barely spun out of the way as the blades twisted towards him, slashing together. He cut his sword into the intersected knives, attempting to disarm his opponent.
The cloaked fellow held his weapons steady. With a clever flick of his wrist, he diverted Philip’s sword and sent it plunging into the hard-packed dirt. The blade stuck fast.
Philip kept his head. He scanned the warrior’s body language and guessed his next move barely soon enough. One of the knives plunged towards his torso.
He released his planted sword and grabbed his opponent’s arm just inches from his chest. The other knife darted towards him from the other side, and he grabbed that arm as well.
Philip grunted as he held his opponent there, both of them pushing against each other in a test of wills. The fellow’s strength surprised him. The fight hung deadlocked. Neither could win out over the other.
Philip pushed harder. He was stronger than this fellow—he could feel it. The burgundy-cloaked fighter’s arms spread wider, shaking slightly.
Then he pulled his feet up, slamming them into Philip’s stomach. Philip collapsed atop him, rolling off and into the dry grass.
A sudden whizz behind them, coupled with a dying groan, caused both combatants to turn their heads.
Up on the roof, Arliss was setting another arrow to her bow.
Arliss aimed her bow at Brallaghan’s opponent and shot.
Something flashed in the corner of her eye. It distracted her long enough to throw the shot off course, and the arrow stuck the warrior’s right shoulder. His fight would be over now, nonetheless.
What could she do? They were sorely outnumbered. The city had to be alerted somehow.
She turned to see what had distracted her gaze. Philip was now fighting two men at once—and, even in the dimly lit street, it was clear that neither of them was wearing a burgundy cloak.
Where had he gone? Even with her keen eyes, Arliss couldn’t spot the confounded fellow anywhere in the murky commotion in front of the gates. She put another arrow on her string and searched the bell tower which had been built atop the first building in the city—the building which overhung the locale of the ongoing fight. Perhaps…
Something cracked almost noiselessly behind her. She whirled around toward the source of the noise, but there was nothing but flat thatched roof. She tightened her fingers around her bowstring as her eyes scoured the darkness. Perhaps it was nothing…
The noise came again, a faint scrape. Something like a metal claw appeared in the air past the edge of the building for a second before it vanished. With careful steps, she advanced towards the edge of the roof.
The metal claw—a grappling hook—came again, this time sticking in the wood and thatch at the roof’s edge. Before she could reach the edge, a cloaked man jumped up onto the roof. He spotted her and yanked his knives from their sheaths at his waist. He charged at her.
She ducked and dashed to the far side of the roof. Her bow wouldn’t be much use in such a close situation. If only she had Ilayda’s knives! But wait…Ilayda had given them to her for safekeeping earlier…
She fumbled in the darkness for her quiver. Her hand alighted on two long handles. So she did have them after all.
She strung her bow about her chest and drew the two long-handled knives.
Her opponent charged.
She widened her stance as if she intended to fight hand to hand, then sidestepped at the last moment. The warrior stumbled past her, almost falling off the building.
Smirking, she darted to the other end, replacing one of the knives in her quiver and pulling her bow from over her head.
These knives were crafted to be lightweight and notched at the end for a reason, and Arliss was about to put this reason to good use. As the man in the burgundy cloak hurried towards her from across the roof, she picked out her target—the rope in the church’s tower which held the lone bell. Nocking the wooden hilt of the knife, she took her aim, raising the bow higher than if she were shooting a regular arrow.
The moment she released the string, her opponent tackled her to the ground. Her bow slipped from her fingers and fell into the street as the knife severed the bell’s rope.
An enormous clang resounded throughout the city.
Chapter Eight: Escape
ARLISS FRANTICALLY TRIED TO SNATCH THE OTHER KNIFE, but the burgundy-cloaked warrior pinned her arms down as he leaned over her. She strained in his grip, feeling the heat of his breath on her face as she tried to wrench herself free.
“Calm down, Arliss.” The man’s voice sounded smooth as glass. He sounded…well, young.
Then a curious terror seized her. “How do you know my name?”
“Don’t you know mine?” he hissed. “You will learn it soon enough, I’m sure.”
“Who are you? Why are you attacking Reinhold?”
“Because I have a mission. And because, tedious princess that you are, you’re once again getting in my way.”
She felt he’d had enough time to chitchat. With a final strain of her pinned arms, she bent her knees and shoved them into his chest, not caring that she wore a dress. She wanted this fellow off her.
She dug the toes of her boots into his stomach. The distance between them widened until his grip on her arms snapped loose. She tumbled free, then leapt to her feet as he reached for his knives.
He scraped his blades across each other, creating a hideous hiss as he cornered her on the edge of the building. He wasn’t an inch taller than her.
The warrior edged closer to Arliss. She cast a glance downwards, her throat tightening at the plummeting distance below her. The bell had awakened the town below them. Heads peered out of doors and windows, and some ventured into the main thoroughfare with swords or bows.
