The King's Scrolls

by Jaye L. Knight

  Coming around a corner, the arch rose up ahead of him. Its white marble almost glowed against the dark sky. Bare shrubs cast a strange patchwork of shadows. William scanned the dark areas as he approached the arch. Talas and Falcor stepped into the open when he reached it.

  Moonlight lit up Talas’s bright, eager eyes. “Do you have them?”

  With a smile, William reached for the strap of the satchel. At the same moment, something glinted to Talas’s right, and William’s heart stalled. “Look out!”

  The crete turned right as Falcor’s dagger plunged into his midsection. Talas gasped, his eyes rounding as they locked on Falcor’s stony expression. “What—”

  A groan choked off his words as the other crete pulled his dagger free. The length of it dripped crimson. Talas sank to his knees, gripping his stomach.

  William reached for his sword, but a commanding voice echoed through the garden.

  “Don’t move!”

  A sensation like ice slithered down William’s back, weighing down his limbs. His heart reacted with a painful thud. Everything up to this moment had gone perfectly . . . too perfectly.

  “Take your hands away from your weapons.”

  William looked around to all the black and gold forms closing in. He squeezed his sword hilt, but resistance would be futile. Slowly, he raised his hands.

  Soldiers rushed in. One grabbed his sword and the satchel, while two others wrenched his arms behind his back. Once they’d subdued him, the owner behind the commanding voice stepped into view. William gritted his teeth and stood up as straight as he was able to face Sir Richard. The man strode up to him. A savage light flickered in his cold eyes, and his voice oozed with contempt. “William Altair, you’re under arrest, charged with treason against the emperor and the gods.”

  The charge settled heavily in his ears—a charge he’d anticipated for all the years he’d served his King. One all believers now had to fear. He’d just hoped he would’ve had more time to make a difference.

  If Richard waited for a reaction, William didn’t give him one. Instead, his gaze shifted past the man and landed on Talas, who still knelt under the arch. Deep pain contorted the crete’s face, though it wasn’t merely physical. His chest shuddered, his hands covered in his own blood. William met the crete’s eyes where a spark of determination flamed to life. Setting his jaw, Talas looked up at Falcor and the soldiers nearby. With one last glance at William, he jumped to his feet and took off in a flash. A soldier grabbed for him, but missed as Talas raced out of the garden.

  “Falcor, take some men and get after him!” Richard snapped. “Make sure he doesn’t survive the night.”

  Falcor motioned to a handful of men and ran off in pursuit of Talas. William stared after them and begged Elôm that the crete would escape and find help, if only for himself, before he bled to death.

  An iron fist latched onto his coat and jerked his attention back to Richard’s pitiless eyes.

  “You’re coming with me.”

  Elôm, protect my children and the others.

  Such prayers dominated William’s thoughts on their march to the palace. Now that Falcor had betrayed them, he’d probably told Daican everything—exactly where they were camped and who was present. William prayed the dragons would deter an attack. After all, on foot, Daican’s men wouldn’t stand a chance. But what he feared even more was what Falcor could do in camp before his betrayal came to light. As long as they still trusted him, they would be at his mercy and, as he’d proved with Talas, he had none.

  William stumbled and caught his balance as the soldiers shoved him up the palace steps behind Richard. His eyes rested on the man, then shifted down to the satchel containing the Scrolls. No doubt Daican would have them destroyed at the earliest opportunity.

  William couldn’t understand Elôm’s plan behind this, but he held his head high as they marched through the palace. Despite his lack of understanding, he would trust his King, regardless of whether it led to life or death, and he did not fear that. What he did fear was the pain it would cause his family to lose him. Lord, I pray for rescue; not for my own sake, but theirs. Please spare them from having to bear the loss.

