She blinked. She was lying on the floor. Theodora was standing over her.
“What do you think you were doing?” the matron healer demanded. Concern lined her weary face. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”
“I . . . I don’t know . . .” Josephine sat up. Ian was still on the bed, but his eyes were open. When he saw her again, his ruined face broke into a smile.
“My love,” he wheezed.
Josephine ignored Theodora’s inquisitive look and moved closer. “Lord Ian. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done”
“You . . . have done . . . nothing . . .”
“Lord Ragget and Mister Lipscombe forced me to betray you.”
Ian’s eyes narrowed at Lord Ragget’s name. “He . . . he . . .” His battered face screwed up in concentration. “Can’t let him . . . win.”
“I don’t know how to stop him.”
“You . . . must!”
“How?”
“Save . . . Lumist.”
“It’s too late. Lumist is dead.”
Ian’s torn lips trembled, and his eyes teamed up. “Dead?”
Theodora knelt beside Josephine. “There’s one thing I can still do that might bring him back.”
“Do it!”
“Do . . . it!” Ian agreed.
“But . . .” Theodora caught and held Josephine’s gaze. “I can only save one of them.”
“Save Lord Ian!” Denton demanded.
“Think about what you are saying.” Theodora said.
“I don’t want Lord Ian to die either,” Josephine said to Denton, “But how else do we stop Lord Ragget?”
“We’ll find another way!” Denton shouted.
“No,” Ian whispered.
“I don’t know if there is another way!” Josephine shouted back. “You saw him on the platform. He was . . .” She wanted to tell Denton the truth, wanted to tell him that she believed Lord Ragget was a Saldoleicht straight out of the legends, but there wasn’t time. “He was unstoppable!”
“I’ve sworn to protect Lord Ian!” Denton said. He rounded on the matron healer. “You will not allow him to die!”
“Denton,” Ian gasped.
Denton stiffened, standing at attention. “My lord?”
“Let me . . . go.”
“You don’t know what you are saying, my lord. Your pain is confusing you.”
“That is an order!” Ian said. He slumped under the effort.
“You heard him,” Josephine said.
Denton shook his head. “I heard the senseless ramblings of a man in great pain.”
“He’s made his decision,” Josephine said flatly.
Denton took a step toward her. “This is none of your concern, miss. I think you should leave now.”
“This is my house. My bedroom.” Theodora stepped between the two. “I’ll determine who should stay and who should go.”
“While Lord Ian is here, this is HIS house and HIS bedroom,” Denton said. “And on HIS behalf, I’ll be giving the orders around here.”
The other three guardsmen moved to stand behind their leader.
Josephine stared down at the stout captain. “Do you think it wise to piss off the woman whose help you need?”
“Matron Healer, you have sworn to provide aid when called upon,” Denton said to Theodora while matching Josephine’s stare. “Heal Lord Ian now.”
“As I’ve said before, even if I save him, he’ll live in agony-”
“JUST DO IT, WOMAN!” Denton bellowed.
“What’s going on in there?” Kylpin called from the main room.
Denton snapped his fingers. “Roy, the door.”
One of the three guards ran to the door and shoved it shut just as it started to open.
Josephine drew her crossbow and pointed it at Denton. “Get away from the door, Roy.”
“This has gone too far!” Theodora cried. “Everyone just . . .”
Evan grabbed Theodora around the waist and clamped a hand over her mouth. Mingo drew his sword and leveled it at Josephine. “Drop the bow, miss.”
“Drop your sword,” Josephine countered.
“Or what?” Denton asked. “You’ll shoot me? I don’t think so. You don’t have it in you.”
“I killed my father a couple of days ago and I loved him dearly,” Josephine growled. “You’re nobody to me.”
“Fair enough,” Denton shrugged. “You shoot me. Mingo kills you. We make Theodora heal Lord Ian. I die in the service of my lord. You die without changing a thing.”
