The Edict (The She Trilogy Book 1)

by P. J. Keyworth

  He reached the house, shifting and running up the stairs, ignoring the twins at the door. Zeb just held out his free hand. They had played these roles before, but this time the stakes were higher. She was paler than Trevisian had ever seen her, but she was awake. He went straight to her, looking into her open blue eyes.

  “She can’t see you.”

  Trevisian looked to him and then back at Kiara.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean she can’t see you.” Zeb was pulling herbs and bandages from his bag. He drew out a book, opening the pages which were scrawled in a language Trevisian had never seen before. The elf’s eyes were rapidly scanning the words but, as if feeling a sudden wave of compassion, he spoke as he read. “The dagger was cursed with dark spirits. She was chosen by the Great Spirit long ago, but the evil spirits with which the dagger was cursed are fighting for her body. If I heal the physical wound, there is a chance she can fight the spiritual battle.”

  “And if she can’t?”

  Zeb ground leaves in a mortar, peeling back Johan’s bloodied shirt and showering the contents over the wound. “Don’t ask me questions I can’t answer.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, raising his hands palm downwards over the wound. Trevisian could hear him muttering something, his lips making almost imperceptible movements.

  He looked back to his wife’s eyes. The blue seemed veiled by darkness, something she couldn’t see through. As Zeb continued, her movements became more distressed and soon she was thrashing on the wooden surface.

  “Hold her,” commanded Zeb.

  Trevisian was already taking hold of her arms. He didn’t want to hurt her but the power she was exerting was immense, far more than she should have in her current state. He pinned her down, the back of his eyes pricking as he saw the pain in her face. What if he lost her?

  It went on, her struggling and Zeb whispering. As Trevisian grew tired, Kiara seemed to increase in strength. Then just as suddenly, she stopped. Zeb’s hands jerked away and he lowered his cheek to just above her mouth. No breath.

  “Get away from her,” Trevisian thrust his heavy arm against the elf, sending him reeling backwards. He turned back to Kiara, pinching her nose, his mouth descending on hers. He pushed his breath into her lungs.

  “Don’t die.”

  He breathed another lungful into her, watching her chest rise.

  “Don’t you dare die!” he shouted, he pushed another breath into her. Still nothing. He looked in her eyes. They were dead. Her body wasn’t moving. Her chest wasn’t rising. Her skin was too pale.

  “No, no, no…” he began, his voice raising in an urgency that paid no heed to enemy soldiers or the battle outside. “No!” he shouted, his voice cracking and hoarse, the cry coming from a place so deep within him he thought he broke with the sound. He raised his fist and dropped it in one hard pound upon her chest, the sound followed by a cracking.

  “Wake up,” the cries became softer, heavy tears filled his dark eyes as he looked on to the bloodied and muddied face. “Breathe and wake up, my love.” He cupped her cheek.

  All of a sudden her body violently contracted and then, rolling sideways, raising the wound from the table, she sucked in air, emitting a deep groan.

  “Zeb,” he called to the one he had thrown against a wall just a few moments ago. “Zeb.”

  “I must clean and bind the wound,” said the elf, as if she hadn’t just died and come back to life.

  Trevisian stepped back in submission.

  “They almost won for a moment,” said the elf in response to the unasked question. “But she’s fighting.”

  “What does that mean for her?”

  “We won’t know until later. Calm her.”

  Trevisian did as he was bid, returning his hand to her cheek, kneeling beside the makeshift table until his face was level with hers. He kissed her cheek.

  “You’re alive,” he murmured.

  She didn’t reply, she just looked at him, her eyes clearer than they were, but something still lurking there. She made to speak but he stopped her, wiping the tears of pain from the tracks they made across her nose and cheek.

  “Wait until Zeb has dressed your wound.”

  “Trevisian,” Johan was at the door. “The enemy forces have advanced, it’s only a matter of time until they reach the meeting hall.”

  “I’m staying here. Take Fidel and the twins and go.”

