Stolen Crown

by Shawn Wickersheim

  Garett’s heart raced. All his young life, he’d known there was something different about him. The other children had known it too and had kept their distance. Now, he knew why.

  He was destined to be a great fire mage!

  Garett’s hands trembled. “You ARE him.”

  “That’s what I said.” Philson grabbed his arm. “Now come along. Sir Lumist is hurt and Kylpin needs our help!”

  chapter 41

  Kylpin needed a miracle. He looked down at his trembling hands and back up at Lord Ragget and knew he wouldn’t get it. His mind raced. What more could he do? Even against a blind man, he’d lost. This wasn’t possible! Was he truly stuck in some strange nightmare? Had it started with the sinking of Serenity and had it continued until now? Wake up, he screamed to himself, wake up!

  But that had been a false hope. He was awake and Lord Ragget was standing before him. Even without eyes, the Yordician lord appeared to size him up, and then with a smirk, he simply turned and walked away. He walked away! Kylpin’s face flushed as his pride departed too, leaving him naked like a tree stripped of its bark.

  He’d been wrong before. Now, he had nothing left.

  Feeling lost and dazed and embarrassed, Kylpin stood on the platform and fought back tears. Tears! He swiped at his eyes. What had become of him? When had he grown so soft? So filled with emotions? When had he become such a woman!

  No, he corrected himself, that wasn’t right. Josephine was a woman. A strong woman. And though, he assumed she had left out some of the details of her tragic story when she’d shared it with them at Theodora’s, she’d not only survived her encounter with Lipscombe, but she’d also come away from it having injured the twitchy-eyed bastard. Pair that with her insistence on helping save Ian and he’d consider himself fortunate to be half as strong as her!

  His grim thoughts were interrupted by fifty or so blood-soaked Gyunwarians dressed in little more than rags. The noisy mob surged onto the platform and abruptly splintered into small parties. One group gathered around Lumist, while another went to Ian’s aid. A third collected the weapons of the fallen wardens while the rest set up a loose perimeter on the edge of the platform. A big man with blood dripping from his mangled left hand stepped forward and gave him a curious look.

  “Are you a friend of Lord Ian or Sir Lumist, Seneician?”

  “Both,” Kylpin said. “You?”

  “The same.” The big man flashed a weary smile. “I’m Arthyr Bailey. Former lord and unofficial mayor of Lower Ryerton.” He made a sweeping gesture with his right hand. “We’re all that’s left of the Gyunwarian Resistance.”

  “Kylpin Caleachey . . . former Captain of the Serenity.”

  “A lot of that ‘former’ stuff’s going on lately,” Arthyr said. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss. You probably know my brother, Mick.”

  “One-Hand Bailey?” Kylpin nodded. Mick could be a surly bastard when drunk, but he was a decent enough fellow and a good sailor when sober. “We’ve sailed together a couple of times.”

  “Yeah, not too many people don’t know Mick. Wicked temper, but he’s my brother, what can I say?” Arthyr shielded his eyes and glanced up at the sun. “We better get a move on, he’s waiting for us.”

  “Us?”

  Arthyr gestured toward Ian. “We’re taking the Ambassador back to Gyunwar on Mick’s ship. You’re welcome to join us.”

  “What about Tyran and the rest of Ian’s household?”

  A pained expression spread over Arthyr’s face. “I don’t know anything about them.” He glanced over at the prison wagon. Kylpin followed his gaze. A couple of Arthyr’s men had opened the rear door and the prisoners were scrambling out. Kylpin recognized one of them. Denton, the broad-shouldered captain of Ian’s home guard. The stout man lumbered over their way trailed by three solid-looking Gyunwarians. More guardsmen, Kylpin assumed.

  “Where are the rest of Ian’s men?” Kylpin asked once Denton gained the platform.

  “Dead,” Denton rumbled. His voice was so deep it sounded like it was coming up from the bottom of a well. “Evan, Roy, Mingo and I are all that’s left.”

  “What about Tyran?” Kylpin asked. “Anyone know where he is?”

  Denton shook his head. “Last I knew he was heading to Lower Ryerton with Wynston and the rest of the household staff.”

