Her Father's Fugitive Throne

by Brandon Barr

  His sword twirled in his hand, flashing, disguising its trajectory. Then it swung down to cleave her head. Meluscia ducked, lifting her sword to parry the blow.

  His blade struck hers with all the force of his rage. She fell to her left, moving out of the path of his sword. It was just enough to avoid the cleaving he’d intended.

  Meluscia raised her sword to ward off his next attack, but Taumus’ head fell into her lap. A thump sounded as his decapitated body hit the floor.

  Standing there was Wiluit, his sword drawn, holding Shauwby in his arms. Wiluit had a hand over the boy’s eyes.

  “Can I look now?” asked Shauwby.

  “Not yet,” said Wiluit, and quickly took Shauwby from the room.

  Chapter Nineteen

  MELUSCIA

  The King stared, despondent, his arms folded upon the large dining table. The black satin chair where Taumus had sat was empty, an eerie but welcome sight for Meluscia. It was late, nearing midnight. Only the two of them occupied the room. A lone soldier stood at attention just outside the door.

  Meluscia felt a great need to press the matter of the treaties, for her next move was to speed home and reclaim the throne. She waited, however, as King Feaor sat in silence, coming to grips with all that had happened.

  “Meluscia, I owe you an apology,” said the King. “I can hardly fathom what I saw, or what this all means but…I must conclude that all you said is accurate. There are spies of Isolaug living among us.” He shook his head, as if chasing away his disbelief. “The two names you gave me, Llani and Oevah. Neither could be found. It appears they have fled the city. Llani was the wife of Commander Rhoan, whom you’ve met, and Oevah was the assistant to the royal blacksmith. It is crucial that we find both these women, so that information might be attained.”

  Meluscia nervously stroked the white cloth covering the wound on her arm and thought of Praseme. She was still with the Verdlands physicker, having the blade removed and her hand bandaged. The news of the missing spies did not sit well with Meluscia, but the matter was out of her control. She sat tall, trying to focus on the task at hand.

  “I have been told by my sister that the skirmishes between our people were instigated by a spy named Harcor, who lived in Tilmar. The Nightmares that infringe our borders are gross, disfigured forms—but Isolaug sent Praelothians, disguised as Verdlands soldiers or the Hold’s forces. It is no wonder we have been on the brink of war these past years. We were baited.”

  The King listened in silence, grimacing at an ill thought as she spoke. After she finished, his silence continued. Then, suddenly, he chuckled. “Your prophets gave me quite a start, trouncing into my bedchambers and knocking armed guards aside as if they were dolls flung by some invisible power.”

  Meluscia smiled. “They are not my prophets. They do the will of the Makers. I suppose the Makers want me to return home in one piece.”

  She pushed the two treaties across the heavy wood-grain table. “Valcere does not know of the true perpetrators in the skirmishes, and I doubt he would believe it. Not from anyone sitting here at least.” She pointed to the treaties. “I hope you’ll reconsider my offer. I think you’ll find it has both our kingdoms’ citizens in mind.”

  King Feaor took her father’s treaty and broke the seal. The King snorted more than once as he read. When he finished, he lowered the scroll with a worried look.

  “He wants me to apologize for certain crimes. What does he expect? I might apologize for the raids—even though, as you’ve told me, Praelothia and a woodsmen spy were to blame. Is that what he wants?”

  Meluscia sighed. “I believe so. He didn’t tell me.”

  Feaor’s face wrinkled in disgust. “I want peace, but I do not feel that the blame for the skirmishes should fall on the Verdlands.”

  “I feel the same,” said Meluscia, “but what other path is there to peace? Valcere will rule if that treaty is not signed.” Meluscia leaned forward. “And yet, if you sign that treaty, the moment I am coronated, my own treaty will go into effect, and I promise the truth about the skirmishes will be told.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now open mine. I hope you’ll find any injustice in my father’s treaty washed away by what I have to offer.”

  King Feaor ran his fingers over his chin and nodded. He took the scroll containing the treaty Meluscia had hand-written. It was not a long read, and when he finished, he stared at her with narrowed eyes.

