A War for Truth

by M. Lynn

  Fields broke the stillness. “Captain, the young prince has returned home. King Drake was mistaken—”

  “Imposters!” Patterson bellowed. “Trystan and Rissa Renauld are dead. Arrest these frauds.”

  “Drake is the only fraud in Dreach-Sciene.” Rissa’s steel tone cut like blades through the courtyard, halting the soldiers headed their way. “He is not your king and those who follow him willingly are traitors. Your king stands right here. Trystan Renauld and I, Rissa Renauld, are alive and well and are back to claim what is rightfully ours.”

  Rissa threw her hood back at the same time Trystan drew his sword and held it high above his head. The unmistakable Renauld emblem sparkled in the firelight.

  “My sister speaks the truth. I’ve come to take my kingdom back from the false king you’ve been following, and with the sword my father bestowed upon me, I will do just that. Who will follow me in the name of my father? In the name of King Marcus Renauld?”

  Gasps and shouts filled the courtyard.

  “It’s really them.”

  “It’s the Toha’s sword, all right.”

  “They’re alive.”

  “Nonsense!” Patterson screamed again. “The Renauld children are dead. Arrest these people immediately. King Drake has ordered them to be brought to the throne room.”

  The finely dressed guards at his back moved in unison to do his bidding, showing clearly where their loyalties lay.

  “Now, Ri!” Trystan yelled as the rest drew their weapons and prepared to fight.

  In one swift movement, Rissa drew the oiled arrow from her quiver and stuck it into the nearest torch. As it burst into flame, she aimed it high into the ink colored sky. The fire arrow was met with the thunderous sound of pounding hooves and battle screams as their reinforcements answered the call.

  Trystan could see the moment realization set in on Patterson’s face.

  “Close the gate!” Patterson screamed.

  “Avery,” Trystan swallowed the acrid taste of fear that coated his tongue and bellowed at the sword master. She was closest to the gate and the only hope to stop the soldier about to slice the heavy rope keeping the gate open. She moved at Trystan’s yell, but before she could intercept, Fields leapt at the Isenore soldier, tackling him to ground. Yanking the soldier’s sword out of his grip, the squat-nosed guard smacked the hilt into the soldier’s face, blood and teeth splattering the pristine tunic. The man stilled as Fields turned wild eyes on Trystan and teeth flashed in his wide grin.

  “Welcome home, your Majesty.” Field’s gaze switched to the shocked gate guards. “Men, protect our prince and princess at all costs!”

  The order was all they needed to mobilize them into action. Field’s men surrounded Trystan on both sides just in time to collide with the oncoming horde of Drake’s new soldiers.

  “Protect Alixa and Ri,” Trystan yelled at Edric, but his command was lost in the clanging of steel against steel. Trystan ducked just in time as a broadsword came straight for his head. Pivoting low, he shot out with his own blade and struck the soldier in the back of the knee. The soldier screamed and fell as his leg nearly severed at the joint.

  Leaping nimbly to his feet, Trystan yanked his sword up to his chest as another blade crashed against his. Both men stared into each other’s eyes, swords locked, as Patterson lowered his head so his nose almost touched Trystan’s.

  “You shouldn’t have come back, you stupid boy,” he hissed, spraying Trystan’s face with spittle as he spoke.

  “You shouldn’t have chosen the losing side. So who’s the stupid one, really?”

  Trystan stepped back far enough to break the stalemate and slashed low at Patterson’s stomach, but the man blocked his attack effortlessly.

  A smile of complete arrogance crossed the older man’s face as he stepped around Trystan. “You forget, boy. I’ve watched you train with Avery and the rest of us since you were a lad. I know your every move. There’s nothing you can do that will surprise me so—”

  His words cut off abruptly as an arrow sliced clean through his eye and protruded through the back of his head. Trystan caught a movement in his peripheral and whirled, sword up, as Rissa hurtled into view.

  “You were taking far too long, brother, and we still have to find Drake. Our soldiers can handle this.”

