She drew it up and worked the buckle around her waist. Then she withdrew the heavy weapon and drug it down the stairwell, using its light as a guide. But the door at the bottom wouldn’t budge. Of course. Lady Nora had locked it.
Panic set in.
“Help!” she screamed, coughing over the smoke. “I’m trapped!” But even a few minutes more banging and screaming did not aid her. Either no one could hear her or they didn’t care. Racing back up the stairs, she raced to the window, using an old fan to blow away the smoke. She glanced down the length of the tower. There was nothing whatever beneath her but yards upon yards of stone wall. She could never climb down.
She flew back down the stairs again, pounding and screaming with all her might. Before long, she fell to the ground in a fit of coughs. That was when she saw it. The smoke was beginning to billow in from underneath the door. Soon, she would either burn in her prison or pass out from smoke inhalation.
The ruby bedposts sang out again, thundering in her ears. This time, she realized how they reached her. Laying her ear to the sword at her feet, she found the song was somehow channeled through it. That was when she comprehended what she had. Taking up the weapon to hack at the doorknob, the sword sliced through it like butter and the door swung open.
She stole a moment to gaze incredulously at the crystal blade in her hand before scrutinizing the vicinity. There were no immediate flames, but the gloomy smoke made the light of her sword all the more necessary, almost slicing a clear path as she went. The first corridor she tried raged with flames. It was two more corridors and not a person in sight before she at last spotted a door she hoped led to her freedom.
12
Hazel stepped out into hazy, sunlit chaos. People darted about madly, shrieking and flailing in terror. She turned to survey the damage to the castle and found parts of it in ruin. But how could all this be? How could a fire consume the castle so fast? And why was no one working to put it out? Surely, the frantic shrieking was unnecessary.
Racing around the fortress, her breath was stolen as she witnessed the source of havoc. Towering as tall as the castle itself was a great black beast that breathed torrents of flame over all below. As if dissatisfied by the state of the castle still standing, it threw itself upon it, smashing her home beneath its weight. As royal guardsman worked to assail it down below, it continued to crawl over the fortress that buckled beneath it.
Hazel’s hands flew to her face as she screamed, praying all had escaped. But her concern only grew as she considered the few around her. Where was everyone? A sudden fear sent her flying to the other side of the castle, searching for a window into the dungeons below. A crumbled opening was revealed and she raced over to cry, “Dorian!” Desperate shouts were returned but none were him. Despairingly, she hiked up her skirts and made ready to shimmy in, but the stones of the fortress swayed as the beast came crawling over. It wasn’t until she was some distance away that she realized terror had sent her to flight. Scolding herself, she raced back, searching for any faces she might know.
The monster came tumbling down the wall and Hazel’s hopes were renewed as a group of guardsmen and a few nobles charged it. These men were well trained. They had only to slay this mysterious adversary before they’d lost everything. A shout diverted her attention and she spotted Armond also racing upon the scene. When she returned her gaze to the guardsmen, it was to her horror that she could no longer find them. She fell to her knees as she realized they’d either been killed or had run in terror, just as she nearly had.
Yet, both horror and hope remained as Armond dashed toward the beast. But he stopped short upon discovering what she had. Those he’d gone to aid were gone; he was alone. The creature drew up on hind legs and roared like nothing she’d ever heard before. The sheer volume of it sent Armond to his back, with the shadow of the monster towering over him. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she witnessed the thing bowing over the quaking prince.
“Armond, run!” she shrieked, hands clenched into fists at her sides.
He lay frozen upon the field.
Unthinkingly, she flew after him. It was just in time that she rolled him from harm’s way as flame coursed over her own body. Agonizing heat flushed through her, but the flame itself did not reach her flesh. For the first time, she gazed up into the creature’s face, but it was not gazing back. It was watching something. She turned.
Armond was fleeing as swiftly as his legs would carry him. Perhaps out of a love for the chase, the beast tore after him. As its shadow fell over him, Armond turned in a fit of shrieks and fell once more to his knees before it. Hazel’s ears suddenly ringing, all other sound fled her. She gazed down at the sword at her side. Drawing it by the hilt, adrenalin helped her carry it across the expanse. At the nape of the beast’s neck was a cut one of the guardsmen must have managed. Without questioning whether she could achieve what she set out to do, she flung her sword and squealed as it met its mark, piercing the vulnerable place.
But rather than slaying it, she knew she had only caused it pain, for it suddenly turned on her, teeth bared in rage. She nearly buckled at the sight, but at that moment, something like the determination she felt when sorting the mess of someone’s needlepoint entered her. Like the very needle her hand so proficiently guided, she sailed upon the dragon’s back and darted up its leathery exterior. It seemed not to understand to where she’d disappeared and started after Armond again. But in another moment, she grasped her crimson blade and struck it deeper into her assailant’s flesh. The giant lizard-like beast bellowed and stumbled forward. At that moment, her legs lost their grip and left her hanging by the hilt of her blade as it went tearing down the monster’s flesh.
