by B. T. Narro
“I don’t need your advice, old man.” The levity had dropped out of his tone. “Sign it.”
“I will once you bring one of my psychics here to confirm you’ll let my people live.”
Tauwin sneered and stared. No one dared to speak, even as the silence dragged on. Abruptly, he grabbed Kerr by the back of his neck and slammed his head against the table. “You will sign it now!”
Alabell jumped forward without choosing to, but she was struck in the face after just a step and lost her balance. She flung her hands out to brace her fall. As soon as she hit the ground, one hand went to her cheek to muffle the burning pain.
“Don’t touch her!” Genoviva screamed, her feet scuffling around beside Alabell.
“I’m fine!” she tried to tell her mother as she looked up. The man who Alabell assumed was the one who’d struck her let go of her struggling mother and raised his arm as if to hit her.
“Stop!” shouted the woman who’d come in with Tauwin, and the man froze. “There’s no need for this when soon Tauwin will be king.” Alabell caught a glimmer of disappointment in Tauwin’s eyes as he continued to press Kerr’s face against the table. He quickly smiled it away.
“You’re right, Mother. You’re going to live, Kerr, as well as your people. Now sign it.” He gave one last push against the older man’s face before letting go.
Genoviva helped Alabell to her feet as Kerr scribbled his signature.
“Now let us go,” Kerr demanded as he stood with more confidence and pride than any man should have been able to show in that moment.
Tauwin whisked out his sword from a sheath that had been covered by his cloak. Everyone fell away from him as the bright bastial steel was revealed. Alabell had only heard of Cleve Polken possessing such a sword, for they were made in Greenedge and there was no trading done over the Starving Ocean. Cleve had gone to Greenedge and come back with the weapon and a horse, neither of which had been seen before by any living person in Ovira. To see the same weapon in Tauwin’s hand no doubt meant he had support from the Takarys across the Starving Ocean.
The bastial steel was a spectrum of reds, oranges, and yellows swirled together like marble. The weapon itself seemed to glow, as if able to brighten a dark room, yet no actual light could be seen emanating from it. There was nothing more expensive in the world, and nothing more deadly.
Kerr was the only one who didn’t cower from the weapon. Tauwin regarded the blade admirably, carefully sliding one hand along its flat side.
“I’ve done everything you’ve asked,” Kerr said, finally taking a step away from the young Takary.
“Any man can be king,” Tauwin practically sang, the lilt of his noble accent growing heavier with his sense of importance. “One just needs the right amount of wealth. Maintaining kingship is the real challenge. Gen Takary, the first king of Kyrro, ruled for fifty-five years. Fifty-five! Three years in, there was an uprising, but Gen crushed his enemies so severely that no one challenged his leadership again. Death finally took away his crown, and his son, Derivar Takary, then ruled for fifty-one years. He was taught so well by his father that history tells us of no battles, even though the people were unhappy. Since his death from old age, Kyrro has seen many battles for the crown. But no one has ruled even half as long as Gen or Derivar. Until my grandfather, Rinn Takary, took the throne after his father was poisoned.”
Tauwin seemed to enjoy holding everyone’s gaze, relishing the silence between his words with a haughty grin. “He ruled for twenty-nine years, but much had changed by then. Spies and disloyalty were rampant. Countless attempts were made on his life, yet he still managed to rule until Westin Kimard took over and beheaded my grandfather heinously in a mockery of a trial in front of all of Kyrro. I was not yet born, but I still know that you stood behind him, Kerr.” Tauwin pointed his sword threateningly, but Kerr didn’t move or speak.
Tauwin laughed at the other man’s lack of reaction, snatched up the document of his kingship, and held it above his head. “I am now king! I may be young, but I have learned everything there is to know about ruling.”
Suddenly Tauwin thrust forward, sticking the blade of his sword deep into Kerr’s chest as if his flesh were made of butter. Alabell shrieked, but hands around her arms and shoulders stopped her from moving. Kerr appeared shocked as he grabbed the table to keep from falling.