  She pointed with her chin at the people now storming through the gate, Coille leading the way. Their screams and battle cries were meant to intimidate but were totally unnecessary. It took only mere moments for the Isenore soldiers to throw down their arms once they realized they were severely outnumbered.

  “Trystan,” Alixa gasped in relief as she ran to his side, her eyes devouring him for any sign of injury.

  “I’m fine,” he assured her. “But we need to do what we came for. Patterson said Drake was waiting for us in the throne room.”

  “Aye, with a hundred more guards, no doubt.” Edric said as he joined them. “And Royce Eisner.”

  “Doesn’t matter if he’s guarded by a thousand loyal to him,” Rissa growled as her grip on her bow tightened. “This ends tonight.”

  Trystan gave a quick nod of agreement. “Lonara, Fields,” he called, and the Tri-Gard member and guard strode across the courtyard at his command.

  “Fields, how many more of those new soldiers does Drake have at his command?”

  “Probably another twenty or so inside, your Majesty. They are Isenore soldiers. I always thought something wasn’t right about ‘em being here. And about Brown being imprisoned for treason. None of us thought that was right, but the few who spoke out about it got thrown in the dungeons too, so we learned to keep our mouths shut about it.”

  “So the rest of your soldiers are still loyal to us?”

  “Until the day we die, sire.”

  Trystan was moved by the truthful conviction in the guard’s voice and he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. Now grab some men and come with us. We have a usurper to dispose of.”

  Compared to the battle sounds of the courtyard, the castle was like a tomb. The only noise was the echoing of their footsteps as they made their way across the marble floor of the great hall to the arched doors of the throne room where King Marcus once held court with his people. Trystan had many fond memories of that room and they all threatened to overwhelm him right now. The realization that he would not find his father sitting on the raised dais but his uncle instead, hit him like a punch to the gut. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he ignored Rissa’s questioning glance and straightened his shoulders. Two very nervous looking guards on either side of the familiar, carved doors watched them approach with apprehension.

  “Stop, in the name of King Drake.” One had enough gumption to hold out his spear in protest at their approach even though the sheen of sweat covering his ashen face belied his order.

  “Out of the way, fool. Do you not recognize your own prince and rightful heir to the throne?” The guard’s eyes opened wide at Fields’ words.

  “Prince… Prince Trystan?” The guard stumbled over his words. “But it can’t be. We were told you—”

  “—were dead. Yada, yada, yada.” Rissa twirled her finger at the guard. “Do we look dead? Now out of the way and let us through to Drake.”

  Both men bowed their heads in respect as they stepped away from the doors and Rissa barreled past them, slamming against the huge doors. They didn’t budge.

  “What? They’re locked.” Rissa slammed her palm against the carved oak. “Drake, we know you’re in there. Open this door and face us, you miserable little coward.”

  “Move aside, Princess,” Lonara called softly and Rissa did just that. The older woman wrapped a hand around the crystal hanging from her neck and gave a slight wave toward the door.

  Even though being around the Tri-Gard made magic much less of a shock now, Trystan still watched in amazement as the two massive doors fissured and cracked, then fell inward, creating a floating cloud of dust. Stepping through the dust, they entered the throne roo
m, only to be greeted by a wall of Isenore guards. Their shrill cries of attack resonated off the high ceiling and Trystan raised his sword ready to defend his people, but there was no need. With another toss of her hand, Lonara sent the soldiers flying in the opposite direction and they crashed none too gently into the stone walls and slid to the floor.

  Silence surrounded them once again. Tearing his gaze from the incapacitated soldiers, Trystan centered his attention on his father’s throne. There Drake sat, a newly crafted jeweled crown atop his dark head, much more elaborate than the one his brother had worn. More guards flanked him. Trystan wasn’t prepared for the wave of hatred that originated in his gut and rippled through his body, sucking his very breath away.

  “Not fair, Trystan. You’ve brought a Tri-Gard member to fight your battle.”

  “Just as fair as you betraying your own brother and stealing his throne.”

  Drake spread his palms wide. “I had nothing to do with Marcus’ death. My hands have no blood on them.”

  “Yet you’ve made a deal with the very people who orchestrated his murder. I doubt your hands are clean, Uncle.”

