Broken Crown

by Drae Box

  He said Denzel was usually on the first floor.

  Aldora sped to the first set of stairs she saw, warily eyeing the flames that curled around a curtain nestled against a shattered window. She edged past it, feeling the heat prickle her skin, and then darted up the stairs and through a doorway.

  Her lungs seized behind her sleeve and Aldora coughed. Smoke clung to her, filling the corridor; the only light that broke through was from the fire that flickered through the open doorways. She pressed the cloth of her sleeve closer to her mouth and nose and sucked in a breath behind it, feeling the fabric press against her mouth as she inhaled.

  “Raneth?”

  She could barely say his name and her heart lurched. Whatever his plan had been, it couldn’t have been this. It couldn’t have been to put himself in this much danger just to down her uncle and right the kingdom. Could it?

  I have to find him. Him and the Dagger.

  She ploughed down the corridor and shrieked as something crashed down from the ceiling in front of her, smashing into the floor at her feet, followed by a green tail of flame.

  The Shotput.

  She hacked out another cough and felt her chest struggling as it turned into a coughing fit. She sucked in breath after breath against her sleeve.

  “Raneth?” Her voice cracked as she spoke his name. She was unable to shout it – her air was too precious – but she couldn’t help but call to him, her chest tightening at the idea of her partner lying injured somewhere.

  Something’s wrong. Something’s got to be wrong.

  If she could find the Dagger and then Raneth, she could use its blue orb shield to protect them both from the flames and perhaps the Shotput itself.

  I can’t lose Raneth. Not now.

  Her gut coiled hard and she jumped over the hole the Shotput had made in the floor. She stuck out a hand and caught herself as she toppled forwards, before continuing on.

  “Raneth?”

  The floor under her began to feel spongy, and as she kept moving it sagged under her feet, warmth pressing against the underside of her boots. She strode forwards. She had to find the Dagger. Had to find Raneth. She couldn’t–

  The floor under her gave way.

  The wood shrieked as it cracked and parted. Aldora’s scream was choked as she inhaled smoke, and a beam of wood smashed against her head as she tumbled through the floor.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Raneth

  The light from the fire that was spreading through Broken Crown’s headquarters let Raneth see the approaching Shotput of Power, so he braced his hand for impact. The Shotput smacked into his palm and the royal official flung it away again. He tracked it down the hallway, watching as it set itself on fire before bursting through a wall and disappearing from view. He heard its progress as it crashed through another wall beyond, knocking through the brick, wooden beams and plaster in its path. Black smoke curled around the royal official captain and pressed against him, and heat tickled his skin as he progressed through the building, checking the rooms one by one.

  Maybe they just dragged him out of here.

  He couldn’t see the floor anymore; the Shotput’s destructive glee had swamped every floor with enough smoke that he couldn’t even see his boots.

  I shouldn’t have used the Shotput, not so quickly.

  As if the Weapon of Protection could hear his thoughts, it crashed through the wall next to him. Raneth lifted his hands over his face and stepped away, feeling the Shotput crash into his hand so hard it stung. Before he could curl his fingers around it, the Shotput flew from his hand again, smashing through the ceiling. Raneth backed away and coughed as plaster dust sprinkled down onto him.

  The air’s too hot. If I don’t get out soon…

  Enos and the others had to have gotten clear by now. If Raneth left too, he could always pick up Denzel’s trail once the king was back in power, once Giften was healing. Nobody would forget Denzel’s face in a hurry. The minute Denzel Leoma stepped outside anywhere, Giften would recognise him. Sightings would be reported and he could follow them with ease. Follow and take out the traitor.

  Don’t let the heat get you.

  He turned his focus to his palms and imagined his white mist curling around him. Slowly, it spluttered into existence, sparkling softly in the light of the nearest open doorway. The mist curled around his body, leaving him with a shimmering shadow of white armour across almost his entire body, though his face remained exposed.

  Something glinted as it burst through a doorway.