“Except, that ain’t the way it’ll go down,” Edgar said from the corner chair.
Josephine wanted to smile when she heard her friend’s voice, but she kept her face rigid.
“Jo’ll shoot you through the heart,” Edgar continued. “Then she’ll shoot Mingo in his right eye and Roy in his left and if by then Evan hasn’t let Theodora go and started begging for his life, she’ll shoot him dead too.”
“Is that right?” Denton said.
“I’ve seen her shoot a dozen arrows out of the sky while standing on top of an unmanned runaway carriage. The only reason you all ain’t dead now, is because she’s showing restraint.”
Something heavy slammed against the door. Roy struggled to hold it closed.
“What do you say, boss?” Mingo called out.
“We’ve all sworn to protect Lord Ian,” Denton said. “To the death.”
Josephine shook her head. “No . . . don’t make me stop you.”
Denton glanced over at Mingo. “Kill her.”
chapter 43
He should have killed her!
Lord Devin Ragget walked off the platform with an air of cool detachment, but it was more act than reality. He was in pain. Real pain. And it was all because of Josephine. The bolts protruding from his malleable body stung like . . . his mind grasped for an analogy from his youth . . . like the time he’d been stung by a bee.
Only hundreds of times worse.
Hastily creating a small temporary eye in his neck, just above his collar, Ragget fled west, not because he was afraid, but because he wanted to better blend in with the terrified crowd. Fortunately, most of the people around him were more concerned with their own safety and of escaping the dragon which had come out of nowhere and roasted their new king than with the apparent injuries he had sustained. And those few who did notice him would only think later that his personal healer, Hoggins, had performed yet another miraculous feat. It worked well for him that Hoggins suffered from both senility and an inflated ego; the old healer believed his magical talents had improved with age when just the opposite had occurred.
The dragon roared again but sprayed no more fire over the crowd. Was it spent? Ragget had no idea. His knowledge about dragons was rather limited. No one had seen one for hundreds of years and the last one had allegedly died when Voulkanti Drak erupted. Having one appear, now, out of the fabric of legends seemed too coincidental to be true, but at least its killing of the king had saved him from having to do it himself.
Still, if the dragon hadn’t been real . . . who had the power to create such an illusion, an illusion which breathed real fire?
He’d have to ponder upon that another time. Right now, he had to do something about these painful bolts. As he ran, the features of his face softened, and with a concentration of will, he pushed the three buried in his head out. Two he let drop, but the third he caught and examined after his violet eyes reformed. Tiny runes ran down the length of the shaft and though he was unfamiliar with the magic, he recognized the signature script. The same signature was etched into the backs of his now defunct communication discs.
Joseph Hewes.
The mysterious wizard was dead, but his persistent daughter was still alive and well and . . . Ragget gritted his teeth and forced the rest of the bolts out of his arms and chest . . . and using him for target practice! He had to admit, she was a good shot. Perhaps he had underestimated the young actress’s talents. It was a mistake he wouldn’t du
plicate.
The next time he had the chance, he’d kill Josephine Hewes!
Ragget reached the edge of the Square and paused to glance back at the platform. A horde of filthy Gyunwarians had fought their way through his Amalgamated Warriors and the Yordician guards and was gathering around Ian and Lumist and Kylpin. While he would have preferred to see Ian’s torture continue, his death was inconsequential now. Sir Lumist Tunney had confessed and now he lay dead, killed by Ragget’s own sword. The victory had been sweet, though inevitable.
No one could stand against him and survive. Ragget turned for home. The rest of the world would learn this lesson soon enough.
Even from his Central Tower, Lord Ragget could hear Amarias’s angry roars echoing up from the dungeon. Perhaps he should have just killed the ruined man earlier before the painful transformation had begun, but then again, Amarias had bedded the woman he loved. Loved? Ragget rubbed his chin in thought. Had loved?
