The Town Square was approximately one hundred feet by one hundred feet wide, surrounded by shops. A wooden platform was situated in the middle. A man dressed in black holding an ax stood atop it. My stomach lurched. I’d never witnessed an execution before. There hadn’t been any gossip in my building and, hopefully, it was no one I knew. This was another reason my father insisted the area be avoided at all cost.
Making my way through the crowd of at least three hundred people, I searched for the man dressed in a fur-trimmed jacket, hoping he’d stand out and I’d find him before the prisoner was brought forth.
A hush descended over the crowd as the king’s personal guard—men dressed in solid black with the royal crest embroidered on their tunics—marched into the Town Square, clearing a path between the people, directly to the execution platform. A clattering sound arose as a shiny black carriage with its curtains drawn shut rode through the open area the soldats had created. When the carriage turned, the painted crest of the king, Morlet Forseve shone. Even though we lived in the capital where the king’s primary residence was located, Morlet rarely made public appearances. He spent most of his time scouring the various towns in the kingdom of Nelebek, searching for the Krigers.
The carriage pulled to a stop before the platform, and a footman opened the door. A figure dressed in a black cape that covered his head and body emerged. He glided up the stairs and spoke briefly with the executioner. I stood on my toes, trying to get a better look.
No one in the Town Square spoke.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to the man standing next to me.
“The king ordered the execution of the man who aided Kriger Henrik before he was imprisoned two seasons ago.”
Legend stated that when Morlet used dark magic and came into power, twelve warriors, known as Krigers, were born. Krigers had special abilities and magical weapons. When all twelve Krigers came together and united their powers, they would be strong enough to defeat Morlet. Papa told me that at first, Morlet hunted down and killed the Krigers. However, every time he killed one, a new one was born. The only way for him to end the Krigers was to kill all twelve at the same time, when their powers were linked, thus ending the Order of the Krigers forever.
And now, the king had eleven of the twelve imprisoned.
Although I’d never known or met a Kriger before, every night I wished I’d see the day they came together and killed the king. If Morlet was gone, surely the people of Nelebek would have a chance at a better life—one without poverty and fear.
Morlet was so desperate to capture the twelve Krigers that he cast a spell on the borders of the kingdom, one that prohibited anyone from entering or leaving Nelebek. Landlocked and with trade to the other eleven kingdoms cut off, the people of Nelebek sank deeper and deeper into poverty. Of course, we were also the only kingdom ruled by someone consumed with dark magic. The king was human—not a Heks—but he didn’t age like humans. Some said he’d been ruling Nelebek for over a century. And since he used dark magic, no one could harm him. Except for the Krigers.
A man dressed as a scribe stepped to the edge of the platform, holding a scroll. “Anyone aiding or abetting enemies of His Royal Highness will be prosecuted under the full extent of the law. The charges are as follows: Finn Flanning knowingly housed Kriger Henrik and didn’t report it to the authorities. He is hereby found guilty and sentenced to death.” The scribe stood tall and stiff.
The king sauntered to the middle of the platform. What was he doing here today? He wouldn’t attend simply for a scheduled execution. There had to be something else going on.
The scribe cleared his throat and continued. “If anyone has information regarding the twelfth and final Kriger, you are hereby ordered to report your information immediately. Otherwise, you will be subject to execution.” His hands shook, and his voice became high-pitched as he spoke. “We have reason to believe the twelfth Kriger is in the capital.”
People around me gasped in astonishment, looking at one another. There was no way to know if someone was a Kriger until he turned eighteen and his latent powers revealed themselves. Could the Kriger be here among us at this very moment?
The king glided forward and clapped his hands together, sending a boom throughout the Town Square. Cool air brushed against my skin, blowing my scarf into the air. My hair tumbled down my back. The need to get out of there became intense. Inching my way to the side, I slowly moved toward the exit, still looking for a man dressed in a fur-trimmed jacket.
“Does anyone have information on the last Kriger?” the scribe asked before rolling up his scroll.
No one spoke.
“I will find the last filthy Kriger,” the king bellowed, his voice harsh and cold. “Even if it means I have to torture every single one of you to do it.”
More soldats entered the courtyard, surrounding the crowd. They held their swords before them, ready to fight. Was the king intending to kill all of us right now? The exit was still too far away for me to make a run for it. Sweat coated my forehead, and my heart beat frantically.
The king pointed a black-gloved finger toward the crowd. A woman screamed as an invisible force ripped her toddler from her arms. The king pointed to his own feet, and the child moved through the air, landing on the ground in front of him. The toddler sat on the platform, crying for her mother. I watched, horrified at the prospect of what the king would do to the child. Morlet clapped his hands, and thunder rumbled. He rubbed his hands together and then pulled them six inches apart. A single blue flame appeared.
I wanted to rescue the child. However, I was no match for Morlet and his evil magic. All that would result would be my own death, and then who would save my father? I bit my lip, trying to keep my anger and fear hidden, instead of doing something I’d regret.
As Morlet spread his arms wider, the flame grew. His hands extended toward the toddler. “Does anyone have information regarding the twelfth Kriger?” Morlet asked, his voice dark and menacing.