“Recall your guards, and I will spare your life.” The knives flickered in the moonlight.
“No,” Arliss spat between clenched teeth.
“Then you will die.”
A new voice burst out of the darkness behind them. “Touch her again, and you will die!”
Philip leapt all the way onto the roof, Cahal right behind him.
Arliss drew her long-handled knife as the four eyed each other suspiciously, silently. The murmurs began to grow in the city below them.
She held her breath in the bottom of her lungs.
Then Cahal rushed at Philip, his sword slashing through the air.
Their other opponent cast Arliss a final glare and dashed to the edge of the roof and leapt the distance to the roof of the adjacent house. She pounded across the rooftop, but he was too quick. His burgundy cloak soon disappeared in the shadows. Her boots touched the edge of the roof.
Gone.
A hideous laugh rasped behind her. She turned. Cahal had his sword leveled at her. Philip lay on the thatched ground, blood streaming from his temple.
Her fist choked the han
dle of the knife. “What have you done?”
“He’ll be fine, princess. Fine enough to watch you die!” Cahal sprang at her.
She braced herself for the fall off the building. It never came.
A breathless gasp escaped his lips as Philip’s sword exited his body. Cahal crumpled on the roof.
Arliss gaped at him, allowing her arms to grow limp. Philip lowered his bloodied sword.
Still stunned, she stared at him as the night wind blew her hair across her face.
“Thank you for covering for me earlier.” Philip touched the wound on his temple, wincing slightly.
“Thank you for saving me from falling off the building.” She watched the citizens, who were still gathering in the streets below. “What about the other warriors?”
“Some Brallaghan and the guards recaptured. Others escaped.”
She stepped closer to him. “In which direction?”
“Towards the sea.”
“You mean, towards the Isle.”
The next morning, the royal carriage careened through the city gates and jerked to a halt. Kenton burst out of the door and down the steps of the vehicle. From her vantage point atop the observation tower, Arliss had seen the carriage even before it reached Cladach. Now she rushed down the main road and towards her father’s urgent strides.
“Where is Arliss? Where is my daughter?” He gripped the fringes of his fur-lined coat, blindly running toward the hall. “I never should have returned to the city.”
Arliss hurried towards him, jerking up the skirt of her green gown. “Father, I’m here!”
Kenton’s eyes alighted on her as she neared him, and he rushed towards her, his boots kicking up dust behind him. “Thank God you aren’t harmed!” His tone turned to anger. “What were you doing? What happened?”
“King Kenton!” Philip approached them as she stepped out of her father’s embrace. “Don’t accuse her. The attack caught all of us unawares, and the fault lies on no one but our attackers.”
“How did this happen?” Kenton’s voice still burned with fury.
Arliss tossed her hair behind her shoulders. “The prisoners escaped.”
“Not escaped,” Philip corrected. “They were freed.”
“By the man in the burgundy cloak,” she finished.
Kenton quieted, forehead etched.
Ilayda had stepped out of the carriage and watched the whole conversation. Suddenly her face brightened. She stepped free of the carriage and strode toward Arliss.
Arliss smiled.
But Ilayda wasn’t heading for her.
“Brallaghan!” Ilayda called. He had also been observing the conversation. “I worried you were wounded in the fight.”
“No, not at all.” He stepped forward, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “I am glad to see you well, as well. I assume your trip was easy enough?”
Ilayda whispered so that only Brallaghan and Arliss could hear her. “The king was worried silly, but otherwise all was well.”
Arliss licked her lips. “It’s good to see you, too, Ilayda.”
“Oh…good morning, Arliss,” Ilayda stammered.
“You weren’t worried about me being wounded?”
“No, I just don’t doubt your knack with a bow. I am glad to see you, though—really.”
Arliss gave her puzzled look. “I am trying to figure out in my head: is that a compliment to my skills or a cut to Brallaghan’s?”
Behind her, Kenton cleared his throat and put his hand on her shoulder. “Arliss, Philip, please come with me. I must speak with you.”
Nodding, she turned and left both Ilayda and Brallaghan speechless.
“This attack troubles me in so many ways.” Kenton sat at the head of the table in the great hall as Arliss paced and Philip stood in the eerily empty room. Sunlight stretched across the floor from tall windows which spanned from floor to ceiling at the building’s fore.
Arliss’s footsteps echoed throughout the hall as she walked. She stopped pacing.
“Last night’s assault may be a forewarning of what is to come,” Kenton said. “If this burgundy-cloaked man is Thane’s accomplice, we have a lot to fear.”
“Aye, we do.” Arliss pressed her palms against the table’s polished wood. If she leaned close enough, she got a whiff of fish from the most recent feast. “It’s clear where he’s headed. What if he discovers some of the treasures? What if he takes them?”