Like an earthquake rippling through the ground, their enemy’s body dropped and she was tossed not far from it, her teeth jarred by the impact. Sword still in hand, she was lucky it had not been thrust into her own flesh. Such relief lasted but a moment as her skin seethed from the scorching blood of her victim. Frantically, she dashed for the pond in what was left of the castle garden. She scrubbed at every inch of her skin until she was clean enough to ascertain that she was not severely burned.
It was the scene to which she turned to survey that made her nearly throw up the contents of her empty stomach. As people wandered back from various regions, come to view the slain beast, she realized just how much they’d lost. The castle was in absolute desolation. She gasped out a sob, mourning the transformable fortress that had been like a clandestine friend.
It sickened her to contemplate who might yet have been inside as it had toppled into ruin… some who might yet be alive within the rubble that they must now sort through to seek survivors and… she hardly knew. She turned her back to it and sauntered over to where the others gathered around something beside the monster. It was Armond, kneeling in the dirt, his head in his hands. He couldn’t help them, help her. But help her with what? Comfort? Well, that had certainly been decided against even before all this destruction.
“What of King Zephuel?” she asked a guardsman.
Glaring at the ground, he shook his head.
She moaned. The king was gone. This was why they all stood looking to their helpless prince. But why would anyone stand around such a pitiable sight for hope? She noted the sword beside him, then studied their faces. They were perplexed but… grateful. They couldn’t understand why he acted this way when he had just slain their foe. They looked to him for leadership, but only Hazel understood they would not get it.
She searched the crowd for anyone who could tell them what was to be done, someone to take initiative. There were guardsmen, servants, villagers… then there was she and Armond. In the vicinity, that was all.
Her eyes fell upon a horse. Ignoring its master’s shouts, she leaped upon it and sent it racing for Clarion Citadel… to the Assemblage of the Wise. The prophet. If he was there, he would know what to do. He could lead them out of this mess, the horror that had become their kingdom.
&nbs
p; It was a briefer ride than she recalled, perhaps because it had not been made within the confines of a carriage or perhaps because she had ridden recklessly. But she began to realize she had taken a wrong turn when she could not locate the towers of the citadel. She had almost given up when she saw it: the rubble.
“No…” she gasped. Leaping from her borrowed horse to approach the wreckage, she reached the steps that should have been. She knelt to steal up a chunk of stone. Had the assemblage been within when it was decimated? Where was her dear prophet?
“Hazel!” he called from her left.
“Oh, prophet,” she yelped, racing toward him to throw her arms about him. It was her turn to shake, to cry, to breakdown.
The two stood there for some time before he finally pulled her back, smoothing her hair from her face before taking her cheeks into his hands. “What of Castlehaven, my girl?”
She looked to the wreckage of Clarion Citadel. “It is as you see this… Only, I don’t know if any nobles survived. Just… Armond and me, a few servants, villagers and guards.” She looked into his face. “The assemblage?”
“They had traveled to Bashtii for a conference with its future king. King Claros passed recently. His young cousin will take the throne now… if the dragons haven’t traveled that far.”
“Dragons?”
“The fire-breathing creatures.”
“There are more…?”
His eyes looked pityingly on her. But there was something else there. Guilt. “There are many more,” he said soberly.
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you know about this?”
He pulled away then, running a weary hand down his beard. “Not as much as I used to. It has been too long. I can tell you that these dark dragons were, not long ago, peaceful, even thoughtful creatures. They were beautiful, graceful and—”
“What are you talking about?” She would never embrace the notion that these dragons could be beautiful.
“It isn’t what it seems,” he defended. “They were lured to Kierelia by a sorceress who exposed them to flame conjured by the dark arts. That curse sent them on their rampage all over the kingdom.”
“All over…?” she gasped, nearly dropping.
“Sit, Hazel. I must confess something to you now.”
She found a flat piece of rock and sat down, anxiety fuming in her stomach.
“This is all the doing of your cousin, King Zephuel.”
“Whatever can you mean?”
“I only just discovered his transgression some days ago. I returned to speak with him, to remedy what he had done. I was too late.” He swallowed, then started again. “For some years, since you were very young, Hazel, he has been colluding with a sorceress… the sorceress Maera. And, no, not the one who released the dark dragons. It seems he went to her for defense against our enemies in the Deep South. He was afraid… and he did not trust the Great One. Instead, he placed his faith in the dark arts…
“What the poor fool did not understand is that, once one has made an agreement with a sorceress, it opens a spiritual door to the Dark One of the Nethers. King Zephuel rejected and therefore lost the favor of the Great One by making an agreement with the very one who wishes this kingdom destroyed. For, one day, Kierelia is meant to be the greatest upon the planet Kaern.”
Hazel struggled to comprehend his claims. She knew little of sorcerers or this Dark One, let alone spiritual doors… But she did begin to understand the king’s behavior of late, why he wished her to seek the Great Entity in The Mirror, why he’d seemed afraid, ashamed even. “How have you learned all this?”