The child’s mother ran to the platform. A soldat standing on top of a nearby building released an arrow, hitting her thigh. She screamed and fell to the ground, clutching her leg. Everyone stood frozen, afraid to move and be shot.
“Anyone?” Morlet asked again. The flame fluttered above the child’s head while she cried. The child tried crawling to her mother, but was unable to do so because of the magical force holding her in place. The mother dug her nails into the cobblestones, dragging herself forward. A soldat ran over and put his foot on her back, preventing her from going anywhere.
Anger filled my body. My hands tingled, and a rush of heat coursed through me. The sudden desire to kill the king in order to protect the child overwhelmed me. Against my better judgment, I stared at Morlet, wanting to see the monster hiding under the black cape. His head jerked back, and the flame disappeared. It felt as if something extended from my core to his, and I couldn’t look away from him. A single beam of sunlight broke through the thick clouds, shining on the face formerly hooded underneath.
To my great shock, the king was a young man around twenty, with an appealing face, strong jawline, and short, dark hair. His penetrating blue eyes met mine. He cocked his head, studying me. As he waved his hand in an arc, a blast of heat hit me. I cried out and fell to my knees—our eyes still locked on each other.
Was the king using his dark magic on me? My arms and legs shook. I couldn’t stand or tear my eyes away from Morlet’s.
The word Kriger formed in my head, gently, like a soft whisper of smoke curling around a branch.
Kriger. This time louder, more forceful, almost accusing.
My palms tingled. Something swelled in them below the surface. What was happening? A hand clamped down on my arm, and I was finally able to break eye contact with the king.
“Look at me and focus,” a gruff voice whispered. I glanced at the man holding me. “We don’t have much time.” He released my arm. “Can you touch this?” He pulled out a silver nec
klace from under his shirt. A large, round medallion dangled from it.
I hesitated, since I had no idea who this man was or why he was helping me. “Unless you want to be arrested, do as I say.”
“Move!” Morlet roared. He descended from the platform and made his way toward me.
I reached out and touched the medallion. The man cursed.
“Where did she go?” the king shouted frantically, unable to see me through the dense crowd.
“Morlet is coming for you.” The man slipped off his large, fur-trimmed jacket and handed it to me. “Put this on.”
I shoved my arms into the warm coat, realizing this was the man I was looking for. Pulling out the black jar, I handed it to him.
He rocked back on his heels, startled, but quickly put the bottle in his pocket. “I have to get you out of here,” he said, his brown eyes intense.
The apothecary had said this man was dangerous and that I shouldn’t speak or look at him. I quickly averted my eyes to the ground. Yet, something in my gut urged me to trust the assassin.
“Rise to your feet very slowly,” he instructed.
I got up, and he moved in front of me, his large frame blocking me from the king’s line of sight. The assassin was a good foot taller than I was. He appeared to be around eighteen, but there was something about his demeanor—the way he stood, the intensity in his brown eyes—that indicated he’d been around much longer. Unlike most men, his brown hair was shorn close to his head, and he had the muscular build of a man from the King’s Army instead of the scrawny, malnourished body of a commoner.
“Can you ride a horse?” he asked in a low voice.
“No.” I’d never even been near a farm of any sort.
He cursed. “Are you a fast runner?” His eyes darted around the Town Square.
“Sort of.” Panic engulfed me. I couldn’t afford to be captured by the king. Papa needed me.
“Take my hand. Whatever you do, don’t let go. Understand?” I nodded, and his fingers curled around mine. He dropped his free arm to his side, and a long dagger slid out from his sleeve. Lifting his arm, he threw the dagger behind me. It embedded in a soldat’s chest.
“Run,” the assassin commanded, “straight to the tailor’s store.”
Morlet, once again hidden under his cape, pointed a finger at me as he’d done to the child. I stayed rooted in place. He began walking my direction, tossing people out of his way as he shouted at his men to capture me.
The assassin pulled me forward, and we sprinted for the store located twenty feet away. Screams echoed through the Town Square, and chaos erupted. People ran every which way. The soldats advanced on us. We bumped into several citizens as we headed for the door with a Closed sign hanging on it. Without stopping, I grabbed the handle and threw the door open, relieved it wasn’t locked.
He shoved me inside and slammed the door shut behind us, holding it closed with his body. “Move that piece of furniture over here,” he yelled, pointing to a table in the room. “Hurry, before they break the door in.”
Squinting in the dim light, I found a large table covered with fabric swatches. I shoved it toward the entrance and turned the table on its side. The assassin thrust it against the door, holding it in place.
“Hurry and get two wooden dowels.”
Soldats pounded on the other side of the door. The assassin’s face reddened from straining to hold it closed. I grabbed the dowels. Handing one to him, I put the other one on the ground and then angled it toward the table, wedging it in place. Once it was sturdy, I did the same with the other dowel.
“Now lift up the rug in the corner,” he demanded, still leaning his body against the table.
I followed the man’s line of sight and ran to the corner, then pulled up the edge of the area rug, revealing a small, rectangular door.
“Open it and get inside.”