  “You would give the foothills of Pyrrh to the Verdlands? The amount of stone there not yet quarried is said to be enormous.”

  “As it says in the treaty, the foothills of Pyrrh are a peace offering, showing the goodwill of the Hold.”

  The King shook his head. “This treaty is not a compromise. It reads more like a regal birthing-day gift. You would also supply the wood and labor to rebuild the farms that were razed on my lands? And all this in return for friendship and fair trade.” He shook his head, a questioning smile on his lips. “How has Trigon’s daughter fallen so far from the family’s penchant for tooth-and-fist bargaining?”

  “I owe that to my days in the Hold’s Scriptorium, under the tutelage of Katlel and all the histories and scriptures within. Luminess Monaiella, from the Age of Primacy, is my mentor and inspiration. I consider the citizens of the Verdlands and those of the Blue Mountain Realm one people, governed by different leaders, but one under the sight of the Makers.”

  “I see,” said the King. His intense eyes grew soft as they wandered in thought. “I must refuse your offer of peace then.”

  Meluscia’s hand sprang to her mouth in surprise. “Why? What is lacking? I will fix it.”

  “Nothing is lacking,” said Feaor, his fingers drumming against the table. “I will refuse this peace treaty unless you accept something from the Verdlands in return.”

  “I see,” said Meluscia nervously. “What is it you offer?”

  “There is a swath of land on our western farm plateau called the Nyland Heights. It borders your land near the foothills that fall from Heartbur peak. It is mostly untilled land, ripe and ready for seed. I would be honored to share it with you, as long as there is peace between us. There are few farms there and plenty of room for settlers from your realm. Would you accept this goodwill offer from the Verdlands, in exchange for signing your treaty?”

  Meluscia stood briskly, bottling her emotions as best she could. She swooped around the table. Feaor, and Meluscia embraced the King with the most bearish grip she could summon.

  “Yes,” she exclaimed, and stepped back. The delight on the King’s face mirrored the joy she felt in her heart. “Once you’ve signed both treaties, I must make haste for the Hold. My father is dying, and I wish to be back before he departs.”

  “My aid and protection is yours for the journey.”

  Meluscia bowed, her smile fading.

  “There is one more thing, my newly won friend,” she said. “Would you be so bold as to join forces with the Hold against a great enemy?”

  “A great enemy?” asked the King. “You refer to the Nightmares plaguing our land?”

  “Yes, and more. They will not stop coming unless we go to the source of their wickedness.”

  Fear fell upon King Feaor’s face. “You cannot mean…”

  “Yes,” said Meluscia calmly. “My sister has given me secret information. If we do not act now, Praelothia will gain its full power. Just as I’ve asked you, I will implore the Sea Queens to fight. Our three kingdoms must march against Isolaug…if we do not, the moment of our destruction is near and certain.”

  Meluscia proceeded to tell the King all that Savarah had said.

  The king’s brow sagged with the weight of the request. He fell back into his chair. For once, Meluscia saw his face age before her eyes. “I need time,” said Feaor, his tone fatigued. “I shall send an emissary to you. A week from now, you will have my answer.”

  QUICK FIRE

  “…How did the boy get in the cage with the kiehueth?”

  “I was drunk. Damn Piz. W
e were all drunk—the whole crew.”

  “Let me make this clear: if the boy gets eaten, you’ll be digging through kiehueth shit until you find every bit of that kid’s brain, and you better hope that creature shits chunks out. Because if his VOKK’s destroyed, the browbeating I gave Kenna over the liquor and truffles will be nothing compared to what I and the rest of management do to you.”

  “I’ll have the boy retrieved. It’ll be risky but—”

  “But you’re going to do it. I swear, Mhadrees, if you’re missing one of those VOKKs, I get your ships. And the boss, he’ll get your skin…turn it into paper so he can wipe his ass with you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir…We’ll get the VOKK.”

  -Transmission from Captain Mhadrees, Quick Fire, to Mauris TeHekee, COO, Red Merchant Enterprises

  Chapter Twenty

  AVEN

  Aven woke to the sound of whispers.

