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Rafa, Bristol, the two other Administrators, and two Knights of the Order walked off the grounds of the Academy and entered Jewlian Castle. The guards let them pass easily enough, and why should they not? The Sorcerers were the King’s most trusted advisors and had always been above reproach. Rafa’s group was also admitted to the inner keep without any questions asked. If their luck held, this was going to be even easier than Rafa had anticipated.
Rafa took the lead as he emerged from the hall that led to the King’s anteroom and the throne room beyond. The anteroom was one hundred feet square with stone walls, marble columns, and marble flooring; it was well-decorated with tapestries, paintings, and furniture, but it was nothing compared to the King’s private chambers and throne room. At the far side of the room were the ten-foot-tall oak doors leading into the throne room itself, guarded by four of the King’s personal bodyguards. Off to the left and right were hallways that led to side entrances to the throne room as well as the King’s private residence. Rafa knew from experience that the side doors to the throne room were guarded by one bodyguard apiece, and farther down the hallway were more than a dozen guards constantly patrolling the royal residence.
Rafa strolled confidently forward, as he always did. And why not? They were all friends here. He stopped to present himself to the Door Master, as required.
The Door Master said, “High Wizard Rafa? What are you doing here so late, and why have you brought so many Sorcerers with you?”
“His Majesty sent word that I should come immediately and bring several of my comrades with me to discuss a special mission.”
The soldier thought about his statement for a moment. The other three bodyguards at the door were more junior and might have stood aside because of his title and presence, but the Door Master was always at least a captain, sufficient rank that he would not neglect his duty.
The soldier said, “The King left orders with us that he was not to be disturbed until morning.”
Rafa stood as tall as he could and flattened his robe in an imitation of annoyance. “Well the King gave orders that I was to come immediately. Now let me pass.”
The soldier thought about it some more, still not at all on his guard. He quickly came to a compromise. “You will come with me into the throne room and ask his Majesty for an audience, but the rest of your party will have to wait here. If the King gives his consent, I will allow everyone else to enter.”
Rafa looked to the left and then the right. This was not going as ideally as he would have liked, but it was still going according to the plan. He tried one more time. “What is your name, soldier?”
The Door Master was still not on his guard, but he was aware that his authority was being verbally challenged. The guard stood up tall and replied proudly, “I will gladly give you my name and unit later, but for now the other five members of your party will have to wait at the door. Do you understand?”
Oh, I understand better than you think, you self-righteous bastard. Rafa said, “Hmm, I understand. You are just doing your duty.”
The guard bowed his head, happy to have reached an understanding. “Exactly.”
“Lead the way, Door Master.” The Door Master turned around and motioned toward one of his guards to open the door.
While his back was turned, Rafa and the three other Administrators each began casting a spell. All four guards turned in surprise. Two of them even drew their swords before the spells resolved. Three of the bodyguards disappeared in a magical blur, imprisoned temporarily in a maze far below the ground. One of the Knights of the Order rushed toward the fourth guard with his dagger in hand. The fourth guard finished drawing his sword and yelled, “Damn you …” before he was silenced with a dagger through his chest, shredding his lungs.
Rafa took in the scene at a glance and saw nothing amiss. The violence was horrifying and the results unthinkable, but they had gone over the plan so many times that no one hesitated. Rafa turned toward the two Knights and motioned with his hands, saying, “Go.” Each Knight went to his respective corner that led down the hallway to the left and right. Rafa looked on with a grin as they both turned the corners simultaneously, off to their next task.
Rafa turned around to face the large oak doors and let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding. He glanced behind him to make sure his three co-conspirators were with him and then he said two arcane words and thrust his fists forward. The oak doors leading into the throne room exploded inward, nearly coming off their hinges with the force of his Flying Fists spell.
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Mestel and Austen rematerialized in a long hallway lined on all sides with royal tapestries and stone. Having been raised in the elven capital of Bethel, Mestel found the surrounding stone walls confining and cold. He shook his head and refocused his foggy mind on what he was doing and why he was here. “Do you know where we are?”
Having been in the castle many times in his youth, Austen responded, “Yes, we are in the long hallway leading to the anteroom directly outside of the throne room.”
As Mestel wondered which direction led to the throne room, he heard several voices speaking in the language of the arcane. Mestel turned in the direction of the sound when he was literally hit in the face with a blast of wind. The wind spoke to him of imprisonment beneath the earth. Mestel turned around as the wind departed, half expecting to see demon hands grabbing at his ankles, trying to drag him into the Underworld. Powerful magic was being cast up ahead. Screams filled the air, and magic shook the stones as men suffered and died. Austen moved down the hallway, with Mestel close behind, dashing to save his king. Mestel unslung his bow, nocked an arrow, and cursed under his breath as he moved to keep pace with Austen.
Another spell permeated the air as Mestel recognized Rafa’s voice from earlier that day. Some of the puzzle pieces fell into place as he realized what his intuition had been telling him about Rafa. He knew Rafa was evil and that he did not belong, but he had not known why. Now it was obvious that he had been in the final stages of planning to assassinate his lawful king. Mestel heard what sounded like a large fist bang against a thick wooden door.