  “They came . . . and left . . .” Arthyr said. “I understand Tyran was in court for Lord Ian’s trial. Beyond that, I don’t know. Maybe the Ambassador knows where he is.”

  Everyone turned toward Ian. He’d been laid out face down on the wooden table. His entire back was a bloody mess of torn ribbons of flesh. A young member of the Resistance looked up and shook his head. “He ain’t talking.”

  “His lips are sewn shut,” Kylpin said.

  Arthyr produced a knife. “Here.”

  Kylpin grabbed it and crouched in front of Ian. As delicately as he could, he slipped the tip under the nearest stitch and one by one cut them.

  “Don’t say the four words . . .” Ian mumbled. “Don’t say the four words . . .”

  “What’s he saying?” Arthyr asked.

  “Ian,” Kylpin leaned in close. “My friend, I’m here. You’re safe.”

  “No . . .” Ian’s gaze wandered. “He said the four words. Don’t say them.”

  “What four words? Ian? Who . . .?”

  “No! I won’t say it. I won’t. He said it. He said it and when he dies the gate will open.”

  “Ian? What gate?” Kylpin looked up at Arthyr and shrugged. “I don’t understand what he’s saying.”

  “Let’s take him to Mick’s ship,” Arthyr suggested. “He’s got a surgeon on board. Pain’s just making him talk crazy.”

  Kylpin hesitated. He wanted to take his friend back to Theodora’s as planned, but her brand of magical healing was slow. It would probably be hours, if not days before she’d have Ian well again and they just didn’t have that kind of time. The scent of war was in the air and the sooner foreigners left the country the better.

  “He said the four words . . .” Ian repeated. One of his hands flopped off the table and he pointed at Lumist. “He . . . confessed.”

  Kylpin glanced over at the old knight. His teeth were stained green and he was staring blankly up at the cloudless sky. Whatever he had said, he wasn’t going to say it again.

  “He said he killed the king,” Denton spoke up.

  Kylpin rounded on the stout guard leader. “What?”

  “Sir Lumist,” Denton said. “I think he was trying to spare Ian’s life. I heard him.”

  “He couldn’t have killed the king,” Kylpin said. “He was with me when the bells rang.”

  “You were both at the Prancing Piper,” Philson said, joining them on the platform. Garett Navarro trailed after him. The fire mage was chewing on something black again. “I can vouch for that.”

  It took Kylpin a moment to recognize the bartender. He looked to be a good hundred pounds lighter.

  “No . . . no . . . no . . .” Ian wailed. “He doesn’t need truth . . . He needs . . . He needs . . .”

  “He’s out of his mind in pain,” Arthyr said. “Let’s get him to my brother’s ship now.”

  “Lord Ragget needed a confession and he didn’t care who gave it.”

  Everyone turned at the voice.

  Josephine stood on the edge of the platform wielding her crossbow in one hand and a blade in the other. Blood was splattered across her face and dripped from the tip of her newly-acquired short sword.

  “How do you know?” Kylpin asked. And then, realizing how harsh his tone had been, he grimaced. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “A couple of bank guards found me while I was trying to . . .” She looked around the platform at all the dead men. A dark haunted look passed over her face, but she waved it aside. “After you left Theodora’s bedroom, Edgar told me what the bearded torturer had done to him. From the sound of it, he tried to do the same to Lord Ian. All th
is,” she gestured at the carnage spread across the Square, “was for a damn confession.”

  “But why?”

  “Open a gate,” Ian muttered. “Open a gate . . . open a gate . . .”

  Josephine rushed to Ian’s side and knelt in front of him. “What gate?”

  “Jo!” Ian’s face brightened. “My love! My love . . . you found me!”

  “My love?” Kylpin walked over and stood next to Josephine. “What’s he talking about?”

  Josephine shrugged. “I told you, Lord Ragget and Mister Lipscombe wanted him to believe we were lovers. I don’t know why.”

  “My love . . .” Ian closed his eyes. “My love . . .”

  “Ian, my friend,” Kylpin crouched on the other side of the table and gently nudged Ian’s cheek. “You were telling us about a gate.”

  Ian’s eyelids fluttered open again. “Open a gate . . .”

  “Yes! Open a gate, my friend. What does that mean?”