  For a moment he forgot where he was, then everything came rushing back to him.

  He kept his eyes shut. It felt safer, as if the moment he opened them, he would have to face whatever reality he saw. How long he’d slept, he wasn’t sure, but it felt like a very long time. He recalled no twisted nightmares—nothing.

  The whispering continued, and Aven knew it was the mercenaries, but they sounded strangely close.

  “Get up boy,” said a voice. The proximity of the voice gave him hope. Were they going to free him?

  Cautiously, Aven lifted his eyelids and peered out.

  The kiehueth lay beside him, its foreleg almost touching his arm. The long, misshapen head rested alongside his own.

  “He’s awake,” said a voice behind him. Aven guessed several of the men were at the bars, trying to get his attention.

  “Get up slowly,” came Piz’s voice. “Then walk over to the gate.”

  Aven slowly rolled onto his back. There were four men, the captain included, standing outside the bars.

  “We’re almost to Hearth,” said the Captain. “And I’m no longer drunk.” He glared at Piz. “Get over here. I want you out of there.”

  Slowly, Aven rose to his feet, careful not to touch the kiehueth. It was disturbing how large it was up close. Even lying down, it was taller than he was. He looked at its eye slit, knowing now where to find it, beneath the mouth line. Slowly he backed away, toward the bars.

  “That’s it,” the captain whispered. “Keep coming. We’ve got the gate unlocked.”

  Aven turned away from the creature and began tiptoeing toward the gate, which was slightly ajar, the men gathered outside it gesturing to him to hurry. Aven had to fight the urge to run, worried that he would make too much noise and awaken the creature.

  A low snarl sounded from behind him.

  Aven froze.

  The men waved at him to hurry.

  A tremor shook the room.

  Aven gave up hope of stealth and broke into a run. Behind him came the scratching of claws on metal and the pounding of heavy footsteps as the kiehueth gave chase. He didn’t dare look back at his pursuer—the look in the men’s eyes told him all he needed to know.

  Almost to the gate, the men’s faces contorted. They stepped back and slammed the gate shut. A heartbeat later, something swept Aven’s legs out from under him. He fell hard and slid across the metal floor, his momentum carrying him against the gate.

  Aven jumped to his feet. He began banging on the gate and yelling for the men to open it. The mercenaries had fallen back against the far side of the corridor, curses flying from their lips.

  The snouted face of the creature appeared beside Aven. It pushed between him and the gate, forcing him to step back. It continued to move forward slowly, as if corralling him away from the gate.

  With a snort, it lowered itself to the floor directly before the gate, blocking Aven’s path out. Aven stood there staring in disbelief. He’d been so close. Why was the creature doing this to him? Why was it torturing him like this?

  The mercenaries left. They soon returned, four of them carrying long metal rods with twin metal electrodes at the ends. Piz grinned as he jabbed the rod into the creature’s side and pressed the button. Electricity leapt from the rod, discharging into the kiehueth.

  Aven covered his ears just in time, but it wasn’t enough to block out the fearsome screech of the kiehueth. The creature leapt to its feet and backed away from the gate, its mouth wide open, teeth glistening. A hiss issued from the depths of its throat.

  Slowly the men opened the gate, and the four with the lightning rods cautiously entered the room.

  “Don’t hurt it,” said the captain. “That’s our most valuable cargo.”

  The men moved in unison toward the kiehueth. It retreated a step, stopped, then retreated one more.

  “Boy!” shouted the captain, waving from the gate. “Come on. Hurry.”

  Aven started toward the gate, but the moment he did, the kiehueth snarled and took a step toward him, forcing the mercenaries back.

  Aven quickened his pace, watching the creature out of the corner of his eye. He saw the creature drop into a crouch, but what happened next was confusing. The monster sprang forward with a roar. Shouts from the mercenaries and crackling sounds as they discharged their weapons. Aven tried to run, but the kiehueth slammed into the line of mercenaries, scattering them. One of the mercenaries was knocked into Aven, sending him sprawling.

