by B. T. Narro
“When will you return?”
“Later tonight if I’m needed, sire.”
“That’s not necessary. Stay at the Academy and speak with Terren tomorrow. I want to hear what he and his instructors think of the new recruits so far.” He leaned toward Wilfre and lowered his voice. “And I want a suspect for that murder.” Discussion of Nick’s death was always spoken in hushed tones within the castle, as if no one quite believed it yet and thought saying it too loud would make it real.
“Yes, sire.”
Kerr showed Alabell a grievous look as Wilfre left. “Less than a week ago, someone was killed during the night at the Academy,” he said.
“I’m aware already, Uncle.” He much preferred this title from her over “sire” or “great-uncle,” which he told her reminded him of his age.
“Then your mother must know as well.”
“She does.”
As they continued toward the locked room where valuables were stored on the fourth floor, she told him a little about Basen’s visit earlier that day. Alabell mentioned nothing of her attraction, but Kerr was grinning by the time she finished.
“Does Genoviva know of your interest in a Hiller?”
“No! And my mother certainly shouldn’t hear it from you, Uncle.”
He pushed out his wrinkly hands. “All right. I won’t say anything.”
She took her great-uncle’s arm as they came to the last set of stairs. When they arrived, Kerr drew a key and opened one lock, then drew a different key to unlock the second. The door seemed stuck at first as he leaned into it, then it flung open and he stumbled forward and fell onto his hands and knees.
Alabell ran to him. “Are you hurt?”
He chuckled as he got up on his own, refusing to take her hand. “I’m not that old, Alabell.”
Eighty-three is that old, she dared not say.
“Of course, Uncle.”
The vault hadn’t yet been replaced with ironbark, except for the door. The walls were lined with weapons from warriors whose names Alabell recognized from books and stories. A shelf ran along each wall, holding up the handles of said weapons—the most valuable in Kyrro besides Cleve Polken’s bastial steel sword. The same shelf acted as the roof of a glass casing in which various trinkets, gems, bracelets, and necklaces were on display.
It took only a moment for Alabell to locate the fine silver bracelet with the glowing rock at its center. Kerr used another key to unlock the casing and reached in to retrieve it.
“That’s all right,” Alabell said to stop him. “I just wanted to ensure it was there.”
“Well now that we’re here, don’t you want to hold it?”
She giggled. His desire was palpable. “I’d rather not, but I can see that you do.” She glanced over her shoulder to find one of the two guards outside checking on them.
“Certainly do. Reach in and get it for me, dear. Careful, it’s likely to be hot.”
The sound of screams stopped her. They seemed distant, possibly coming from the ground floor. Metal clashed as a cacophony of unintelligible orders were shouted. The guards at the doorway ran in to close ranks around Kerr.
“Might be an attack, sire,” one said.
“How could they get in?”
“I don’t know.”
Kerr rushed out of the room. “Come on, Alabell.”
She grabbed the akorell bracelet, put it in the small box that was its casing, and slid it into her pocket before following. In just the short time it took to leave the vault, the sounds of aggression had become clear enough to prove that this was indeed some sort of attack.
Her great-uncle moved as quickly as his old legs could carry him, Alabell holding on to one of his arms while one of his guards held the other. Soon they came to the balcony overlooking the enormous great hall, where they halted for a quick look.
A battle was in the making. A stream of men wearing common clothing poured in through the open doors, many with a sword and some with a bow. Kerr’s men, armored and trained, tried to fight them off, but they looked like a few spiders trying to stop a swarm of ants.
“My stars, what is this?” Kerr asked no one in particular.
It looked to be an uprising to Alabell. But how can that be when the people are happy with their current king? There had to be more to it than angry denizens. More importantly, why hadn’t the doors been barricaded at the first sign of a threat?
Frozen by fear and confusion, Alabell didn’t notice Kerr was trying to pull her away from the balcony until he repeated her name for the third time. Suddenly she was bustling through the halls with him again, but now flushed from panic.
“Where’s the army commander?” Kerr asked his guards as the sounds of steel and death came closer from below.
“We don’t know,” one guard answered for both of them.
“We need the rest of our army,” Kerr said. He pointed at one of them. “Go make sure the signal flare has been shot.”
“Yes, sire.” He ran and disappeared around the corner.
“We need to defend ourselves until reinforcements arrive,” Kerr said. “The northern throne room is the most fortified place within the castle—that’s where we’ll barricade ourselves. Alabell, get your mother from her quarters and meet us there. I’ll gather all the guards I can find along the way.”
With her heart pounding, she made her way back to the balcony where she stopped for a quick look at the enemies pouring in. The stairways were filled by what she now assumed to be trained swordsmen without armor, not commoners with weapons. There were only a few warriors and mages of Kyrro left, and each man and woman was killed before Alabell had a chance to recognize who had fallen.
The signal flare would alert those who didn’t live in the castle and were paid to serve the king. There were thousands. About half of them lived in Kyrro City, working at other jobs while awaiting orders. They would be the first to arrive, though it could be an hour before enough of them came to make a difference. The rest were in the other cities and the Academy less than five miles away. All were required to defend the castle when commanded, but it certainly would be too late by the time they got there.