As I lifted the wooden door, the assassin slowly released the table, ensuring the dowels held it in place. He ran to the back of the store and broke a window. Was he leaving me?
Shouts came from the front of the shop. The table and dowels shook as soldats banged against the door. I lowered my feet into the black hole and dropped onto the ground. The assassin came into view above me. He lowered himself, reached out and flipped the rug on top of the door, and then finished closing it all the way. I heard metal clang and then the sound of a bolt sliding into place.
Darkness swallowed us. A hand clamped over my mouth, and the assassin held me against his body. I yelped, but the sound was muffled by his hand. “Don’t speak,” he whispered. “They’ll be inside any minute. They have to believe we left out the back window.”
Realizing he wasn’t going to hurt me, I nodded, and he released me.
There was a rustling sound, and the assassin lit a small fire. He raised the flint to the torch hanging on the wall. Once it took, he grabbed the torch and motioned for me to follow him. We headed down a long, dark tunnel, dirt crunching under our boots. After about thirty feet, he turned to face me. “We need to put as much distance between them and us as possible.”
He started running, and I took off after him. Our elongated shadows bounced on the walls as we sprinted. The heavy, fur-trimmed jacket weighed me down. After ten minutes, my legs ached and my lungs burned. Unable to run another step, I stopped and bent over, heaving deep breaths.
The man jogged back to me. “The exit is near.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me down the tunnel.
Thinking only of getting to my father, I forced my legs to move. Not only did Papa desperately need his medicine, but if someone from the Town Square managed to identify me, soldats could go to my home. My father would be taken to prison and tortured. I needed to get to him before they did.
We finally arrived at a dead end. “There’s a ladder,” the man whispered. “I’ll go first to make sure the exit is clear. If it is, I’ll wave you up.”
He handed me the torch and swiftly scaled the ladder, not making a sound. Once he was at the top, a crack of light pierced the darkness. Opening the door in the ceiling farther, the assassin exited, closing it behind him.
Standing there, holding an almost-burned-out torch, I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into.
Chapter Two
The last of the torch burned out, and complete darkness engulfed me. Neither voices nor the sound of commotion came from above. Throwing the useless torch on the ground, I felt around for the ladder. When my hands came across the rungs, I grabbed on and climbed up until my head hit a wooden door.
It flew halfway open, and two startled, brown eyes were right in front of me. “What are you doing?” the assassin asked. “I told you I’d wave you up when it was clear.”
“I got tired of waiting.”
He threw the door the rest of the way open, and I climbed out into a small, dimly lit room. Three older men wearing mining uniforms stood staring at me.
I wanted to ask where we were, but decided to keep my mouth shut. Did these men intend to harm me? Would they take me to Morlet for a reward?
“Are you certain?” one of them asked, squinting at me as if I were an insect.
The assassin nodded. “She can touch the medallion.”
“And only Krigers can do that?”
“Krigers or those cursed by a Heks,” the assassin answered. “Regardless, I’ll take her to him for confirmation.”
“I don’t understand,” another said. “She’s a girl. And tiny. Just look at your coat—it’s so long that it hangs past her knees. There’s no way she’s a warrior.”
Sliding off the jacket, I tossed it on the ground. These men didn’t appear to be adversaries—but that didn’t mean I had to stand there and listen to them insult me. Crossing my arms, I asked, “Who are you, and why did you bring me here?”
The three men looked to the assassin. “I’ll explain everything later,” he said. “For now, we need to get to a safe location. Morlet is searching for you.”
/> “Am I a Kriger?” It didn’t seem possible—I was a girl and only sixteen. Krigers were men who didn’t come into their powers until the age of eighteen. Yet, when the word was whispered in my head, something inside of me had responded.
No one spoke. I didn’t have time for this. “I need to get to the apothecary’s. He has my father’s medicine.” When I turned to leave, the assassin blocked my path. “Get out of my way.”
“You have to come with me,” he insisted.
“I don’t have to do anything.”
“You don’t understand the enormity of your situation,” he whispered. “Morlet knows you’re the twelfth Kriger.”
Cold fear gushed through me. If the king believed I was a Kriger, he’d stop at nothing to capture me. My hands tingled, and I curled my fingers, making two fists. “My father needs me.”
A scratching noise came from a narrow door I hadn’t noticed before. One of the men went over, opened it a crack, and briefly spoke to someone on the other side. After he closed it, he turned and gravely said, “The soldats are already here.”
“Where is your father now?” The assassin clutched my arm.
“He’s at home.” How was I supposed to make my way to the apothecary’s and then to the apartment when not only was curfew going into effect at any minute, but the army was now after me? I turned and kicked the wall. This was an impossible situation.
Grabbing my hair, I twisted it over my right shoulder, trying to think of how to accomplish everything. There had to be a way. My hands started shaking, and my stomach churned. The horror of today’s events took its toll on me.
“The apothecary you made the delivery for, does he have your father’s medicine?” the assassin asked. He pulled my hands from my hair, forcing me to focus on him.
“Yes.”
“I know the apothecary you speak of,” one of the men said. “I will go and get the medicine for your father.”
Rise Page 2