  “There’s nothing more you can do here. Go.”

  Trevisian’s eyes were dark when they turned on the elf. “I’m staying.”

  Zeb shrugged without bothering to return the glare. He carried on his ministrations and Trevisian carried on murmuring to his wife. Johan didn’t wait. There was another battle to be won.

  Chapter 30

  “We’ve lost the southern section of the city.”

  Ikara received Captain Hendra’s news in an abandoned market square in the midst of the city’s winding streets. Several bands of rebel contingents had converged here ready to meet the enemy again.

  “We’re not far from the meeting hall. The King should be back by now.” Hendra looked in vain for the missing ruler.

  “He went to find his wife. We can’t rely on him.” She wondered where Fidel was. Was he dead? She had not admitted it out loud, but she had not recommissioned him for this very reason, and he’d disobeyed and fought anyway. He could be wounded somewhere and she wouldn’t know. “How many other contingents are still fighting?”

  “Without the twins, we’re relying on relay runners to reconnoitre the streets. They say at least fifteen contingents are still active and mostly whole.”

  “We’re still losing men, even if it’s not as quickly as Garesh.” The enemy Reluwyn had superior numbers. It was how they’d win. They could keep throwing men at the rebels until the rebels were killed, no matter the cost to their forces.

  “We can’t let them get to the meeting hall. Use the relay runners to pull back the contingents to the street before the meeting hall. We must amass and meet them together if we’re to have any chance. They can’t be allowed to get to the hall and soon they’ll be slipping through no matter how well we know these streets.”

  Hendra nodded and passed on instructions to several men behind him who were covered in sweat and panting. The Laowyn Captain looked no better Ikara noticed. Her look was enough to provoke a response.

  “I’m not as young as I once was, Commander, but I’ve no intention of lying down just yet.”

  She replied with a grim smile and then hefted her sword back into her hand. “Move out!” she gave the order.

  They met no enemy forces on their retreat to the meeting hall - a good sign.

  “Form lines. Square!” yelled Hendra, his sword raised to signal the command.

  Ikara faced downhill to where the enemy would appear. The street had high walls on either side forming the heart of the city, the hardest area for an enemy to penetrate. Along with the other contingents filtering into the street came Fidel.

  He ran alongside Johan, the twins up ahead of them. They took up their stations in the space she had meant to leave between herself at the front and her soldiers.

  Fidel was alive.

  “Good to see you, Commander.” Calev drew one of his long daggers up in a mock salute against his head. She didn’t react.

  “Aye! Always nice to see you survived without our expertise – a miracle!” Jaik grinned.

  “Insubordination in these extremes would earn you a flogging within the Radichi forces, boy.”

  “The giant speaks.” Jaik stared up at Johan mockingly.

  “Shhh! You’ll make him mad.”

  “He’s already mad,” replied Johan, the corners of his mouth twitching. He was beginning to like these identical warriors.

  “Like little boys. How can you fight with such grace and talk with such crudity?” asked Fidel.

  The sound of his voice sent shivers down Ikara’s back.

  “This may be our last stand
, little boys,” said Johan.

  “I’m twenty-seven,” replied one of them

  “As am I.”

  The twins puffed their chests out and found their formation line again.

  Ikara could hear Hendra barking orders to each section of men as he came down the line to join her. He stopped before the final contingent. “You were the last to arrive. How long do we have?”

  “They were minutes behind us.” Fidel answered.

  “Where’s the King?”

  “Kiara fell. There was an assassin.”

  Ikara’s ears were attentive to every word.

  “Zeb and the King are attempting to heal her.”

  “Will they be found?”

  “It depends. Garesh is sure of a victory, he’s trying to make it straight to the heart of the city so there’s a chance they will go undetected.”

  Hendra returned to his position beside Ikara. She straightened her shoulders. This was it.

  It made her jump, the hand that was suddenly placed on her arm, but she knew it was him. She didn’t shake it off, but let it rest there. Everything they had argued about seemed so inconsequential in the face of death. The fingers tightened for a brief moment and then the hand was gone.