“I’m not going to make the same mistake as my elders.” Tauwin held onto the sword’s handle nonchalantly as he spoke, its other end still buried in her great-uncle’s chest.
Kerr took hold of it with both shaking hands, too weak to pry it out.
“Anyone who poses a threat dies.” Tauwin looked over his shoulder at the horrified audience of castle inhabitants and began to shout. “Any act of defiance! Any hint of disloyalty! And you and anyone you’ve consorted with will die.”
Alabell couldn’t contain her tears. Part of her knew she and her mother were next after such a statement, but she was too overwhelmed by sadness to think about an escape.
Kerr now had one hand on the blade still stuck in his chest and the other on the table, struggling but managing to stand on his feet. “You’ve just…proven what kind of…” Blood and spit flew out of his mouth with every word. “...leader you’re going to be.”
“No, so far I’ve only proven what kind of leader you were.” Tauwin heaved the blade even deeper into Kerr, producing a sickening sound as it came out the other side. Then the jerked the blade out of Kerr’s chest.
With a strangled cry, Kerr finally fell. His limbs sprawled as he lay motionless. Alabell’s knees wanted to give out as she sobbed, but she needed strength now more than ever. She dried her eyes and made herself look away from her dead great-uncle, the need for vengeance burning in her chest.
“Now, who else in this room has ‘Kerr’ at the end of their name?” Tauwin seemed to be asking the castle’s inhabitants.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed her mother’s hands fiddling in her pocket. She’s readying the smoke potions to be mixed.
Alabell’s drive for revenge made her immune to fear as she pulled the fire potion from her pocket and drank a gulp. If any of Tauwin’s men noticed, they raised no alarm. They have no idea they should be afraid of a young woman drinking from a vial, but they will from now on.
Steffen Duroby, one of the most well-known chemists of the Academy, had invented the substance she’d just consumed. Alabell was one of many chemists who’d learned how to control the surge of bastial energy the potion created in her body, but it hadn’t yet become known outside of the Academy.
Tauwin had chosen a cook at random to threaten, pressing his bastial steel sword against the plump man’s stomach. “You. See any other Kerrs?” Alabell was certain the cook knew of her and her mother. “And if you lie,” Tauwin continued, “you will be killed. My psychics can confirm the truth.”
“I…” he began in a shaky voice, but then stopped.
“Answer me.”
The cook stalled, pretending to search.
Alabell gave her mother a look. Now, she mouthed. Genoviva drew the two vials, poured one into the other, then put the stopper back on.
“Tauwin! This woman is doing something.” The swordsman who spoke stood behind Genoviva and grabbed her shoulder.
“What?” Tauwin pushed through the ranks of men and women. His eyes found nothing, even as they fell upon Genoviva.
“She mixed something and put it in her pocket.”
Tauwin sighed at the man as if he was slow-witted. “Well then, fetch it!”
Alabell had taken as much time as she could to allow her mother’s smoke potion to mix. Her body was a furnace from the fire potion, and she needed to expel the heat before she burned from the inside out. She aimed her palm at Tauwin and forced out the energy in a burst.
The fireball formed and shot forward in the same instant, but the heat from it was still enough to scorch her palm. Tauwin’s reflexes were surprisingly good; the man got his whole arm in front
of his chest. His scream was sweet on Alabell’s ears, nonetheless, as he somersaulted backward, his arm remaining aflame even as he came to a stop.
“Help! Put it out!” he screamed, completely overtaken by fear and pain.
Alabell heard the breaking of her mother’s vial. Smoke began to expand between them and Tauwin. Alabell wished she had time for one last look at her great-uncle, but she was too busy ducking under the swing of a fist. She surprised her attacker by shouldering him into his comrade, who held her mother. Both men stumbled as they reached for their weapons. Alabell and her mother found each other’s hands as the smoke enveloped everyone.