  They passed through the darkened halls to the throne room, where Richard pushed open the heavy doors. Light spilled out. Still gripping his arms, the soldiers guided William inside. At the far end of the spacious hall, the entire royal family had gathered. Daican and Solora sat regally on their thrones, while Daniel and Davira stood behind. The emperor peered at him, his eyes piercing, yet his face was more hard than angry. Thanks to Falcor, Daican must have had a good twenty-four hours to simmer and prepare for this moment. The only time the crete could have brought him such detailed information of their plans was when he’d gone out on patrol the night before. He’d been gone plenty long enough to meet with Daican.

  The queen wore little expression at all, while Davira’s cold look held enough hatred to rival her father’s. Only the prince appeared uncomfortable with the situation. He likely hadn’t known about any of this until now. William doubted he could have hidden the knowledge when they’d talked so companionably over supper. The young man was much more genuine than his father.

  At the foot of the throne, the soldiers forced William to his knees. He kept his eyes down for a moment before looking up at Daican, but did not try to rise. The emperor’s attention had shifted to Richard, who handed him the satchel. “Here are the Scrolls, just like Falcor said.”

  Daican flipped open the flap to glance at them before handing the satchel back. Now his eyes fell on William, exposing the ruthlessness he’d hidden during supper.

  “So, another Altair joins the ranks of traitors.” He spoke coolly, more in a tone of disgust than outrage, yet it carried a hint of his feelings of betrayal. “And I gave you every opportunity to prove your loyalty.”

  William winced slightly in memory of his lies and avoidance of the truth in the last few hours—lies Daican had seen right through and met with his own false act of hospitality. While the truth would not have spared William, the deception did not sit well.

  “It’s little wonder now that your children turned on me,” Daican’s voice sharpened, “when both their father and grandfather have done so. Tell me, do the rest of your sons merit arrest?”

  “No.” William’s heart stuttered as his thoughts raced to Marcus and Liam. “It’s only Kyrin, Kaden, and me. The others are loyal to both you and your gods.”

  Daican snorted out a laugh. “You openly deny serving Aertus and Vilai?”

  William straightened his posture, but did not raise his voice. “I do.”

  “You must have no desire to live.”

  “That’s not true, my lord, I want very much to live. If I thought you to be a man of mercy, I might even beg for my life.” William’s next words caught in the back of his throat as the emotion of the situation set in. “The last thing I want is to leave my wife widowed and my children fatherless, but I’m fully aware that’s not in my hands.”

  Daican’s eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to read a confusing book. “If you care so much about your life, then why risk throwing it away?”

  “Because, my devotion to Elôm is greater than even my life. If He has called me to die here, then I trust He has a purpose. It may not be something you, or even I, can understand.”

  Daican stared at him for a long moment, and then released a cold laugh. “You’re a fool.”

  William took the insult in silence.

  “Have you nothing more to say for yourself?”

  “Only, my lord, that it has never been my intention or desire to disrespect your authority.” The conviction growing inside William strengthened him. “Though I believe in a different God, we both believe you were placed in this position of power by divine will. I’ve always sought to serve you well . . . except when it would have forced me to violate my conscience and beliefs. My only crime, my lord, is that I follow my faith as steadfastly as you follow yours.”

 
; He prayed the emperor would see his sincerity, and that they were alike in their dedication to what they believed. Perhaps, somehow, it would lead to a change of heart.

  However, a flame kindled in Daican’s eyes to reveal the anger that did indeed smolder deep inside. He stood from the throne, the raised dais allowing him to glare down on William. His voice rose to a dangerous intensity.

  “William Altair, by your actions and your own admission, I find you guilty of treason for consorting with enemies of your emperor and Arcacia, as well as denying your gods. For these crimes, I sentence you to death tomorrow at dawn.”

  William breathed in sharply. So soon? All the hope he’d held inside sank into his stomach, but he clung to the faith that would see him through to the end, whether it was on an execution platform or not.

  Daican’s voice lowered and ground out through his clenched teeth. “It’s high time another Altair faced the executioner’s blade.”

  He waved his hand, and the soldiers grabbed William’s arms and dragged him to his feet.

  “Take him away,” Daican spat.