Mestel and Austen ran stealthily down the hall. As Mestel approached the opening to the anteroom, he saw four men in long robes walk through the ceremonial entrance into the throne room. Mestel ran up to the edge of the room and pulled his bowstring back to his ear, ready to shoot. Just as he was about to let loose the arrow, he noticed a faint movement out of the corner of his eye. He loosened the bowstring and looked intently to the left. A man with a longsword passed out of view as he went down the corridor to the left. Where was the man going with weapon in hand? What was his purpose? Mestel could not say, since he did not know where the passage led.
Mestel said, “Did you see the swordsman go down the hall to the left?”
Austen whispered back, “I saw something moving off to the left, but I do not know what.”
Mestel pointed and said, “He went around the corner and out of view.”
“The King’s apartments are back that way, along with a side entrance to the throne room.”
That was all that needed saying. It was obvious to both of them what needed to happen next. Mestel said, “You go to the left, and I will go through the main door. We’ll meet in the middle.”
Austen nodded in agreement. Man and elf moved quickly out into the anteroom. The room was large and took some time to cross. Mestel watched Austen go around the corner to the left then turned his attention completely toward the four wizards advancing on the King of Kentar.
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Rafa blew the doors open and waited a moment for Bristol to join him at his side. Two of the most powerful wizards in Tellus walked into the throne room together.
Rafa had timed his Flying Fist spell to coincide with the moment he felt the two bodyguards on the other side of the door would come forward to inve
stigate the screams of their comrades. As it happened, fate was with him once again. The doors had opened so suddenly, and with such momentum, that they had knocked the two guards backward and off their feet. The guards were well-trained and quickly scrambled to stand. Rafa and Bristol walked briskly forward side by side. They reached the guards just as they regained their feet and drew their swords. Each of the Sorcerers pulled a dagger confidently from his robes and stabbed a guard with magically enhanced strength, plunging the steel through the guards’ breastplates to deliver a lethal blow. Both men withdrew their weapons and continued forward as the guards fell dead to the ground.
As Rafa and Bristol sheathed their weapons, Kyle and Flint came up on either side of them and raised an arm. The two guards at the foot of the throne rushed the wizards with swords drawn. A series of five energy bolts left each raised hand and rushed toward the brave bodyguards who were willing to die for their king. And die they did, for each of the guards was struck with multiple bolts and flung backward onto the floor, where they either died or lay unconscious. The guard at the door to the right of the throne was rushing forward as well, until he saw the fate of his two comrades. Not being completely stupid, the guard flew down the steps and took refuge behind the marble pillar nearest the throne. The guard at the door on the left seemed horror-stricken at what was happening and moved to retreat. He grasped the door he was supposed to be guarding and flung it open. He ran out into the hallway as though the Seker himself were after him. The frightened guard shut the door behind him and was heard no more.
King Benjin rose to his feet and drew his largely ceremonial short sword. “Traitors! What is the matter with all of you? Guards! Guards!”
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Austen bent down to pick up a small stone. He cast a Silence spell on it so he could move quickly without making any undue noise. He put the stone in his pocket and rounded the corner leading to the King’s private chambers. The corridor was modestly lit, allowing for some shadows, but also allowing him to see the entire length of the hall.
It felt odd to be walking the corridors of the castle again, or running through them as the case may be. It had been a full twenty-five years since he had been inside these stout walls. His years as a Sorcerer had been the happiest of his life. He was more fulfilled at Wessex, being the only wizard within a six-day ride, and he could never forget that he was the guardian of the portal. Still, responsibility and importance did not necessarily mean happiness. Running down the hallway he knew so well, he longed for the simpler times when he belonged to something larger than himself. A time when Rafa had been his best friend, not a selfish murderer who had left him twisting in the wind.
Up ahead Austen could see, as well as hear, a Knight of the Order exchanging blows with one of the King’s bodyguards. The Knight’s back was turned away from him, and the bodyguard was too busy defending himself to notice Austen’s approach. It was obvious what he had to do, though he was reluctant to do it. No! Just because the Sorcerers turned their back on me does not mean I can turn my back on Kentar. I will save my King or die trying.
Austen ran down the corridor toward the fighting soldiers. In the time it took him to run the corridor, the Knight parried a blow, moved inside the range of the bodyguard’s sword, struck the guard in the chest with an elbow, and swept his legs out from under him. No sooner had the bodyguard hit the stone floor than the Knight quickly changed the grip on his sword, raised the weapon high, and plunged it through his foe with such force that the sword made a sharp spark against the stone floor.
Austen ran up behind the Knight as he rose from his knees to his full height. He drew his newly minted magical dagger from his belt and drove it into the back of the assassin. The Knight was taken completely unaware. His back arched in unrestrained agony and he turned around to face his attacker. He mouthed a few words that Austen could not understand since no sound emerged from his lips. The Knight raised his blade as best he could and made a slow overhead chop at Austen’s shoulders. Austen was not the best swordsman in Tellus, but he saw the move coming and managed to get out of the way. The swing missed harmlessly and ricocheted off the floor. The Knight took one step toward the door and managed to reach out his hand before his strength left him and he collapsed to the floor.