“That… is why I had you sit down.”
She raised her brows. What he’d already told her wasn’t enough?
“Since your parents were banished, I’ve searched far and wide within the Deep South. I’d nearly given up hope ever finding them alive. In the end, they were only in hiding.”
Her parents… were alive. And he’d found them.
“Having known them as well as I had, I’d always contemplated their motives behind the assassination attempt. They weren’t the mercenary sort, despite what you’ve been told all these years. It is why Zephuel had felt so betrayed. They were the kind of people one trusted.”
Hazel gripped her skirts in between her fingers, her heart pounding in her ears.
“It seems they were aware of the agreement made with the sorceress and they understood what it would mean for the kingdom. They strove to alter the king’s decision, but when he would not budge… they decided to handle matters their own way. Granted, it was a wrong, disastrous. But they felt they had good intentions… and they were right about the risk.”
Hazel reeled. Tears burned down her cheeks. If this was so, the lie she’d always told herself about why they’d left her there wasn’t true. She’d thought it was because she’d be safer in Kierelia than in the Deep South… But they’d known the curse of King Zephuel’s decision was upon the kingdom. They’d known better than anyone that danger was imminent. “Why did they leave me here?” she bawled out, a shaky hand working to stifle her sobs.
“That, I do not know, my girl.”
How could he not have asked them? Didn’t he know it was the question that had plagued her from the moment she’d been made to understand about their banishment?
“They wish to see you,” he said quietly.
“Oh, do they?! Well, I do not wish to see them. Ever.”
He nodded. “I thought as much. I would not send you anyway.”
Pulling a pile of debris into her hand, she chucked it at the horizon. The sun was setting upon her kingdom and it was in shambles, with more dark dragons wreaking havoc elsewhere. They were done for.
“Oh, prophet, you must come back to Castlehaven with me. There are some survivors, but Armond is in no state to lead us. We require your guidance. It is our only chance in this plight.”
For the first time since she’d known him, he dropped his chin.
“What is it?” she questioned.
“I thought I could stop this,” he said. “I knew it would come, but I thought we would have more time. I had plans, I…” He swallowed, his eyes darting back and forth. “This is where I must bow out.”
Hazel bit her lip, working to rein in her temper. “Prophet…” she said shakily. “You would leave us now? We need you. Has King Zephuel really let you down so much that you cannot bear the sight of us? We cannot do this without you.”
“It is I who have let this kingdom down, Lady Hazel… twice over.”
“…What does that mean?”
He looked into her eyes, his own sparkling with tears, and offered her the smallest, most pain-filled smile. “That is something I rather hope you never discover, sweet one.”
In the blinking of her eye, he was gone. The wind whistled around her. She shivered and hugged her arms about herself. She was alone. So, so alone. She shook, she sobbed, but in the end, she stood to her feet.
After all, when had she ever not been alone?
* * *
Things were no different in Castlehaven when she returned. Armond was precisely where she had left him, but those who’d looked to him for courage had since moved on. Many sought the solace of weeping, others stood deliberating—mostly guardsmen who were likely deciding where they would go from here. She noticed a group stealing away with chickens and baskets of food. She rode after them. Resting her hand against the hilt of her blade, she said, “You will return to Castlehaven with those.”
“What Castlehaven?” one of them spat.
“Return it and remain there until you are given further orders, do you hear me?” This time, she unsheathed her sword, working to conceal how unnatural it felt in her hand.
They knew who she was, she was sure. And certainly, they questioned whether it was worth obeying her. But in the end, they returned. She rode after them and watched on as they approached other villagers, likely complaining she would not even let them eat after such devastation. But she thought wrong.
An older woman approached with, “Wilfred says you have plans. Where will we sleep? All the nearby villages have been laid waste to.”
Things were already worse than she’d imagined. And now, quite suddenly, this woman was looking to her for help. “Remain here. All who come for aid are commanded to remain…” Her mind raced. “Tell them we will rebuild. But as for tonight… I will speak with the guardsman about what may be done.”
Riding up to the group of them, it was clear they were astonished to see her.
“Thought you’d run away for good, my lady,” one spoke.
She shook her head. “I left in search of help. Didn’t find any. Way it looks now, it’s just us. What do we do for shelter? The nights are too cold for sleeping comfortably and these people require rest.”
They looked between them, shaking their heads. “We cannot say what is to be done for them. We were… wondering if there was even a kingdom left to serve.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you see the ground beneath your feet? That is your kingdom. Until it is gone, you will serve it.” She glanced over their number—twenty in all. Speaking to the first ten, she said, “Why don’t you put yourselves to good use and seek out materials with which to manufacture tents. Build more than you can imagine we’d need, as more will be coming. As for you…” She gestured to the other half. “You ought to be sorting through the rubble, searching for survivors.” A sudden grin—the first of the day—broke upon her face. “Guardsman Gunther… I am pleased to see you.”
To her surprise, he grinned back. “At your service, my lady.”
“May I trust you to oversee these projects?”
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