  Drake’s sigh bounced around the room as he stood up. “Trystan, you silly, silly boy. Why couldn’t you have died in the mountains like you were supposed to? You’re as much a fool as your father was.”

  “Shut your filthy mouth,” Rissa spat as she stepped toward the dais, but Trystan grabbed her arm and held her back. She shook off his hand but stayed where she was, glaring daggers at Drake. “My father was no fool. Say one more ill word about him and I swear I’ll rip out your poison tongue and feed it to the hounds.”

  Drake raised his bushy brows in surprise. “Be that as it may, girl, Marcus was a fool. All the nobles are. You think you can beat Calis with his army and magic? The only way Dreach-Sciene can survive is to ally with Calis. Your father was too pigheaded and proud to see that. He put his own pride before his people. That was his downfall as it will be yours.”

  “So is that what you did, Uncle? You chose Calis over your own brother? And what was the deal for us? Were you to hand us over as well? Or were we to die by your decree?”

  Drake shrugged with indifference, but Trystan saw through the facade. His uncle was afraid. “I guess now it doesn’t matter. I cannot go up against a Tri-Gard member. You surprised me, Trystan. I never dreamed you would succeed in your mission. But yet, here you are, with Lonara Stone in tow. I’m impressed. But what does that mean for me? What’s next?”

  Trystan sheathed his sword and studied his uncle through weary eyes. “What’s next? You will be arrested. Put in the dungeons to await your execution for treason against the crown as will any of your known allies. Guards, arrest them all.”

  As Fields and his men advanced on Drake and his soldiers, all hell broke loose.

  “Let me go!” Alixa’s scream startled Trystan, and he whirled in time to watch her be yanked back into the shadows. His heart leapt into his throat as the torchlight bounced off the blade at her neck. Royce Eisner stared at him from over his sister’s head, desperation burning bright in his eyes.

  Trystan stepped toward them, pulling his sword, but Eisner only tightened his grip.

  “Stay back, Renauld, or I will slit her throat.”

  “Let her go, Eisner,” Trystan growled.

  “Not happening. I am not dying in this miserable hellhole. You are going to let me walk out of here and my dear sister is going to help me do that, or else she dies. Understood?” To emphasize his point, he dug the knife tip in and a bead of blood formed and dripped down Alixa’s neck.

  “Trystan,” Rissa yelled from over his shoulder. “Drake is getting away!”

  A quick glance showed Drake indeed making a run for the halls at the back of the throne room. Indecision and fear immobilized Trystan. What to do? Go after Drake or help Alixa?

  “Stop him, Ri,” he finally ordered as he leapt Eisner’s way. He heard Rissa’s bow sing at the same moment a knife whizzed past his head and planted hilt-deep into Royce Eisner’s forehead. The look of surprise etched on his face didn’t waver as Royce fell to his knees. Alixa scrambled away as her brother crumpled to the floor. She fell into Trystan’s arms and he pulled her tight.

  “It’s just a flesh wound,” she murmured, answering his unspoken question as he ran a gentle finger over her neck. Suddenly stiffening under his touch, she pulled away and cried, “Edric.”

  Trystan turned to face Alixa’s rescuer. Edric’s face was a sickly shade of gray and he swallowed a couple of times, like he was fighting hard against nausea. Winning the battle, he wiped a shaky hand across his mouth and nodded Alixa’s way as he whispered, “For Ella.”

  He wobbled a little and Alixa caught him, wrapping her arm around his back for support. She glanced up at Trystan.

  “I got this. Go help Rissa.”

  “Ri,” Trystan whispered, finally realizing he couldn’t see her. Or Drake. Pushing through the flood of battling guards, he ran towards the back halls, fear filling his chest. Where was she?

  He found her standing armed and ready over an injured Drake. Their uncle hadn’t even made it out of the throne room before she’d taken him down. The tip of an arrow protruded from his shoulder and he clutched at his bloody wound as he stared up at Rissa with tear-filled eyes.

  “Have mercy, niece,” he cried as she lifted her bow once more.

  “Ri,” Trystan called out, but it fell on deaf ears.