Cecily was spoiled now, her womb potentially seeded by another. And considering the abomination she’d birth if that union resulted in a pregnancy instead of theirs . . . well . . . was that something he was prepared to deal with? He ground his teeth. He still couldn’t believe she’d given her restored virginity to his servant! HIS SERVANT! After all the years he’d spent pining for the princess, and now, NOW, just when their relationship could have begun again, she’d betrayed him. Made a fool of him! He slammed a fist against the wall and felt the stone break beneath his knuckles. DAMN HER!
He took a deep breath and decided to race ahead to the conclusion of this mental exercise. Was this something he could forgive? Could their relationship be saved? Did he still love her?
He gave the matter some thought, but deep down he already knew the answer to all three of those questions.
No.
Surprisingly, a strange sense of relief washed over him. Oh, a part of him still wanted her, just as a part of him would always want what he couldn’t have, but that part of him was in the minority now. The pain of her loss was manageable.
Besides, there were five equally beautiful women in this tower right now vying to be the first to provide him with a son. And once he opened the gate to Chondalt’s realm and confronted his ancestor and demanded his godly favor, he’d have the power to transform the winner into Cecily if he so desired.
And perhaps transform Cecily into a mindless, soulless bonded servant.
He had considered doing the same to all the Gyunwarians in the country, but his hatred for that race would not allow it. Instead, he’d feed their corpses into the Machine down at the Factory and have them turned into amalgamated warriors. Once his armies were amassed, he’d release them upon the surrounding nations. By the time his rule over this continent was completed, his Euclacian allies across the sea would have wiped out the Bel’yowlyians and then presumably they’d continue their march east leaving their rich homeland ripe for the picking. For once, he’d have everything he ever wanted . . . and more!
Ragget continued playing out his future victories in his mind as he climbed the grand staircase leading to his throne room. Even after the world was his, he intended on ruling it from right here in beautiful Belyne. And it would be beautiful again once he was done purifying it.
He climbed the last of the carpeted stairs and paused outside the gilded double doors. A smaller set of stairs continued to the roof deck, but it was here, in his throne room, where he would perform the last ritual as described in his ancestor’s journal and open the gate between this world and the next.
Ragget removed his boots and pushed against the heavy doors. They swung inward without making a sound. The quiet stillness of the tall, two-story throne room continued as he padded barefoot across the tessellated floor. The marble was cool against the bottoms of his feet. The arcaded walls on the first level were windowed and offered a panoramic view of Belyne while the second level featured giant murals of Chondalt besting the other Yordician gods. His favorite scenes included “The Casting Out of Pandelirium” and “The Eclipse of Radiance”.
With a wave of his hands, the windows pivoted open and a gentle breeze entered and swirled around the throne room. A tang of smoke tickled Ragget’s nose and he smiled. Little Ryerton still burned.
He walked toward the center of the room, stepped over the wide ringed channel filled with water and onto a grassy circular platform. Directly overhead, hanging from the flattened blue dome was an impressive crown-shaped chandelier. While slightly smaller than the one hanging in his foyer, it was designed to burn oil instead of candles. The first architect had cautioned against using such a dangerous design going so far as to suggest Lord Ragget’s insistence on its use bordered on foolishness. That architect was currently fertilizing some rather beautiful daffodils in the gardens far below. The second man on the job hadn’t voiced any objections at all and he and his crew of two hundred men had been charged with constructing this beautiful tower.
The celebratory feast once it was complete had been a grand affair and had lasted well into the wee hours of the night. Ragget awoke later that day feeling refreshed and alive. He was the only one. As Chief Inquisitor, he investigated the sudden disappearance of both architects and their entire crew. He discovered, rather quickly, they had all left immediately after the feast to sail across the sea in hopes of bidding on a new job in Euclacia but unfortunately their ship had sunk in the shark-infested waters off the northern coasts of the Splintered Islands. No survivors were found.
He returned home and spent the next month planting bulbs.