  Ian stared at Kylpin for a long moment, his mouth twisting as if to form words. Nothing came out. Finally, as if he were having to manually push the heavy words out of his mouth, Ian stammered, “He . . . He . . . HE kills the one . . . KILLS . . . KILLS the one who says . . . who says . . . the four words to . . . to . . . to open a gate . . . a gate . . . THE gate . . . THE . . . THE . . . THE GATE!”

  “What gate, Ian?” Josephine leaned in close. “Tell us which gate.”

  Ian’s eyes rolled around, and he stared at Josephine for another long moment. “THE gate . . . THE gate . . . the gate to Hell . . .”

  Kylpin glanced at Josephine. “What do you make of all this?”

  “It’s a sacrifice,” Philson spoke up. “A conditional . . . uh, uh . . . sacrifice.”

  “I’m a sailor, Philson, not a mage,” Kylpin said. “What does that mean?”

  “It means Lord Ragget had to kill someone after certain conditions were meant,” Garett added. He stepped around Philson and stared down at Ian’s bloody body. “I’m guessing he was trying to get Lord Ian to confess to murdering the king before he killed him, but Sir Lumist confessed first. With Sir Lumist dead, he can proceed with opening some sort of gate to Hell.”

  “Why would he do that?” Kylpin asked.

  “Power . . .” Ian mumbled. “Chondalt is his . . . is . . . his . . .” Tears dripped from Ian’s eyes. “Ancestor.”

  “Frankly, my friend, I’m surprised by your ability to make a joke at a time like this.”

  Ian sighed. “No . . . joke . . .”

  Kylpin sank back on his heels. “What is it with people wanting to unleash Hell across the land? Life is hard enough without adding this sort of nonsense to it!”

  “Nonsense or not, we’ve got to stop him,” Garett said.

  “I know, I know!” Kylpin glanced around at the small group gathered around him. “Anyone have any idea how we do that? In case you didn’t notice, Lord Ragget didn’t seem all that bothered by my sword or Josephine’s bolts.”

  “I have an idea!” Josephine leapt off the platform and ran toward the prison wagon. “Help me load Ian and Lumist in the back.”

  “Lumist?” Kylpin called after her. “But he’s dead!”

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Arthyr shouted. “We’re supposed to take the Ambassador to my brother’s ship!”

  “You can take him when we’re finished here,” Kylpin said.

  “But . . .”

  Denton stepped in front of Ian and crossed his thick arms over his chest. “My Lord goes where my Lord wills.”

  “I wish to . . .” Ian tried to raise a hand. “Go with . . . my love.”

  Josephine drove the prison wagon around to the back of the platform. “Come along now. We don’t have time to waste.”

  Denton and the three guards lifted Ian. Philson picked up Lumist. Arthyr reached out and grabbed Kylpin’s arm. “Wait! What do you want me to do about Mick? He doesn’t want to stay in the harbor another day.”

  “Have him . . .” Kylpin stopped. An idea popped into his head. “Have him sail along the coast north of the city. Have him search for a ship in one of the quiet coves up that way.”

  “A ship? What kind of ship?”

  Kylpin shrugged. “I don’t know. Something a Shi’kwaran would sail.”

  Arthyr’s eyes widened. “Are they here? What’s this about, Kylpin?”

  “A promise,” Kylpin said. “I’ll tell you about it the next time I see you.”

  “But . . .”

  “Kylpin!” Josephine shouted. “Let’s go!”

  Kylpin patted Arthur on the shoulder and dashed across the platform to the waiting wagon. Along the way, he stooped and picked up a couple of swords.

  “So, my lady, what’s this idea of yours?” Kylpin asked as he settled on the bench between Josephine and Garett and braced himself for a bumpy ride. “How are we going to stop Lord Ragget from opening this gate to Hell?”

  “We negate his conditional sacrifice.” Josephine offered him a grim smile. “We have Theodora bring Lumist back to life.”

  “Do you think that’s possible?”

  “She’s done it once. She can do it again.”

  chapter 42

  “I can’t do it,” Theodora said as she stood and stared down at Lumist. Tears dampened her cheeks and she wiped them away. Josephine noticed her entire hands were stained black, from her fingertips to the ends of her palms. What had the matron healer done earlier to save Edgar? Was this why she couldn’t save Lumist now?

