Stolen Crown

by Shawn Wickersheim

  “About . . .” Another sheering bite. “About . . . everything!”

  More of him disappeared in the fire.

  “Everything?” She loomed over him now. “No, you don’t need to apologize for everything . . .”

  His shrinking mass was making it difficult for him to maintain all his appendages. His legs shriveled up first.

  “If not for you and your many lies,” Cecily continued, pausing time to time to spit gobs of him into the fire. “I would still be married to Lord Ian with no possible future, but now . . .” His arms collapsed into his torso. “Now . . . there are so many possibilities, so many choices. All I need do now is reach out and pick one. In fact, I think I’ve decided. My eyes are open now. I’ve seen the great power you wielded. Not just with what you’ve become, but with what you were striving for. Through me, you would have been king, and through my vagina you would have created a new line of royalty.” Her face shimmered and Devin Ragget found himself staring up at his own face. “But now, through you, I will be king. I will have all the power. The long-denied crown will be mine. All mine.”

  A crown appeared atop her head though she was still wearing his face.

  “See what I will become thanks to you?” She said, looking down at his violet eyes. It was all that was left of him now. She’d saved that small handsome bit for last. “So save your pathetic apology, I don’t need it.”

  The last two images Ragget saw before everything went black were gnashing teeth and hungry flames.

  chapter 64

  Tyran refused to cry, blaming the tears streaming down his cheeks on the rising smoke. He swiped at his face with his sleeve and looked around at the small group who had remained by his side until the bitter end, Gertrude, Alysea, Sebastian and Umdan. The rest had tried to escape the fire and Straegar’s men by fleeing out the watchtower’s doors or windows and were either killed by the rising flames or by a volley of arrows. Alysea had emptied her quiver and Umdan had hurled down one of his two axes and with Sebastian’s help had heaved over the side some heavy stones but now all there was left for them to do was to wait for death.

  The rising heat and smoke told Tyran it was coming, and it would be upon them soon.

  The ground shook. Gertrude squeezed his left shoulder. Alysea clutched at his right hand. This was it. Tyran held his breath. He supposed the burning watchtower couldn’t stand forever.

  “The tower fall down,” Umdan said from his corner.

  Tyran glanced over his shoulder at the big man. There was no reason to lie now. “Yes, the tower will fall.”

  “It did fall.” Umdan pointed.

  Tyran and the rest of them crawled over to the roof’s edge and peered back at the city. There was something strange about the skyline. And then he saw it, or rather, he didn’t. Lord Ragget’s enormous tower was gone!

  Tyran thrust his fist in the air. Someone was still making a stand against Lord Ragget!

  Below, Captain Straegar was standing in his stirrups and looking back at the city too. After a moment, he pointed at something and started shouting for his archers to form up. Tyran frowned. What had Straegar seen?

  Tyran studied the city again. Had the Gyunwarian population formed a militia of their own? Were they marching on the Academy?

  No. He saw nothing like that in the streets or on the road between the city and the school though something large and black did emerge from the city and slide across the grass. It looked like a shadow . . . but of what?

  He raised the level of his gaze higher and higher until he saw . . . coming down out of the thin clouds like a mirage, a shimmering blue . . . ship! His jaw sagged open and he stared dumbfounded at the flying pale blue ship! First a dragon and now . . . this? He glanced around at his companions, but they were all staring at it too.

  “The One save us,” Gertrude murmured.

  The ship sank lower, still flying a hundred feet or so above the Academy buildings. Below, Straegar shouted, “READY . . . AIM . . .”

  Aim? Tyran shook his head. How could they miss? The ship was huge.

  Three people appeared at the bow. A tall woman with a crossbow and two men each holding coils of rope. They appeared to be looking for something.

  “HERE!” Tyran jumped up and waved his hands in the air. “WE’RE HERE!”

  The woman pointed, and the airship nosed toward them, settling lower in the sky though still flying a good thirty feet or so above their heads. It eased closer, closer.

  “FIRE!” Straegar bellowed.