  William locked eyes with him once more before the men yanked him around and led him back down the length of the hall. Behind him, he caught the sound of Daniel’s voice as they passed through the doors.

  “Father, he’s always been a good soldier. Surely—”

  He didn’t catch the end of it, nor Daican’s response, but he carried no hope that the emperor would change his mind.

  Falcor followed his escort, scowling at the man’s back. He didn’t need to be led around like a child, but security wouldn’t allow him anywhere in the palace alone. Not that he couldn’t have slipped away, but he knew better than to push his luck, so he forced himself to put up with it.

  Still, he despised humans. Because of them, his people inhabited less than half the area they once did, and exercised no power in the affairs of their world. They did little more than hide alongside the giants in Dorland. But he would change that. He would gain back his people’s land and prestige, even if it meant aligning himself with Daican for the time being. It was a tenuous alliance, but each had something the other needed—Daican had the resources, while Falcor possessed the knowledge and skills. Although he didn’t trust the emperor to hold up his end of the bargain, it wouldn’t matter for much longer. Soon he would have a powerful force at his command, and if Daican wanted it to work in his favor, he would have to cooperate. Until then, Falcor followed orders and bided his time.

  He erased the scowl, or most of it, as they entered the emperor’s office. Daican sat at his desk, while Sir Richard rested against the edge. With narrowed eyes, Daican’s right-hand man peered down his nose at Falcor. He always tried to intimidate him, but Falcor wasn’t intimidated by anyone. He could take the man down before he even saw it coming. Giving Richard an answering glare, he turned his attention to Daican, who questioned, “Did you find him?”

  “No.”

  The emperor’s jaw went taut.

  “He has nowhere to go. He won’t make it back to camp with that wound. Chances are he’s holed up in a dark alley, and someone will come across his body in the morning.” No crete should be found dead on the streets of an Arcacian city, but Talas was a necessary sacrifice for the greater good of their people.

  “You’d better be right.” Daican settled back in his chair, his voice pleasant, yet laced with warning. “I don’t want any complications. If there are . . . it’s on you.”

  Falcor boldly held his gaze. Daican couldn’t get rid of him—not just yet anyway—and they both knew it. Disgust crept into Daican’s eyes over this, and Falcor allowed the barest hint of a smirk. He might follow the man’s orders, but he was no lackey.

  However, so as not to cause unnecessary friction, Falcor went on to assure him, “The men are still searching. That will limit his movement. Without proper treatment, he won’t survive long, if he’s not dead already.”

  “Just as long as he doesn’t get word to the others.”

  “He won’t.”

  The emperor’s eyes narrowed. “You should return to camp to make sure.”

  “Do you have the Scrolls?”

  Daican gestured to the satchel on the desk. Stepping forward, Falcor grasped the strap.

  “Falcor.”

  His eyes lifted to Daican.

  “You make sure they don’t end up with those.”

  Falcor gave a brief nod. “They won’t.” He picked up the satchel and slipped it over his shoulder.

  “Do you have a good story for why you’re returning alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the Altair girl will believe you?”

  Falcor paused for only a moment. “She has no reason not to.”

  The emperor stared at him long and hard. “Had you been here to finish training the men as I’d asked, the dragons wouldn’t have been a problem, and I could’ve sent men to eliminate all of them.”

  Falcor dug his fingers into the satchel, imagining it was the emperor’s neck instead. He spoke coldly. “Had I been here, you wouldn’t have even known the Scrolls were right here in your palace.”

  Daican shifted his jaw, but finally seemed satisfied, and Falcor turned to go.

  “Make sure they remain in camp until dawn,” the emperor said behind him, “then finish things and get the Scrolls back here.”

  Falcor glanced over his shoulder, resisting the mighty urge to scowl. He didn’t need to be told twice.

  The guards escorted him back out of Auréa, and finally allowed him to go on alone once he passed the gate. When he was out of earshot, he spat out a string of choice words through his teeth. If he didn’t need the power of this alliance, he would have cut the emperor’s throat by now. Both his and Richard’s.