  The Shotput.

  He cupped his hands together and the Weapon of Protection smashed into his hands again, throwing him to the ground with its force.

  “Stop bloody doing that,” grumbled the Bayre as he climbed to his feet. “Help me find Denzel.”

  He didn’t know why he was talking to the weapon.

  The previous Bearers should have written instructions, instead of personally teaching what they knew to the next ones.

  He flung the Shotput into the air above him and eyed it. It remained above him, circling, and ignited once again. The fire grew, becoming larger than a horse’s head, and then it turned green. The Bayre watched as the whole corridor caught fire, the rooms either side quickly filling with smoke and flame. The remaining windows shattered outwards, and any closed doors flew open in the wave of wind that followed, sweeping the flames deeper into the corridor, following the magic artefact.

  “How does that help!”

  With a growl, Raneth warily advanced down the corridor, careful not to move too fast, watching the flames swallowing the walls either side of him. The doorways revealed rooms that were being devoured by the flames.

  The Shotput has no self-control.

  Maybe it was his fault the Shotput was so badly behaved. Maybe something about him – because this was his first time using it, or maybe because of his kills as a royal official or as a Bayre – was causing the Shotput to act out.

  He reached the stairs at the end of the corridor and raced up them, taking two steps at a time, dodging as a curtain swallowed by fire fell from its railing towards him.

  Just a quick look and then I’m out of here. Just gotta make sure he isn’t grabbing anything before he leaves.

  Raneth had no clue how long he and the Shotput had been inside Broken Crown’s walls, how long it had taken him to travel the corridors and check the rooms of the west wing, but he had to check the rest of the rooms, as many as he could before it became too dangerous. With the smoke already eagerly clinging to him, drilling into his chest, he knew he wouldn’t have enough time to check all of the rooms but he had to try. For Giften. For Cray. For the people Broken Crown had killed.

  The Bayre flinched as a Guardsman screamed above him and tumbled down the stairs towards him, flames swarming the man’s body.

  Three. Two. One.

  Raneth jumped, but winced as one of the flames heated his boot, tickling the bottom of his trousers. He landed on the stairs and grabbed the railing, hissing through his teeth as the hot metal burned his skin. He snatched it back and patted out the flames on his trouser leg, before continuing up the stairs and onto the first floor. He pushed open the door and eased inside, barely able to breathe. His eyes stung and he could see almost nothing.

  He carefully prowled up the corridor, opening any closed doors he came across. Each room was empty of people. Some of the rooms were aflame, and others were untouched by the fire except for the gaping wounds in their walls, ceilings and floors. He squinted at the floor in front of him. Something was glinting in the smog beneath him, too far down to be on the floor.

  A hole?

  The Shotput had crashed through the ceiling of the ground floor and left this gaping hole. Raneth took a few steps back and sprinted, then leapt into the air. He landed with his weight on the front of his boots and pitched forwards. The flooring sagged under him so he pushed himself on.

  Few more rooms. Just find his office. Check he’s not here.

&nb
sp; He paused as the Shotput, still aflame, burst through from the floor above and raced towards him. The fire quelled just as it smacked into Raneth’s hand.

  The captain coughed heavily as a fresh swirl of black smoke filled the corridor from a doorway, swamping him despite the broken windows. He tried to open a door, but had to snatch his hand off the scorching handle and kick it open instead. A plume of smoke swallowed what little light there was around him and threw him into darkness as he struggled to gasp in a breath. Coughs rippled through his throat and his eyes grew heavy.

  No. Not yet.

  Raneth grabbed a throwing dagger and ripped the seams of his right sleeve. He wrapped the fabric against his mouth and nose and tied it at the back of his head. The coughing quelled, but he knew this would only help him temporarily. He looked at the Shotput in his right hand as he shoved the throwing dagger back into place. How about some help, he thought with a glare.