This shouldn’t have happened. There were countless measures to prevent such an attack.
How many enemies had poured in through the gaping entrance? It must’ve been hundreds. She could hear them—now spreading across the second floor. Genoviva should be on the third.
Just before Alabell tore herself away from the balcony, she saw the river of enemies finally come to an end. The last two in were a man and a woman, their age difference yet similar features making them appear as mother and son. They weren’t dressed as commoners but as two nobles flaunting their wealth.
A red velvet dress covered the woman except where it was open at her collar. Her bronze skin matched that of her son, who wore a white satin shirt with flared sleeves that showed he had no intention of fighting.
As they turned to shut the enormous ironbark door behind them, the tapestry on their identical cloaks told Alabell of their identity. A pair of outstretched wings, azure in color: These were Takarys, the most powerful dynasty in Ovira as well as across the Starving Ocean. They were the first rulers of Kyrro—arriving just after the original settlers came from Greenedge. The Takarys took over the colonization of the lush territory and ruled for just over a hundred years before their tyranny was successfully broken for the first time. Since then, however, they’d retaken the throne in Kyrro several times, though no Takary kings had remained in power for long. The young man appeared to be nearly the same age as Alabell, meaning he had to be Tauwin Takary.
His presence confirmed what she’d been too panicked to fully realize. This attack was the result of months of planning, likely started during the last war, and only a betrayal of loyalty could’ve allowed this to happen. But worst of all, it meant the castle really was about to be taken.
This all crossed her mind as she hurried down to the third floor. She caught her name in th
e air among the screams.
“Alabell! Where are you?” It was her mother’s voice.
“Here!”
They met at a corridor and clasped hands. “Uncle wants us to barricade ourselves with him in the northern throne room while we wait for reinforcements.”
“Let’s go.”
Without letting go of each other, they ran away from the swelling sounds of the battle looming ever closer.
“Where’s Kerr?” Tauwin’s men yelled to each other. “Spread out and find him, now.”
Their voices faded as Alabell and her mother went deeper into the northern end of the castle on the third floor. Fear caught in her chest at the distant rumble of boots on the stairs.
“I have to get something.” Alabell dragged her mother toward a medicine room.
Genoviva tugged back on her hand. “There’s nothing valuable enough to risk your life.”
“I don’t need it for its value but to save us!” She overpowered her mother, and soon Genoviva gave in. Alabell let go of her mother’s hand to draw out her key ring. There were about a dozen keys, but she knew which one to grab. Her breathing was sharp as she hurried to open the door. The sounds of resistance had ended…now she could hear doors breaking and shrieks following.
“Grab the smoke potions,” she told her mother while she went for the fire potion.
They fled the room soon after. Tauwin’s men were on their floor, but Alabell heard none in front of her as she took her mother down a long hallway that had never been empty in all of her time at the castle. Everyone must’ve locked themselves in their rooms. They might actually be safe there so long as they didn’t pose a threat to Tauwin like Alabell and her mother did, sharing a surname with the king.
They came at the last corridor before the throne room and Alabell felt a surge of hope at the sight that lay before her. The last of their army within the castle had gathered outside the door, warriors, mages, and psychics. The fight wasn’t over.
Alabell ran with her winded mother as their forces parted to let them through.
“Get down!” a warrior brandishing a shield called out.
Alabell threw her arm around her mother’s back and forced her to the ground. Arrows buzzed over them and crashed against shields as their fighters stepped forward. Their mages shot back with fireballs, the hot wind whipping Alabell’s hair and bringing on memories of the battles at the Academy. She heard screams behind her and took a quick look to find an explosion of light, then two of Tauwin’s archers sliding across the slick ironbark floor on their backs. But more came into the hall, though these men only wielded swords and halted at the sight of archers and mages aiming at them. They jumped back out of view.
Alabell pulled up her mother and stumbled past the last of their army and into the throne room. Kerr took hold of her and her mother. “Thank the stars you made it.” He led them away from the door. “Shut it,” he commanded, and the only two swordsmen in the throne room with them stepped out and pulled the ironbark door shut after them.
Kerr got his hands on the first of three beams of wood held to the wall beside the door. “Help me barricade it.”
“Why don’t those outside the door come in?” Alabell asked as she put her hands on the wood next to Kerr.
“Someone needs to protect the rest of the castle’s inhabitants taken as hostage,” Kerr said. “Or at least try to. Now heave.”
With Genoviva’s help, they slid the lowest beam of wood into its steel holder on the other side of the door. Then they moved the middle beam, then the top one.
It wasn’t a moment later that the inevitable brawl commenced with a chorus of screams. Scraping and scuffling followed, then flesh ripping and bodies hitting the floor. The unmistakable crash of fireballs beat against the door as the three of them backed away from it.
“The army commander?” Genoviva shouted to be heard over the terrible symphony of death.
“Dead with the rest of our castle’s forces…except for those right outside.”
“Was the signal sent?” Alabell asked.
“I was told so.” But there was no hope in his tone.