It was as thick as smoke from a fire, but it spread like water breaking free from a dam, filling the entire throne room in two breaths time. Alabell couldn’t see past her mother, but she knew the direction of the door.
A chorus of coughing surrounded them, nearly drowning out Tauwin’s screams. Alabell hoped the fire would take his arm, if not his life. Hands grabbed at her, but none could hold on as she and her mother fought their way to the door.
Were they out of the throne room by now? Yes, Alabell saw one of the paintings that told her she was in the hall. She kept along the wall. At the first turn, Alabell finally could see the end of the smoke ahead.
Behind them were shouts about stopping two women trying to escape. Alabell shared no words with her mother as they fled, hands held tightly. They came out of the smoke and slid to a stop, the fine carpet bunching at their feet. Two swordsmen and an archer stood at the end of the hall. The archer readied an arrow.
Before Alabell could react, her mother jumped in front of her. She screamed as the arrow impaled her in the lower back. Alabell caught her as she fell and dragged her into an empty bedroom as another arrow flew by.
Genoviva somehow found her footing and slammed the door shut. But the lock had already been broken, likely from someone else being taken out of this room, and the door wouldn’t stay closed. Alabell heard the swordsmen running and yelling, “They’re here!”
“The dresser,” Genoviva gasped.
She helped her mother push it in front of the door, the arrow slowing Genoviva greatly and causing her to wince with each movement. They got the wardrobe behind the dresser as the swordsmen came to the other side of the door and started to kick. Alabell pushed a heavy table behind the dresser next. It was the last bulky item in the room besides the bed, which sat beneath the only window and was too large to move.
She ran to the window only to remember they were on the third floor, and the floors of the castle were about twice the height of the floors in most other buildings. There was no way to survive a jump.
The door seemed to be holding against the boots and shoulders of what sounded to be only three men. More would be coming soon, however. Alabell’s fear had finally caught up with her as she looked around the room and found nothing that would get them out the window.
Blood stained her mother’s clothes. She looked ready to collapse. “The sheets,” Genoviva said as she tried to pull them off the bed. She groaned and her knees buckled momentarily, but she managed to get the top one free as Alabell came to help. She pulled off the rest of the bedding and separated it. There were only two sheets and one blanket they could use.
“It won’t be long enough to get us to the ground,” Alabell said as she rolled one sheet in preparation of tying it to the others.
“It’ll at least get us closer.”
They rolled and tied the fabric quickly as more of Tauwin’s men gathered outside and beat against the door. There were no shouts for them to give up with the promise of letting them live. After what had happened to her great-uncle, no one would believe their lives would be spared at this point.
Alabell heard the door crack as she tied one end of the rope of sheets around the head of the bed. Her mother opened the window and dangled the other end of the sheets out.
Alabell finished tying. “Go, Mother.”
“You first.” Genoviva braced her knees against the bed as if she needed to help support Alabell’s weight.
There was no time to argue. The door gave its final crack as wood exploded against the back of the tall wardrobe.
Hoping the bed could hold both of them when Genoviva followed, Alabell swung her legs out of the window and began to descend hand over hand. She held tight but moved quickly. Looking up, she expected to find her mother’s feet but saw only the sky.
“Hurry, Mother!”
“Go faster,” Genoviva yelled back, still inside.
What was she doing? Fear pricked her heart. She’s giving her life to keep them from getting to me.
“Mother!” she screamed in desperation. “Come on!”
But Alabell instead heard a scuffle and her mother’s screams.
“Go, Alabell!” Genoviva’s cry was tinged with agony.
Alabell looked down and nearly fell from the shock. The ground was dreadfully far, dizzying her as she gasped. The tail end of the sheets wiggled like a snake as she moved. She picked up the pace, her arms becoming numb.
She screamed as something hit her shoulder from above. One of her hands slipped off. She held on with the other as she swayed violently. There was no time to wait for the sheets to steady. She found purchase with her other hand again and moved even quicker. They would throw something else at her any moment or just cut the sheet.