  The Shotput gently glowed, and a blue light surrounded Raneth, allowing him to see a short distance around him. He rolled the Shotput into the room and watched as it illuminated the whole room, its glow brightening. A bedroom. Raneth held out his hand expectantly, and the Shotput of Power jumped eagerly into it. He stepped into the room, carefully staying out of reach of the fire that swarmed over the carpeting. He walked on the remaining patches of carpet over to the writing desk in front of the door. He pulled the drawers open, but they were empty.

  How am I gonna know when I find Denzel’s stuff, anyway?

  He stepped back out, careful not to touch the handle of the door.

  He strode to the next door and found it ajar. A heavy desk was directly in view, facing towards the corner of the room behind the door. The fire hadn’t reached this room yet, so Raneth stepped inside, noticing as he did so that the floor was too warm. The fire must be coming up from below, which means it’ll spread soon enough.

  The heavy desk wasn’t cheap. This is something a boss would have to flaunt. He shoved the chair to the floor with one foot and pulled open the drawers. This time, a few brown paper files greeted him. He pulled the top one out and opened it on the desk before starting to cough again. His eyes watered and prickled in the hot air. The file was full of drawings of Aldora in a Brethren’s jacket, each one showing her with the Dagger of Protection clamped firmly in her hand, light blossoming around her. Hero poses, realised Raneth.

  He heard the first crackles of the fire’s greeting as it broke through the wall behind him from the room next door. He glanced over his shoulder before grabbing the file and folding it until it would fit into his back trouser pocket. He shoved it in and then looked at the rest of the room.

  A cheap metal filing cabinet was the only other piece of furniture. He jogged over to it and held out a hand, wary to touch it. Not hot. He pulled the handle of the top drawer, but it slammed against its locking mechanism. Seriously? The Shotput of Power rolled to wait by his feet. Raneth yanked out one of his throwing daggers and stabbed the blade into the top of the drawer and wiggled it until the lock popped and the drawer opened. He peered inside to find more brown files. He opened the top one and saw the name of a convicted murderer he had put away two years before. Recruited him too, huh? Raneth slammed the drawer shut and checked on the fire. It had almost reached the doorway.

  Gonna have to scarper.

  A coughing fit seized his throat. He quickly popped the locks of the other three drawers of the cabinet and peered inside. One was empty, and the others held more membership files. I can’t carry all of these. He picked up the Shotput and sprinted out of the room, heading to the left and continuing on down the corridor.

  The building groaned around him; the ceiling cracked and the cracks flowed down the walls of the corridor like water. His right foot sank into the floor and he cried out as it gave way; the floorboards and beams clawed at him as he crashed into the room below.

  Blearily, he blinked a few times, trying to sharpen his sight, which was blurring in and out of focus. His chest seized when he inhaled; the fabric around his mouth and nose had fallen to his chin. He spluttered a spell of coughs as he pulled it back into place.

  The Shotput.

  Raneth peered around, looking for it, before turning his gaze upwards. It sat just in view on the damaged floor above. He held out a hand and the Shotput eagerly jumped back into his palm, catching fire as it did, but without hurting him.

  Stop that. Raneth shoved it into one of the knee pockets of his trousers.

  He climbed to his feet, feeling the new injuries screaming along his back, sides and front. I’m not going to last much longer like this. The building creaked above him, so he noted the only way out of the room he was in: a broken window into the central room. The doorway was blocked by a wooden beam and there was fire beyond it. The window to the streets outside was blocked by fire – too much to attempt to jump through. He sped over to the inner window and climbed through, clenching his teeth as a shard of glass ripped at his side. He tumbled onto his back and sucked in some of the air, spluttering as smoke filled his lungs. His heart pounded in his ears, as if somebody had crawled into his head and was stamping as hard as they could against his brain. He rolled onto his front and climbed to his feet.

  East side. Link up with the others. Won’t find Denzel or the Dagger now. Too slow.