  Aven rolled across the floor as the shouts turned into screams. He managed to extricate himself from the man who’d knocked into him and got to his feet. He looked around, trying to orient himself. He saw one of the mercenaries lying still in a pool of blood. The screams came from another one who was lying on the floor, his head pinned beneath the kiehueth’s clawed foot.

  Then the foot rose. The man tried to roll away, but the foot came make down with the force of a boulder, and the man’s screams ended in spray of blood and brain.

  Aven stepped back, along with the two remaining mercenaries, who were flanking him.

  The kiehueth moved forward, its eyes bulging grotesquely from its head. The pupils fixed upon the three of them, slowly panning up and down as it moved at an angle, cutting off their escape route.

  “Captain, help us!” screamed Piz, who was to Aven’s left. “It’s gonna kill us!”

  A long, bulky gun was thrown to the captain by the other mercenary standing in the corridor. The captain raised it to his shoulder and fired.

  A bolt of pure energy hit the creature, electricity popping and forking across its hide, but the animal barely responded except to bare its teeth and snap at the air.

  “All the way, captain!” screamed Piz hysterically. “Turn it up all the fuggin’ way!”

  Aven saw the captain fiddle with a knob and then raise the weapon again. He fired, sending a broad stream of blue lightning out. The creature shuddered from the impact and hesitated, giving Aven and the others hope.

  In the next instant one forelimb slashed out. The razor-sharp claws hissed by Aven’s face, their full force striking the man to Aven’s left. Blood splashed across Aven’s face, and the man’s head skittered across the floor.

  Aven felt the wall against his back. There was nowhere left to go. In that moment, Piz leapt forward and drove his weapon into the animal’s hide, zapping it again. The creature roared and swatted the weapon from his hands.

  Piz stumbled sideways, then turned and ran for the gate.

  Aven pressed himself flat against the wall as he watched the kiehueth race after Piz. The captain and the other mercenary both fired their weapons at the approaching animal. A stray bolt hit Piz in the face, driving him backward onto the ground. The creature leapt over his body without slowing.

  The captain’s face went white, and he and the other mercenary dropped their guns and simultaneously reached for the sliding gate. But they had miscalculated its speed. The kiehueth slammed into the gate, its snout wedged into the opening. The two men jumped back in fear, then took off running down the corridor.

  The k
iehueth forced its bulk against the gate, its powerful legs driving it forward. The gate twisted with a groan, then popped off its hinges, crashing onto the floor with a clang.

  The beast howled, then pivoted to look at Aven. It sniffed the air, then passed into the hallway, stepping on the twisted gate. Steadily, it moved down the corridor, in the direction Captain Mhadrees and the other mercenary had gone.

  Aven stood there in shock, trying to adjust to what had just happened. He looked around in morbid astonishment at the blood and gore strewn about the floor.

  Was there any way of escaping that monster now?

  Or was this just the beginning of a long nightmare?

  Aven flipped the headless mercenary over and dug through his pockets, hoping to find the key to the cell he’d been stuck in earlier. If he could find the key, he could lock himself inside. It was the only thing he could think of. He couldn’t stay here and wait for the creature to come back and finish him.

  Not finding any keys, Aven hurried over to Piz, who lay on the floor groaning. The stray bolt had struck him on the top left of his forehead. Aven went through the mercenary’s pockets, heard the jingle of keys and felt their shape. He took them out. There were at least ten on the small, silver-colored ring.

  Aven dragged Piz out of the creature’s pen and down the corridor in the same direction the creature had gone. He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to try to save the mercenary. He doubted the man would have done the same for him. But he couldn’t just leave him to die a gruesome death. He had to at least try to help him.

  He came to an open doorway that looked familiar. Inside, he saw his cell, Pike standing at the door, staring at him in silence. Aven wondered which Pike was in control and decided it didn’t matter right now. Even evil Pike was far better than facing the monster again.

  He dragged Piz over to the door to the cell and tried one of the keys in the lock. It didn’t fit. Suddenly, there was a loud crash in the distance, then a roar. This was followed by the groan of tortured metal, as it was struck over and by a large body. Aven felt his heart leap into his throat. His hands shook as he frantically went through the keys, trying to find the right one.