  “But you must!” Kylpin blurted out. “We have to stop . . .”

  Theodora rounded on the sea captain. “Don’t you think I would if I could?!” She pointed at his green teeth. “But he ingested that damn weed of yours and anything I do now would . . .”

  “Would what?” Josephine pressed. “Please, if there’s anything you can do. Anything at all.”

  Theodora shook her head. “I . . .” She pushed past them all and stalked into her bedroom. Josephine followed her. When Kylpin started to join them, Josephine held up a hand to stop him. Kylpin’s lips pulled into a thin line, but finally, he gave her a quick nod and closed the door behind her.

  Edgar had moved to the comfy chair in the corner by the window and was dozing in the afternoon sun. His face looked measurably better and Josephine was glad to see her friend looking more like his old self again. Her attention quickly shifted back to Ian. The lord was lying face-down on Theodora’s bed. Josephine forced herself to look at his ruined back. After a moment, her gaze shifted, and she stared down at her dusty boots. She couldn’t imagine how much pain he must be in right now. Denton and the three guardsmen snapped to attention and Denton moved to intercept Theodora, but the matron healer pushed past him too. “Don’t be foolish. Let me look at Lord Ian.”

  “Theodora, please . . .” Josephine put a hand on Theodora’s arm. The other woman’s flesh was eerily cold. Josephine shuddered, and the matron healer pulled loose. The strange chill briefly made Josephine forget what she was going to say. By the time she remembered again, Theodora was bent over Lord Ian murmuring soft words and examining his wounds.

  “If you can revive Sir Lumist,” Josephine said, “we can stop Lord Ragget from opening a gate to hell.”

  Theodora snorted. “Why would he want to do a damn-fool thing like that?”

  “Why do men do the stupid things they do?” Josephine gestured toward Lord Ian. “I think he knows. He said something about Chondalt being Lord Ragget’s ancestor, but he lost consciousness soon after we got him loaded in the wagon.”

  “I’m surprised he was conscious at all considering what was done to him.”

  “But he’ll live, right? I mean, you’ll be able to save him, won’t you?”

  Theodora straightened and crossed her arms over her chest. The black stain had crept up to her wrists. “This is the hardest part of my job, telling good people bad news.”

  Josephine opened her mouth to say something but all that came out was, “What?”

  “He’s dying.”


  Josephine stared at the other woman in stunned silence. Finally, she blurted out, “What?”

  “I’m sorry, my dear, I wish there was something more I could say. Frankly, I don’t know how he’s lived this long. He’s lost so much blood.”

  “Give him some of mine,” Denton spoke up. He pulled off the dirty rag of a shirt he was wearing revealing his barrel-chest and thick arms.

  “It’s more than that,” Theodora said. “The weapon the torturer used, a scourge I presume from the looks of it, was treated with some sort of . . . well, poison is not exactly the right word for it, but it might well have been. It’s an anti-healing agent, a nasty bit of magic, I’m afraid. I might be able to save him, but he’d live the rest of his short life in a constant state of agonizing pain.”

  “Do it!” Denton ordered.

  “The greater mercy would be to allow him to die,” Theodora whispered.

  Denton said something more, but the soft buzzing drone inside Josephine’s head grew louder until it sounded like she had a hive of angry bees inside her skull. She closed her eyes and waited for the rhythmic music to begin. Over the past few days, she’d found this was the easiest way for her to find her calm when outside events had crashed in on her. It also gave her a means to control her mounting anger and rage and a way to better direct it toward those who would do her harm.

  The four bank guards had witnessed firsthand what she was capable of when they’d crashed into the office earlier. Even now, she wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. One minute, she was facing four large, armed men and the next they were all dead, laid out around her feet.

  Josephine guided those jagged thoughts aside and concentrated on the present. She slid her hand forward until it hovered just above Lord Ian’s bloody back. The music in her head soured and she immediately felt nauseous. The bitter tone of this foul magic was many times worse than the vileness Furland Pervis had cast in her father’s keep and Josephine was forced to take a step back. She shook her head violently to clear her mind of the acerbic melody. The tone continued to play until someone slapped her cheek. “Josephine!”