  The central room had less smoke than the corridors and rooms he had searched, the ceiling above having long given way to the heat and the Shotput. Glass chittered under each of Raneth’s footfalls. As he reached a door to the east wing, he wrapped his hand inside his sleeve so he could turn the handle and step through. A doorway immediately to his right revealed three figures, clothed in smoke – but he knew one by silhouette alone.

  What in Giften’s soil is she still doing in here?

  “Aldora?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Aldora

  Aldora winced and hissed through her teeth as she climbed to her feet. She could feel something warm and sticky creeping down her back. Her left wrist ached and her right knee throbbed. She gritted her teeth as she looked over her body, checking for burns, but there weren’t any; the blossoming pain was from the scratches and deeper gashes she had sustained from falling through the building. With another wince, she took a step deeper into the corridor she had found herself in.

  Ground floor, she surmised, looking towards the nearest door. Find the Dagger and save Raneth.

  She stepped out of the room into a waiting smog of smoke. The crackling and hissing of fire crept around her, the flames’ heat prickling at her skin, not quite close enough to touch. She stepped carefully around the fire that was eating its way through the corridor and kept her back to the unlit wall. The building groaned around her and Aldora tensed.

  Where did that come from?

  She warily eyed the corridor, looking for any sign that the building would give way.

  This building can’t take much more of this.

  The ceiling above was black, the white of the paint almost entirely hidden by soot and smoke. Her heart thudded so strongly in her chest that she could hear nothing over its beat and the sting of her wounds. It was hard to ignore the warm trickle of blood creeping down her skin and soaking into her clothes too. She glanced at her right hand. Blood dripped from her fingers, already reddened by the trickle, leaving enough trails along her skin that Aldora wondered whether she had a more serious wound feeding the flow somewhere.

  Find the Dagger. Save Raneth. Get out.

  Her head throbbed, but she crept down the corridor, smoke filling her nose. She gasped in a breath, the throbbing in her head becoming an insistent hammering, cracking her skull over and over again.

  Air. I need air.

  Maybe coming in here after Raneth and the Dagger had been another idiotic mistake. Why couldn’t she ever make the right decision?

  Window. Find a window.

  Flame-filled doorways greeted her on either side and Aldora paused to look back the way she had come. Green flames and orange
tongues of fire ripped through the corridor, reaching for her, swallowing doorway after doorway.

  She ran, heading for the end of the corridor, where she burst into a room and tripped over the dead body of a Brethren. She sprawled against three more and coughed, sucking in slightly cleaner air.

  She lifted her gaze towards the window, but tensed when she found a pair of reddened grey eyes looking back at her.

  “Uncle Denzel.”

  Her uncle turned and glared at her. “You did this.” The Dagger of Protection gleamed in his hand; his other grasped the frame of a window.

  He doesn’t have anyone with him. I could take the Dagger back and get out.

  Aldora climbed to her feet, biting back a cry as one of the wounds in her back shrieked and made her knees tremble. She had to do this fast. She couldn’t let her uncle have the Dagger. The village would never forgive her. She’d never forgive herself.

  And I don’t even know if they’re alive.

  Denzel pointed the gold blade of the Dagger at her and Aldora narrowed her itching eyes.

  “Don’t follow me,” he snarled.

  Aldora sucked in a mouthful of air, thinking of the bark of a fox, but she hacked up a coughing fit instead. Denzel grinned. He lifted a leg to the window frame.

  Aldora, still coughing, charged at him, leaping over the dead Brethren between them.

  She grabbed at him but the blood on her hands made her grasp slip on the Dagger and Denzel’s hand. He turned and shoved on her chest. She staggered back and tripped over one of the dead Brethren. She fell, smacking the back of her head against a dead person’s mouth. A sharp pain erupted but she ignored it and swung a leg up. Denzel didn’t have time to move before her foot connected with his groin. His face reddened and his knees trembled. The ceiling creaked above them. He gripped the window frame hard as Aldora climbed to her feet, trying to suck in a breath again, trying to use her gift.