  A volley of arrows raced skyward. The woman leaned over the railing and a stream of bolts spewed forth from her crossbow. Tyran watched in stunned silence as bolts and arrows collided in midair. The few she missed harmlessly struck the bottom of the wooden ship.

  “FIRE!” Straegar bellowed again.

  Again, the archers sent dozens of arrows skyward only to be met by a flurry of bolts, only this time the woman didn’t stop firing once the arrows were knocked out of the sky. Scores of bolts ripped across the ground and tore into Straegar’s men. Before the archers could release another volley, half of them lay dead.

  “TAKE COVER!” Straegar shouted.

  Bolts chased the captain around the corner of the nearest building as the Yordicians scattered.

  Two ropes dropped over the ship’s side and landed on the roof deck.

  “Tyran.” Gertrude pushed him toward one. “You first.”

  He froze as he stared at the length of rope trailing slowly across the roof.

  “Tyran!” Gertrude barked.

  “Only if you come with me,” he countered.

  The old woman’s lips puckered but she gave him a sharp nod. He grabbed one rope. She the other. The men above began pulling them up. Tyran’s heart raced. His injured arm ached. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hold on. Sweat poured off his face. He glanced down. The ship had carried them out past the end of the roof deck and they were so high up! An arrow streaked toward him. He screamed. A bolt whizzed past and the two projectiles collided just below his boots.

  “Don’t look down,” Gertrude called over to him.

  Tyran hugged the rope and kept his eyes closed until at last he felt someone grab his arm and lift him over the ship’s railing. When his boots struck the wood deck, he forced his eyes open. The horizon tilted, and his stomach heaved. The airship was banking, coming around for a second pass. Tyran grabbed the railing and held firm. From his new vantage point, he saw the flames quickly engulfing the sides of the watchtower. At the rate they were flying, they might only have one more chance to get the three remaining members of his house off the roof.

  “We need another rope!” he said to the tall man wearing clothes way too big for his gaunt frame.

  “This is all we . . . uh, uh . . . found,” he said, wiping sweat from his face. “There may be more below deck.”

  Tyran cast about, looking for a hatch door or more rope or anything that might help the three still trapped when through the cabin window he spied Kylpin.

  “KYLPIN!” he shouted. Never was he so glad to see his father’s old friend. He dashed across the deck and threw open the cabin door. “You’re alive!”

  “You too, young master!” Kylpin shot him a quick grin before adjusting a lever, straightening the wheel and sticking his head into a strange-looking box. “Give me a moment, if you will . . .”

  “We need more rope.”

  But Kylpin’s attention was drawn to whatever it was he was looking at.

  Tyran shut the door and returned to the railing. The ship was moving steadily back toward the watchtower again. The archers were firing from behind covered positions. The woman was doing her best to shoot the arrows out of the sky. The two men manned the dangling ropes. Gertrude shuffled over to his side and tugged on his arm.

  “It does us no good for you to stand exposed like this!” she said.

  “I want to help.”

  “I know,” Gertrude said. “You’re a Weatherall, but there’s nothing you can do.”


  But Tyran didn’t want to hear that. He wanted to do . . . something.

  The first rope hit the rooftop. Sebastian offered it to Alysea but she pushed it back into his hands. “You’re a healer. You go first.”

  Sebastian hesitated, but finally grabbed hold and began to climb as the tall thin man strained to haul him up.

  The second rope slapped against the roof. Alysea reached for it, but Umdan shoved her aside and grabbed hold.

  “No!” the young man holding the other end shouted. He looked familiar. Tyran was sure he’d seen him somewhere before.

  Umdan started to climb. The young man was dragged off his feet by Umdan’s weight and pinned against the railing. Tyran scrambled away from Gertrude and hurried over to help.

  “I . . . can’t hold . . . him . . .”

  Tyran reached for the taut rope but Umdan’s greater size was too much for them both. The rope was slowly slipping out of their hands.

  “Let go!” Gertrude said.

  Tyran tried, but in hopes of helping he’d wrapped the rope around his wrist and now, it was so tight, he couldn’t get himself free. He screamed as the sliding cord rubbed his forearm raw. He was pulled off the deck and bent in half over the top rail. He felt himself start to pitch over the side.