Austen left the traitor where he fell and moved over to the door. Not needing to remain silent any longer, Austen took the small stone out of his pocket and flung it down the hallway. He quickly cast a spell of protection on himself and reached for the door handle. Austen was surprised when the door handle twisted on its own and flung open.
Austen did not have time to do anything except put his dagger up in a defensive stance.
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The King rose to his feet and yelled, “Guards! Guards!”
Rafa spoke crisply and defiantly. “No one can hear you, Wrath. We made certain of that.” The four Sorcerers continued walking forward without interruption.
“What is the meaning of this, Rafa? Bristol? You are Sorcerers. My most trusted aides.”
Rather than answer, Rafa brought his left hand up in a fist with only his index finger extended. He mouthed a quick word and a single energy bolt leapt forward at his command and struck the King, his lawful liege. The King fell backward into his chair and gripped his chest in pain.
Rafa said, “You talk too much. Always have. Do not be concerned, the King’s rightful son will inherit the kingdom.”
A look of rage and pure determination passed over the King as Rafa and the other three Sorcerers stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to the throne. King Benjin rose defiantly to his feet and dared the ones he trusted most to perform their final act of betrayal.
“You will not live through this treachery. Even if I die, the Sorcerers will be destroyed for this vile betrayal.”
Rafa looked to his left and right, and saw that his brothers’ resolve was still strong. He bowed low and looked at his King. “Die, Wrath. Go back to the hell from whence you came.” He raised his arm in the air with his fingers extended. He saw his brothers do the same.
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By the time Mestel peeked around the oak doors separating the waiting room from the throne room, the four Sorcerers were nearly two-thirds of the way down the hundred-foot entryway. That gave him mere moments to assess his situation and figure out how to stop four of the most powerful wizards in Tellus from abusing their power and wrongfully killing the King of Kentar. Mestel searched the room for help, but all of the King’s bodyguards were lying on the floor, dead. Even from behind, he recognized which of the wizards was Rafa. He also thought the other wizard in the middle was the Administrator Bristol, who had deceived them when they first arrived at the Academy. At this range he could shoot his arrows and probably kill one, or possibly two of the assailants, but the rest would be able to kill the King before he could do anything to stop them.
With his mind made up, Mestel moved into the throne room just quickly enough so that his weapons did not bang against his armor and his feet did not echo on the marble floor. He moved behind the nearest pillar on the left side of the causeway. He looked out from behind the five-foot-thick pillar and saw the wizards had made it to the foot of the steps leading up to the throne. They were a good two hundred feet away by now, with pillars placed evenly every thirty feet.
Mestel moved to the left side of the pillar and ran quickly down the length of the throne room, using the massive pillars to obscure his movements from the Sorcerers bearing down on the King. He passed one pillar and finally stopped at the third pillar. He peered around the massive marble structure and heard the wizards still talking to the King. Mestel had one more pillar to traverse before he would be standing right behind the traitors. He was about to move on to the next gargantuan marble column when it sounded as if he had run out of time.
As Mestel hid behind the pillar he distinctly heard Rafa say, “You talk too much. Always have
. Do not be concerned, the King’s rightful son will inherit the kingdom.”
The time for action had arrived. Mestel edged around the pillar and readied his bow, supremely confident. He pulled the nocked arrow back to his ear and took aim. He desperately wanted to kill Rafa with his first shot, but looking out over the throne room he saw that wish was not an option. Rafa had moved a few feet ahead of the other three Sorcerers and was nearly blocked from view by Bristol, who stood a few feet back and to the left.
The confrontation with the King continued. Rafa looked up at the King and said, “Die, Wrath. Go back to the hell from whence you came.” As Rafa raised his hand against the King, Mestel let his arrow fly. The arrow flew straight and true and dug deep into Bristol’s heart through the back. The arrow made a sickening thud as it pierced Bristol’s flesh. The other three wizards hesitated for a moment in order to process what had just happened. They all looked at Bristol and then back in the direction the arrow must have come. Mestel pulled a second arrow from his quiver and nocked it against the bow. As he locked the bow into shooting position, chaos erupted as everyone moved to escape the new threat. Mestel heard Rafa blurt out a single arcane word calling for a defense against arrows. The Sorcerer on the far left sprinted for the left-hand pillar closest to him. The Sorcerer on the far right moved instinctively toward the right-hand pillar closest to him. The sole remaining bodyguard who had taken refuge behind the same pillar advanced toward the retreating Sorcerer and swung his longsword with all of his might, but these Sorcerers were the best in the world. The Sorcerer stood his ground, deflecting the longsword with one of the steel bracers on his forearms. At the same time, he blocked the sword, the Sorcerer raised his other hand and instantly covered the bodyguard in flames so strong that it blew him backward onto the floor, where he convulsed in agony as his flesh burned.
Do the Gods Give Us Hope? Page 40