  “Rach a dh’ifrinn,” she cussed at Drake as the arrow found its mark, right between his eyes.

  Chapter 16

  The silence fell over them like a fog, thick and choking. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity as Trystan stared at his sister.

  “Rach a dh’ifrinn,” he whispered her words with a shake of his head. “Go to hell.” How many times had he imagined saying the very same thing to his snake of an uncle? Drake deserved the arrow sticking out of him. He deserved to have the life seep from his veins.

  But Rissa? What did she deserve? It wasn’t the blood that now soaked into the sleeves of her shirt from battle. Or the lack of remorse on her face.

  She just killed her uncle, shot him as he lay helpless, and her eyes were blank.

  She didn’t deserve to be broken.

  The fog lifted and the clang of swords against stone snapped him back to the reality of their situation. The guards who’d chosen his side formed up around him, their eyes watching Drake’s men drop their weapons.

  Trystan’s chest heaved, his breath thundering through his lungs.

  Lieutenant Fields barked out orders. “Kneel before your king.” He circled the room, stopping in front of each soldier who’d been loyal to Drake and brandished his sword. “Get on your knees, traitors.”

  Chaos spilled in from the hall as the loyal Dreach-Sciene soldiers continued to disarm the others.

  Soldiers who’d been ready to fight him only moments before, lowered themselves, waiting for their judgment.

  Trystan slid his sword into the scabbard at his side and wiped a hand across his brow. Royce’s body lay at an odd angle, his legs bent under him. His eyes were still open but they no longer saw the mess he’d created.

  It should have filled him with pleasure to see Eisner’s son dead at his feet, but all he saw was another body to go into the soil of Dreach-Sciene. Another man who wouldn’t return home. There’d be many more of them before this was finished. He crouched down and slid Royce’s eyes closed.

  He raised his face and found Edric sitting on the ground near the platform. His knees were pulled up to his chest. Alixa stood in front of them.

  “You did it,” she said. “Edric, that was for Ella.”

  He buried his face in his hands. “I thought it would help, but it won’t bring her back, Alixa.” His back shook and Alixa bent to wrap her arms around him.

  Trystan tore his eyes away and rose. Avery joined him. “The palace is secure, your Majesty.”

  “That was fast.” He pushed out a
breath.

  “Once the palace guard heard of your arrival, they turned on Drake’s men. Most of the traitors were Isenore soldiers and they’re being rounded up as we speak.”

  Trystan nodded and scanned the faces of the men and women who still knelt near the back wall. They put as much distance between themselves and the guards as possible.

  A man ran into the room and Trystan recognized him instantly, even under all the dirt and grime of his captivity. Captain Brown’s eyes scanned his surroundings until landing on Trystan. A grin spread across his face and he hurried over. “Your Majesty.” He bowed. “I didn’t want to believe you were dead but there’s been no word of you.” Tears danced in the big man’s eyes, but they didn’t fall. “Welcome home, sire. Welcome home.”

  Trystan put a hand on the captain’s shoulder and squeezed. “I should be the one thanking you.”

  “For what, sire? I’ve been in those dungeons for a while.”

  “Exactly. Your loyalty won’t be forgotten. We have tough times ahead, but tonight, I want to enjoy being home.”

  Brown bowed again and walked off. Avery went with him, their heads close together as they talked.

  Lord Coille spoke with a few others near the door and then gestured to the Isenore soldiers. Two guards drew their swords and herded the traitors from the throne room.

  Trystan walked toward Lord Coille.

  “How does it feel to be back?” the lord asked.

  Trystan surveyed the room, a chill settling over him. “Empty,” he said honestly. “This place feels empty.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Trystan didn’t doubt he did. His father had filled the palace with his presence. Davi had filled it with laughter.

  His eyes caught on Rissa’s red hair as she bent forward to pull her arrow free from Drake’s head. “I don’t want to waste an arrow,” she explained to Fields, her voice matter-of-fact.

  Fields watched her in shock as she yanked it and didn’t flinch at the blood and skin that flew out with it. She wiped the tip of the arrow clean on her shirt.