Ragget placed Chondalt’s journal on a lectern positioned in the center of the grassy circle and stood facing the throne with his back to the doors. Excitement coursed through his body.
Let it begin!
The chandelier burst to life, creating a dome of light over his head as the thousands of flickering flame buds danced on the twirling breeze. Thin jets of water shot skyward from the channeled ring. The combined effect of the opposing elements made it look like he was standing inside a wondrous cage made of silver bars with a golden roof.
With practiced care, Ragget opened the tome and found the page he wanted. He cleared his throat and began to read aloud, the words creating a new and dangerous world in his mind.
chapter 44
Ian struggled against the Red World. “Let me . . . go . . .”
“You don’t know what you are saying, my lord,” Denton said. “Your pain is confusing you.”
“That is an order!” Stringing together all those words tired him and he sank back into the Redness.
“You heard him,” Josephine said.
Ah, her voice . . . a bit of White in all the Red . . .
“I heard the senseless ramblings of a man in great pain.”
“He’s made his decision.”
Yes . . . he had. Thinking too long about Lumist dead made the Red more Red. So much Red . . . and yet . . . the Red World wasn’t all Red. There was just a bit of Black there now. He could feel it. Lines of Black stretching like a thin web across the Red World. Growing. Once the Black consumed the Red, his bonds would break, and he’d be free. Free to enter the Black World and find the One.
His man was yelling again. He wanted the woman with the gentle Green touch to take the Black away. No . . . he wanted to scream at his man. She’d take the Black, but not the Red! He didn’t want to stay in the Red forever!
“JUST DO IT, WOMAN!”
The loudness of his man’s voice was like Red nails driven into his skull.
“What’s going on in there?”
He knew that voice, that rich voice. It belonged to . . . a friend . . .
“Roy, the door.”
“Get away from the door, Roy.”
Ah! The firm voice of his love again. His love. His love. He could repeat that over and over with each beat of his heart. His Love. His Love.
“This has gone too far!” The one with the Green touch cried. “Everyone just . . .”
Scuffling noises.
Someone bumped against the bed. RED! RED!
“Drop the bow, miss.” More Red!
“Drop your sword.” His Love. His Love.
“Or what? You’ll shoot me? I don’t think so. You don’t have it in you.” His man was making the Red more Red again. He needed to stop.
“I killed my father a couple of days ago and I loved him dearly. You’re nobody to me.”
Ian trembled at what His Love had said. Why had His Love done such a deed? What kind of mad, red world did she live in?
“Fair enough. You shoot me. Mingo kills you. We make Theodora heal Lord Ian. I die in the service of my lord. You die without changing a thing.”
NO! No one would kill His Love! Ian swam through the Red searching for . . . searching for . . . what? A way past? A way through? He’d searched. In every direction lay more Red. More Red. Words washed over him. A voice he didn’t know. Someone talking about His Love. Talking about her the way he thought he’d talk about her. If he could talk. If he could string together more than a few words. If he could move.
“What do you say, boss?”
If he could move . . .
“We’ve all sworn to protect Lord Ian . . . to the death.”
If he could move!
“No . . .” His Love sounded in pain! Sounded in trouble! “No . . . don’t make me stop you . . .”
He grabbed onto the Black Web.
“Kill her.”
And he moved!
The droning in Josephine’s head turned into a harsh whine. Mingo lunged. The tip of his blade streaked forward like a blurred line of silver. Josephine saw it inch toward her and she waited, and waited, and waited until the blade was almost on her before she spun away, leapt into the air and sent her foot swinging around to crash into the side of Mingo’s face. The guard’s momentum changed direction immediately and he slammed against the bedroom wall. His limbs went limp and he crumbled to the floor and lay still.
Josephine landed lightly. Denton’s massive right fist came crashing in toward her head. Anger flared inside her. First Lipscombe, then Owen, now Denton. She braced for the strike.
Stolen Crown Page 18