  She took in a breath.

  “For the Laowyn! For the loyal Reluwyn! For the King!” As she shouted, she raised her sword, its point piercing the air above her and the remaining Shifters made their transformations. She heard a clattering of hooves, much closer than the footsteps of the enemy. Garesh?

  Then they saw him, the black horse without rider or saddle who moved rapidly up the street. A cheer broke out from those in hiding as they looked over the meeting hall doors, yelling and crying, waving their arms. Ikara watched the horse suddenly shrink and become upright, its face drawing in.

  “My Lord King,” she inclined her head.

  “Commander.”

  He walked past her and placed a hand on the Radichi’s shoulder.

  “My place is with my people.”

  Johan nodded.

  The King then turned and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the Commander.

  “I don’t suppose you have a sword free?”

  She couldn’t help but let the corner of her mouth curve upwards. “My Lord King.” She handed him her second sword. “Be careful with her.”

  He nodded, drawing himself up fully.

  “Let us send them all to the Spirit Realm.”

  “Let us,” she agreed.

  They were all tired, but the sight of their King rallied them as nothing else could. A great war cry was rising among the ranks as the enemy appeared in front of them.

  Garesh was behind the first three lines, his eyes flashing over his enemies with something akin to insane greed. Whatever he was shouting was drowned out by the rebels’ yells.

  “On second thought.” The King pushed the sword back into Ikara’s free hand.

  All she could do was watch. This time his fur was sleek, his form more compact, the head square - and the yowl he let out was pure wildcat. He sprang forwards into the enemy’s front line, ignoring the blades that caught at his flanks.

  Ikara was mesmerised for only a moment, and then raised her sword.

  “Forwards!”

  “He’s going for Garesh!” called Johan from behind her.

  “To the King!” shouted Fidel.

  The front line converged around the back of the King as he slashed and clawed his way through the two enemy front lines - just a little way further and he would have clear access to the head of the enemy army.

  Garesh saw it too. Ikara twisted to avoid a blow, moving forwards with a couple of elegant slashes which sent two soldiers to their deaths. She looked up, seeing the High Councillor desperately trying to turn his horse, regardless of his own troops beneath his hooves.

  “Stop him!” she shouted, hearing the crack of metal on metal so close it made her ears ring. She turned and saw Fidel deflecting a sword from where her head had just been.

  She smiled quickly. He put a hand to her arm and she grasped it with her hand, then turned to strike out at another line of advancing troops. The King was almost upon Garesh and the rebel lines were advancing behind her. Fidel parried an attack from the left. Cries from the wildcat rent the air.

  “Ikara!”

  Fidel ran past her, taking the full force of a blow in her blind spot that would have met with her exposed side. He fell forwards with a grunt, the enemy’s blade rammed between the bottom of his breastplate and the top of his armoured belt.

  She screamed, lunging forwards and slicing indiscriminately.

  “To the Commander!” Hendra’s command sounded far away. She was already turning away from the battle line to where her saviour knelt in a slump.

  “Fidel!” She threw her sword down, oblivious to the rebel soldiers who closed ranks around them. Her long-fingered hands reached out, trying to hold him up as his heavy form fell back on the street. Blood ran from his mouth. She reached across his armour, pulling futilely at the straps, trying to release him as she shook with great racking sobs.

  Everything around her faded. She heard no sound of the wildcat King as he took down the leader of the enemy; she didn’t see the King shift back; she heard nothing of the surrender, as the enemy raised their swords in horizontal lines to be taken by the rebels; she was deaf to the cries of joy that filled the streets. It was all as nothing.

  “Commander.” Hendra’s call was far away.