“Only your grandfather knew about them,” Kenton said.
Arliss shot Philip a knowing glance. There was that one other—her long-lost, long-dead uncle. Not that he mattered anymore. Not that it had ever mattered for her to know that he had even existed.
Kenton amended his statement. “No living person knows their precise locations. How would he find it? He wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“What if Thane knows?”
“There is no possibility of that.”
“But he knew about the vault beneath the waterfall!” She dug the heels of her hands into the table. “Surely you must see my point. We have to go back—if only to stop the treasures of Reinhold from being stolen!”
Philip spoke up. “Arliss, do you want war? Is that what you’re chasing?”
“No,” she said. “I want to stop war before it even happens. And I want to find out what lies beyond us, behind us. The past is full of secrets.” She caught her father’s eye for an uncomfortably long moment.
Kenton sighed. “Did you not see all the people yesterday, watching you? That is what is at stake—your people. Your city.”
“I know that. That is why I must go back—because without our history, this could all be nothing. I know what is at stake.” She turned to Philip, her eyes softening as she released her grip on the table. “If I’m going to do this, I need you to be on my side.”
A pattering of rain darkened the high windows, and the morning sunlight quickly faded into a gray dullness that covered the hall like a blanket. Arliss folded her arms, listening to the rattle of the gentle shower as she prepared her next words.
“I will not go without your blessing, Father. But if you do not give me your blessing, I will likely drive you mad until you do.”
Kenton stood up, taking Philip’s hand in his right and Arliss’s in his left. He pulled them away from the table, releasing their hands and placing his thick palms on their shoulders. “If you can reach an agreement on this, I will bless it. If you two cannot make peace about this, however, I will have no peace either.”
Philip’s curiously colored eyes flashed. He closed them, leaning his head back. “Well, what do we need to do first?”
Arliss smiled. “We need a ship.”
Chapter Nine: Questions and Answers
ARLISS CLOSED THE DOOR OF THE GREAT HALL behind her, stepping fully out into the rainy street. Her father and Philip had refused her invitation to walk to the sea in the rain—whyever not, she couldn’t tell—so she marched towards the cliffs alone. The rain soaked her thoroughly, but she didn’t mind. She reveled in it, letting the pure wetness trickle down her back and glue her dress to her body.
There was no one on the hard-packed road, but a lone figure stood by the cliffs, staring out at the fogginess that blanketed the sea. She smiled and picked up her pace. He was the one person she wanted to see.
Lord Brédan did not notice her until she stood beside him, her arms folded as she absorbed the playful dance of the wind and rain. The lord started, his grey-bearded chin wrinkling with surprise. “Good morning, princess.”
“Just Arliss, please.” She smiled and turned her face to the sea again. “So, now we’ve both encountered this burgundy fellow face to face.”
“He said he’d already met you—the day you shot that fiery arrow. That’s the day he escaped me. I failed you, milady.”
She put a hand on his arm. The lord and his family had always been as her own—she had often roughhoused with his son Brallaghan as a child. “It wasn’t your fault. He escaped Phili
p and me as well. He…he is not like all Thane’s other warriors. He is a trained assassin.” She sucked in a deep draught of salty air. “And he has to be stopped.”
Brédan eyed her. “You’re going after him?”
“I have to. But it’s about more than that. There are ancient treasures on the Isle of Light, treasures my father has only just recently told me about.”
“That assassin spoke of treasures as well.” Something jilted in Brédan’s voice. “I didn’t know a word of what he was talking about, but I think you may be on to something, princess.”
“I hope so. Thane’s villainy must be stopped before it spreads through Reinhold again.”
“What are you going to do then?”
Arliss let her hands fall to her sides, the drenched sleeves flapping about her wrists. “I want you to build a ship for me to voyage to the Isle.”
Brédan mused over this a moment.
She added, “My father told me once that you were the one who built all the rowboats which preserved our lives when the volcano erupted. Now I need you to do it again; but this time, we are going back to the Isle.”
“As a matter of fact…” His cheeks shone as he grinned. “Well, let’s just say I’ve been working on a project along those very lines for some time now.”
Arliss lifted her eyebrows. Brédan had been constructing a ship—and hiding it? He’d been like a second father to her all her life, and she’d rarely seen this mischievous streak.
“But why—”
He waved his hand. “Just leave it to me. You will be on your voyage before two months are out.”
The rain had stopped by the time Philip emerged from the door of the great hall, and a swirling blanket of thin clouds now stretched across the sky. Drawing his cloak about himself, he strode forth into the street, dodging puddles as he walked in the direction of the cliffs. His temple still throbbed from last night’s wound.
A flash of golden hair and green fabric was walking towards him from the cliffs—rather confidently. What did Arliss have to be so brazen about now? She’d gotten her way with the king, just as he had supposed she would. But she would not so easily get what she wanted from Philip.