  A wrinkled old hand shot through the railing. Tyran saw a flash of something silver. Almost immediately, the pain in his arm stopped and he fell back onto the deck. He stared at the cut piece of rope dangling from his hand.

  “I’m not going to lose you!” Gertrude snapped by way of an explanation. “Not for that idiot.”

  Sebastian swung a leg over the railing and climbed aboard. He was safe, but Alysea remained below. The young man next to Tyran leapt to his feet. “Philson!” he shouted. “Come with me!”

  The two men raced toward the rear of the ship. Tyran recognized the young man now. He was with them in the underground tunnel. His name was . . . he searched his memory . . . Garett. He’d refuse to get in the water and had run away.

  Garett tied the rope around his waist as he ran and when he reached the end of the ship, he leapt over the side. Philson braced his feet and slammed hard against the rail.

  Tyran peered over the ship’s side. Garett soared through the air until the rope ran out of play and when it did, he was jerked back the other direction. Down he swung, one hand clutching the rope, the other stretched out toward Alysea. She was standing at the very edge of the watchtower. Flames had crested the roof and were closing in on her.

  Garett swung past Alysea. She jumped. Tyran held his breath. Her hand slapped against Garett’s. Fingers locked. Together they swung wildly beneath the airship. Tyran let out a joyous whoop and then chased after Sebastian as they rushed to help Philson pull the two of them to safety. Once the two were on deck, Alysea rewarded her rescuer with a kiss. Garett’s face turned as red as her hair.

  Kylpin leaned out the bow cabin’s door. “Master Tyran,” he hollered. “Where to now, my friend?”

  “West, to Gyunwar,” Gertrude answered. “We need to get him to safety.”

  “No,” Tyran shook his head. “I’m not the only one who needs protection.” He pointed south toward the long line of Gyunwarian refugees fleeing Belyne. “Surely a ship this size can carry a few more passengers.”

  chapter 65

  Pieces of Devin Ragget rained through the dark skies of Hell until he slammed bit by bit into the outstretched palm of the voluptuous woman he’d seen before, only this time, she looked to be hundreds of feet tall, or perhaps he was merely the size of some lowly worm. Either way, she poked and prodded at his various gobs of being, pushing them around with one long tapered finger, until he was mostly reassembled. But even then, he didn’t feel whole. There was something missing. Something substantial.

  “You’re dead,” the goddess explained. “And your Mantle is gone.”

  Twin hammer blows right to his core.

  “This can’t be.” He tried to sound defiant but feared he came off a bit whiny. “I wasn’t finished with my plans yet.”

  The goddess shrugged. “Plans change. People die unexpectedly. The world’s story goes on.”

  “But . . .” Devin Ragget sputtered. Hell’s cold chill bore into him and he began to shake. “I was on the verge of starting a global war.”

  “Dammed souls come here all the time spouting off about their magnificent and diabolical plans,” the goddess said. “Most suffer from delusions of grandeur or poor execution. Which of these best fits your situation?”

  “Neither,” Devin Ragget said. “I was betrayed by Stephano Di Rygazzo.”

  The goddess arched an eyebrow. “Why would he do such a thing? He takes no sides.”

  “He gave Cecily a Mantle. It’s the only way to explain her ability to destroy me.”

  “Really?” The goddess cocked her head to one side and her gaze narrowed and Devin Ragget couldn’t help but feel like she was sifting through his spirit material, reading it like some open book. When she reached his end, a smile eased across her face. “Oh yes, I see what you mean.”

  “So, you’ll send me back, so I can finish my plans?”

  “No. From now on, you will do as I say, precisely as I say, or you will find yourself . . . dead. Again. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes.” His voice sounded small.

  “Wonderful.” She rubbed her hands together. “I’m going to send you back to accomplish a task of my choosing. Succeed and you’re free to do as you wish.”

  Devin Ragget nodded. “Agreed.”

  “But you don’t know what I want yet.”

  “I’ll do anything you ask.”

  “I want you to kill a man.”

  “That’s it? Why don’t you do that yourself?”