  “Get off! Get off!” Ikara screamed, frenzied. “I loved you Fidel.” She reached forwards again, her arms slinging themselves over his still shoulders, burying her head next to the one who no longer looked up, touching his hair, stroking his cheek. “I love you, you can’t leave me, I love you. I said it, I love you. You have to come back to me, I told you I love you.” Her face tightened, pulling together in painful creases. The ache in her chest rose to her throat, her eyes filling with more tears, tears of loss, tears of grief. No, this can’t have happened. He can’t be gone. He was always there. “You can’t leave me.” She collapsed, her body broken with the loss.

  Hendra’s hands came around her shoulder. “Let him be laid out, Commander.”

  “Ikara. He called me Ikara.” She obeyed the hands that pulled her backwards. She watched the Radichi take Fidel’s shoulders and pull until he lay on the street with the other fallen. His legs were pulled straight and they drew the sword from his abdomen.

  Johan’s face was heavy with grief, though Ikara did not see it, she saw nothing but Fidel. She felt the heavy hand of the Radichi upon her shoulder. “He was a great warrior.” He walked away.

  “He isn’t gone.” She rocked on her knees. “He isn’t gone.” She scrambled towards him, and Hendra let her. She laid herself down beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, remaining there for a long time.

  “You’ve done an excellent job, Johan of the Radichi,” said Zephenesh, his hand coming out from his sleeve and stretching out to take in the encampment of the surrendered Reluwyn soldiers.

  “Thank you, Elder Zephenesh.” He bowed, the long strands of knotted hair falling over his shoulders.

  “The King tells me that you will not be with us for much longer?”

  “I will help him to stabilise Emril city, and then my path lies south.”

  “To your homeland?”

  Johan nodded, a small smile creeping across his face.

  Zephenesh smiled too.“We have averted a crisis.”

  “Zephenesh,” Hendra came up to them from the direction of Ishtalia’s open gates. “You are needed by the Elders.”

  “Are the people already causing trouble?” asked Zephenesh, a rueful look taking over his face. “They are saved by the Great Spirit from death just yesterday and already they complain.”

  Hendra shrugged, his old shoulders weary in their armour, but his face seemed more relaxed than it had in days. “Some wish to stay, some wish to go.”

  It wasn’t surprising - the Laowyn were in
their old capital again, and many would not want to leave. The elves and rebel Reluwyn, along with the Alakvalto, were unlikely to want to stay.

  Zephenesh sighed, tucking his hands in the opposite sleeves of his tunic and following Hendra out. “What does the King say on the matter?”

  “He has not left your niece since the defeat. I daren’t take him from her side.”

  Zephenesh nodded and they carried on talking as they entered the city. Everywhere the mood was light. Children were playing together, mothers laughed with each other and even the troops, who had seen the bloodshed first-hand, were enjoying themselves in the day after battle. Grief had yet to fall over the ecstasy of survival.

  Zephenesh knew that Hendra had taken on much of Ikara’s responsibility since the death of Fidel. She had stayed with the body through the night, preparing it for burial with all the formal customs of the Laowyn. His funeral was to be today, and he was to be given the full honours of a Laowyn Captain. He would be sent to sea, just as tradition had dictated when the Laowyn had occupied this great city before, just as Kiara’s parents had been buried at sea.

  Hendra had given Johan the responsibility of performing a census on the defeated Reluwyn troops and charging the rebellion leaders. When those who were now loyal to the King could be counted they would march back to Emril city and take back the King’s rightful crown. Zephenesh’s thoughts moved to Kiara who was still recovering from the stab wound. The King had been with her since, and Zephenesh had come to sit with her for some time during the night. He knew his role as protector was no longer - she had another now, and he was fierce.

  They reached the hall which had been a refuge but stood once again as a place for the Laowyn Eldership to meet. The meeting was inconclusive, and Zephenesh drew it swiftly to a close. There was little point in continuing when equal weight was given to those who wished to make Ishtalia their permanent home, and those who wished to return home. The King must be consulted.

  Zephenesh left Hendra in the southern market square, turning northwards towards Kiara’s tower. He was waved through by Alakvalto guards who had been assigned to Royal’s protection. Nothing was certain, and even though the Shifters were now known it did not guarantee safety.