  On the return to camp, he moved stealthily, keeping a watchful eye for any sign of Talas. While he truly didn’t believe the other crete could ever make it out of the city in his condition, it never hurt to be cautious. Talas had a strong streak of luck.

  Half an hour after leaving the palace, he met up with Glynn, who stood watch outside camp. Both of them walked up to the fire where the others were gathered, and all eyes focused on him.

  “Were you successful?” Darq asked.

  With a nod, Falcor handed him the satchel, and Darq immediately passed it to Josan. The older crete opened it and pulled out a scroll. A wide smile reached his face. “It’s them.”

  He gave the satchel to Timothy, whose eyes lit up like he’d just received the most precious gift in the world.

  “Where’s Talas?”

  Falcor’s eyes jumped to Darq, but he maintained a calm outward appearance and carefully moderated his voice. “He chose to stay behind and make sure all seemed well with Captain Altair. He thought it would make them feel better.” He nodded to the Altair twins and monitored their reactions out of the corner of his eye. The girl had seemed suspicious of him since the first night, so the look of true relief that washed over her face pleased him. She’d bought his story. And why wouldn’t she? It was just the sort of thing Talas would do.

  Satisfied, he bent down to pour himself a cup of coffee. All he had to do now was keep up this pretense for a few more hours. That wouldn’t be difficult with everyone focused on the Scrolls. He sipped his coffee as they all crowded around Timothy, who opened one of them. A lot of wasted enthusiasm for some old writings. While he didn’t entirely dismiss the existence of Elôm, he’d seen no evidence of Him helping the cretes over the years.

  His attention shifted from the Scrolls to Timothy and his brother. They were half crete—he was sure of it. He wrinkled his nose. That a crete would ever marry a human repulsed him. Friendship was bad enough. The way Talas had bonded with them was disgusting and left Falcor with little regret over what he’d done to him. As far as he was concerned, humans were only one small step above ryriks.

  Speaking of ryriks, he caught Jace watching him intently. The half-blood ryrik regarded him with even more mistrust than the Altair girl. Fal
cor met his fire-lit eyes for a moment, and then casually turned back to his coffee. Inside, however, he reminded himself to be careful. He wasn’t about to be brought down by the lowest life form in camp.

  Daniel slouched in one of the chairs in his room, turning a dagger over in his hand, fixated on the reflection of candlelight in the metal. Finally, he paused and listened. Not a sound had come from the other side of his door for a while since he’d walked away from the argument with his father. No matter what he’d said, his father refused to show Captain Altair leniency. Well, he’d see about that.

  Snapping his dagger back into the sheath, he pushed to his feet. He eased his door open and peered down the hall to his parents’ room. Dim light peeked from under the door, but he heard no voices, which meant his father was probably in his office.

  He pulled his door shut silently behind him and crept down the hall to the stairs. On ground level, he gave his father’s office a wide berth as he made his way to the far side of the palace, where the inside door to the dungeon stood. His father might have filled in the tunnel Miss Altair had escaped by, but it wasn’t the only undetectable exit out of Auréa. All he needed to do was get Captain Altair out of his cell and past the guards. He could then disappear without anyone ever knowing how.

  Daniel’s pulse kicked up. His father would surely suspect him, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Maybe this would finally get him disowned.

  He came around a corner and bit back a curse. One of the security guards stood in the hall at the dungeon door that was usually left unguarded. He scrambled for an alternative plan, but the guard had already spotted him. He would have to improvise. Putting on an air of confidence, he approached the blond-haired young man. He was one of the new guards—Collin, if Daniel remembered correctly. He’d come from Tarvin Hall at the same time as Miss Altair.

  “Evening,” Daniel greeted, hiding his motives behind a smile.

  “My lord,” Collin responded with aggravating stiffness.

  Daniel loathed being treated as pampered royalty but, tonight, he would use it to his advantage. He stared at the guard expectantly. When Collin failed to understand his intentions, he said, “Well? Aren’t you going to let me pass?”