She was almost at the end, but the makeshift rope had begun to shake so violently she could barely hold on. Then it went completely slack in her hands.
A moment of terror seized her as she clung to the loose sheets. Her wits returned and she attempted to land on her feet. She hit the grass hard and rolled. Her knees and ankles stung, buckled, but didn’t break. She jumped up and spun to untangle herself from the sheets.
Then she found her mother.
Genoviva lay on her back, the grass stained by a pool of blood around her. Her eyes were open, the split in her skull long enough to reach from one side of her head to the other. Her stomach had been pierced by many blades, her flesh barely holding together.
Alabell couldn’t move or even blink. Her mother must’ve protected her until her last breath.
The sounds of the city finally found her ears. The capital was in a state of panic, people clearing the streets or standing and screaming as they watched others being killed. Alabell was too overwhelmed by grief and fear to understand what she was seeing.
Realizing she was on the northern end of the castle and that she didn’t want to risk going around past the entrance, she chose north. Her arms ached but not as badly as her feet. Her right ankle especially hurt as she began to sprint. Someone was shouting from the castle window for her to be stopped, but his voice was too faint for anyone to hear above the panic of the citizenry.
As Alabell came to the next street, she witnessed a group of Tauwin’s men dragging a body out of a house while ignoring the screaming woman following them out the door. Alabell recognized the dead man as a warrior from the Academy. Just like her, he’d graduated only a few months ago. Tauwin wasn’t just killing those loyal to Kerr but anyone who might be disloyal to him.
His men probably had the names and addresses of everyone in the army, likely given out by a traitor high among Kerr’s staff, for there were only a few people with access to that information. Fortunately for Alabell, these murderers didn’t recognize her as she followed the streets north. Rage fought against her grief and shock. She just needed somewhere to go, then she could figure out what to do next.
She could turn east and try for Oakshen. Once there, she could spread word and gather support to squelch the rebellion, though it was unlikely to work. She didn’t know the names and addresses of her fellow army men and women, nor if they would stand with her if she found them. It was even more likely that Tauwin already had a plan in action for Oakshen as well as Trentyre to the south.
That left either Gendock, which was more a town by the sea than a city with capable fighters, or the Academy. As soon as th
e thought came to mind, she had her answer. Terren always knew what to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Cleve’s uncle stood at the center of Redfield. “Hurry and be seated,” he called out to the sleepy-eyed students making their way along the benches. The headmaster’s severe tone stirred them. Reela reached for Cleve’s hand and clasped it tightly.
Mage instructors in the front cast light upon the stadium’s rows to help everyone find a place quickly. Terren continued to hurry them along until everyone was seated.
The mage instructors let out their lights, leaving just the argent glow from the moon. All went quiet.
“I was attacked while I slept,” Terren announced.
Startled cries could be heard all over the stadium. He held up his arms and yelled for silence. Not even a whisper could be heard, the respect for the headmaster palpable as all waited to hear what he’d say next.
“The attacker is dead. He was a psychic wielding a dagger unlike the one found in Nick Gallilo’s room. We know nothing of his identity, however there are enough similarities between the two attacks for us to believe this man might be responsible for both. Unfortunately, the reasoning behind Nick’s killing is still to be determined. It’s clear that my life was to be taken in preparation for something else, most likely an attempt on the Academy.”
Voices broke out again, but Terren quickly hushed the crowd. “This means battle training will need to take precedence over normal classes…like last year.”
Sounds of disbelief and panic echoed around the stadium. Terren couldn’t quell them this time, shouting as long as he could to no avail.
Cleve might’ve stood and joined the storm of panic if he hadn’t already known this news was coming. Instead, he and Reela remained seated, quietly holding hands. Effie and Alex were beside them, just as stoic. The same for Steffen and Basen on Cleve’s other side.
“There is more that needs to be said!” Terren boomed.
Alex stood and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Shut up and listen to Terren!”