  “Because . . .” The goddess stared down at him. “I’ve always found the act of killing to be a simple one, performed by simple-minded men, haven’t you?”

  Devin Ragget recognized the insult and decided not to respond.

  “Are you my simple-minded man?” she cooed.

  “If that’s all you want, I’ll see it done.”

  “He won’t be an easy man to kill.”

  “Just tell me who it is and send me back.”

  “There is a slight complication with the sending you back . . .”

  “I don’t care.” He cut her off. The goddess needed something from him and that made him feel strong, brave. A golden image flashed in front of his eyes. His target. “Fine. Now send me back!”

  She smiled. It wasn’t comforting. “As you wish . . .”

  His eyes opened. He was staring up at rafters. He inhaled. Warm mossy air. The cold chill of Hell quickly faded. He sat up. He was in a small bedroom. Neat, tidy, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and froze. There was blood on the floor and . . .

  His feet were not his feet. His gaze traveled up the length of his body. The hair on his legs and his chest and around his scarred cock was black, not blond. He looked at his hands. Fine dark hairs covered them, covered his arms and the backs of his fingers too in the space between the first two knuckles. He brushed black hair away from his face. Was it his face? His fingers probed his chin, his cheeks, and his nose. Something wasn’t right there either. The entire structure of his face seemed wrong. And there was a hard ridge of skin across his forehead just below his hairline.

  Another scar?

  He ran naked out of the bedroom looking for a mirror. The small room beyond looked quaint and dainty though dirty dishes littered the table. Where was he? Where was a mirror?

  Outside, he noticed a deep gash in the yard behind the house as if something very big had been yanked out of the ground. Curious, he stepped onto the back porch. Brackish, foul-smelling water filled the bottom of the hole. He scrambled down the side, lost his balance, slipped and slid all the way down, splashing into the sewer water at the bottom.

  He straightened and waited impatiently for the water to calm. When it did, he stared down at his new reflection and curs
ed the goddess for what she’d done to him.

  chapter 66

  Stephano Di Rygazzo, the banned god, stood outside the Lady of Light Cathedral and stared up at the gleaming white building with its stained-glass windows and its golden domes. Never had he stood this close to one of her churches. With a hint of a smile curling at the corners of his lips, he stepped forward. Still nothing turned him aside.

  “Interesting . . .” he muttered.

  Wrapping his somber black cloak around him, he continued up the steps, nodded to the royal wardens standing at attention on either side of the wide doors and silently pushed inside. The pews were packed. The upper balconies were filled too. He silently made his way to the stairs and climbed all the way to the top. Still nothing pricked at his skin or forced him to stop.

  “Very interesting . . .”

  Had she finally forgiven him for his past transgressions?

  He shook his head. Impossible. He hadn’t asked for absolution and he doubted she would give it to him willingly.

  Not after what he had done to her.

  And yet, here he was.

  Ah well, a mystery to be solved another day, another time.

  He reached the upper balcony and made his way to the lone empty seat in the back row. Neko Blood looked up as he sat down next to her.

  “I wondered if you’d come,” she whispered.

  “Frankly, I’m surprised I’m here.”

  “To be honest, so am I.” Neko returned her attention to Lord Devin Ragget’s coronation. Tomm, her short surly errand-boy sat on her other side. His pudgy arms were crossed over his chest and he stared at the back of the head of the person directly in front of him.

  “Should we find him a cushion?” Stephano Di Rygazzo whispered to Neko.

  Tomm shot him a dirty look and Neko only shook her head.

  Stephano Di Rygazzo sat back and watched the proceedings with more than a modicum of interest. Never had one of his Vessels so quickly stepped into his or her new role of power! With King Edmund Rutherford confirmed dead a few days ago in the Tower Square fire and his sole daughter, Princess Cecily Rutherford found wandering the streets naked and babbling incoherently, the dashing Lord Devin Ragget had stepped forward and offered to care for the addled Princess. At the same time, he’d made his claim for the crown. With Lord Oliver Orrington banished and war looming on the Gyunwarian horizon, Lord Ragget had argued for the need for urgency on this matter. The Yordician courts seeking a quick resolution and a strong leader agreed.