Each throne room was built without windows, only slits for archers to shoot from. It might take some time for a battering ram to get through the door, but the wood and steel eventually would break, and most likely in less time than it took for reinforcements to arrive. Alabell looked around for ideas.
There were no lamps; four sconces with lit torches illuminated the throne room instead. There were two by the door and two at the middle of the side walls, not enough to create a wall of fire once the door went down. Perhaps with a perfectly timed drink of her fire potion she might be able to kill a few of Tauwin’s men after they broke in, but it would just anger the rest who lived, increasing the chances of them killing her and her family.
“Tauwin Takary is responsible for this,” she told them. “I saw him and a woman who appeared to be his mother enter the castle as if it was already theirs.”
“Spoiled brat,” Kerr said. “He was the first one to come to me about taking the crown, and he was surprised when I didn’t hand it over right then.” His wrinkled hand coiled into a fist. “I let this happen. I should’ve had the Takarys and the other powerful families watched more carefully. I ignored counsel because I wanted to believe so badly that vigilance promoted distrust. I thought too much caution and poor leadership led to rebellions, but I underestimated the power of greed.” He slumped onto his throne.
“They would’ve found a way no matter what, Uncle,” Alabell said. “The Takarys of the past were the most strict and stifling rulers, yet that only inspired more people to join the rebellion.” If anything, we should’ve had psychics questioning our men’s loyalty more frequently. But it wasn’t as if Alabell had thought such a thing was necessary, either, and there was certainly no point in bringing it up now.
The sporadic screams just outside finally came to an end. Kerr stood and moved in front of Alabell as someone tried the door. Genoviva came to stand at Kerr’s side.
The door shook as men grunted behind it. Alabell heard voices but couldn’t make out any words.
A boom against the door startled the three of them. Another followed, though it didn’t seem loud enough to be a battering ram. Suddenly, there seemed to be ten of them striking the door at once.
Boots, she realized gleefully, they’re trying to kick it in. Perhaps they don’t have a battering ram ready.
“Stop! Stop you idiots!” a shrill man’s voice cut through the pounding. Then everything fell silent and Genoviva took Alabell’s hand.
“James Kerr,” the same voice announced, “I know you’re in there.”
Kerr took a step toward the door but made no sound.
“Don’t say anything,” Alabell whispered.
He nodded and put up his hand.
“Right now you’re thinking you might be able to wait for the rest of your men in Kyrro City to arrive,” shouted the man Alabell figured to be Tauwin Takary. “But you should know that they’re not coming, Kerr. The signal wasn’t sent because the men responsible are loyal to me. You should also know that I have far more men than those you’ve seen so far taking back my family’s castle. At this very moment, they’re surprising your men in their homes as they’re cleaning up after supper or putting their children to bed. In another hour, they’ll all be dead.”
Alabell felt caged by her terror, unable to move or think. All she could do was hope these were lies.
“You should now be realizing,” Tauwin continued, “that it’s over for you. But if you cooperate and sign the legal document transferring kingship, you and everyone else in my castle who are still alive will remain unharmed. Do you hear that, old man? The best cooks, maids, chemists, stonemasons, blacksmiths, tailors, and everyone else who’ve assembled here will live…so long as you open this door. But if you don’t, I’ll start killing them.”
A burst of fearful shrieks came muffled through the door. Alabell could picture the
castle’s inhabitants enclosed by a swarm of Tauwin’s men.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Genoviva jumped in front of Kerr to stop him from going toward the door. “It’s a trick, reinforcements are coming.”
“I don’t think so,” Kerr answered.
Alabell sadly agreed.
“He’s at least lying about letting everyone live,” Genoviva argued.
“I think my mother’s right about that,” Alabell told Kerr.
“James Kerr!” Tauwin screamed. “I’m about to start killing them!” Their silence seemed to have insulted him, anger now coloring his voice.
“I’m coming,” Kerr yelled back, hurrying to the door. Alabell and her mother helped him slide the wooden beams back, then stepped away.
The door swung open to reveal a throng of emotionless men that extended far into the hall. Mixed among them were the inhabitants of the castle, many with swords held at their throats.
The small army marched into the room, forcing Alabell and the last of her family back toward the throne. Tauwin emerged from between the larger men. He wore a victorious smile, his dark eyes set on Kerr. He wasn’t much taller than Alabell or his mother beside him, but he carried himself as if he were the strongest and tallest man in the world. She wanted to drink her fire potion and shoot him with the resulting fireball, but it was unlikely to kill.
Tauwin’s mother stayed behind him and appeared almost frightened. Perhaps she wasn’t his mother but another relative, an aunt or a cousin, for she seemed to look at Tauwin not with love, but as if awaiting an order she was hesitant to hear.
“No one else needs to die,” Tauwin intoned with his arms spread, as if he felt guilt about the slaughter he’d already caused. “I have the document right here.” He took a scroll from his pocket and directed Kerr to sit at the table toward the edge of the room. The rest of his men ushered the castle’s inhabitants toward the center of the throne room and then circled them.
Kerr hovered over his chair, refusing to sit. “You do realize that a document and a crown won’t make you king. The people must see you as one.”
