by Casey Eanes
The soldiers loosed their grip on Willyn as she stood to her feet and ran her hands through her hair, trying to gather her thoughts. Her words were gentler and she focused on her unlikely savior. “Thank you, Bronson. You’ve done more than you realize.” Bronson looked up, his eyes a mixture of pain and hope. She continued, “Your actions saved my life, and you’ve unknowingly put me right where I need to be.”
Bronson’s face held a look of surprise. “The Spire? Your intentions were to get into the Spire?”
“Yes.” The fire within Willyn’s eyes ignited once more. “But we have to hurry. I need you and your men’s help. She reached for her datalink but the unit on her wrist was shattered and inoperable. “Do you have a secure datalink I can use?”
“Of course.” Bronson offered the datalink on his arm. “But I don’t know who you will call at this point. It’s terrible what has happened. It’s just us. The other forces I had gathered were routed, pressed into labor into the camps and... changed.” Bronson’s veiled words made Willyn shudder. “All communications from Lotte has been shut off since you took Rhuddenhall.”
Willyn’s finger froze over the datalink keys as she examined Bronson’s face. Upon mentioning Lotte, he covered his face with an open palm, as if the word of his homeland was too much to bear. Seam’s rebellious captain reeked of alcohol and his emotions flailed within him unpredictably. Unstable. Broken. He continued, his voice a ribbon of dread and remorse. “They are all captured, Willyn. The Resistance. All of them. I went dark for a while and just listened, but then you came. Maybe there is something we can do. Maybe.”
The glimmer of hope in Bronson’s voice was brief and broke with his voice as he excused himself to a corner of the room. Willyn shook her head in disbelief. He was like a panicked animal, trying to contrive some feasible exit from his situation.
“Bronson, let’s address one thing at a time. Do you have any meds here?” Willyn pointed to her shoulder. “I need them...fast.” As if summoned by her voice, a hot flash of pain ripped across her like a whip. She grimaced. “If I am going to do anything, I need help.”
Bronson turned, nodding in affirmation and waved for a guard to fetch the supplies. “Take care of her, Davis. See that she gets all the meds she needs.”
“Actually, Bronson.” Willyn ushered Bronson to a corner of the room away from the rest of the soldiers. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Can you allow me a few minutes alone to think?”
“Certainly.” Bronson nodded and patted Willyn’s hand, his mannerisms floating between genuine, awkward, and drunk. “Of course.”
Bronson and the small band of Resistance fighters slipped from the room, leaving Willyn alone as she waited for medical assistance. Her thoughts sped in the dim light as she heard the sounds of war outside her prison turned safe house. She winced to think that her people were facing Seam’s forces without her. They are mighty with or without you. The clarity spoke in the dark and Willyn conceded to accept it.
Quietly, Willyn flipped open Bronson’s datalink and dialed Rander, but no answer came. Willyn grumbled as she realized the signal was not one Rander would recognize. There was no way he would answer. As she slid the datalink across the floor, its screen lit and it beeped with an incoming signal.
Willyn cautiously flipped the channel open and let out a gasp as she looked into Hagan’s face.
“How did you know to reach me on this signal?” Willyn tapped at the screen and ran diagnostics to ensure the data stream was secure.
“Who else would be calling Rander from Zenith?” Hagan chuckled and shook his head. “Give me some credit, ‘Lyn. All my men are monitoring the signals. We were expecting you to call, any way that you could. Are you in the Spire?”
“Yes, though I’m lucky to be alive at this point.”
Hagan interrupted, “It doesn’t matter. Half of the battle is already won. I’m just glad you made it inside.” Her brother smiled widely and coughed horribly, his ratcheted breath causing the datalink’s speakers to squeal. He’s still not well, Willyn thought to herself. Between gasps, Hagan looked at her from the datafeed. “You need to know I am on my way. My forces will be there soon.”
“What?!” The words burst from Willyn’s lips with rage. “That wasn’t part of our plan, Hagan! It’s not safe! There are two Serubs outside ripping our forces to pieces as we speak.”
Hagan smiled over the feed. “Willyn, do you remember our wolf hunts? I am not worried about Serubs. I am coming to help you take out the pack leader; the alpha. We will be there within the hour, and Seam will be none the wiser. We have found an ancient tunnel system that runs from the borders of our land into Zenith. It was used by our ancestors in the last great conflict with that cursed city. Long forgotten and abandoned, I doubt the High King expects our coming. We are closing in now.”
Willyn’s eyes widened. Ancient tunnel system? It sounded too good to be true, but Willyn accepted it. “What do I need to do?”
Hagan stared at Willyn, his eyes solemn. “Get into position as we discussed. Wait…”
“Then strike,” Willyn finished.
Seam’s convoy stopped at the desert ridge overlooking Zenith in the valley below. Large billows of smoke poured from the city and wafted toward the horizon. For the first time in his reign, he saw the destruction and death that the Grogans could rend on even him, and his mind was full of shock and rage. The Spire stood tall, defiant, but around it, tall buildings and defenses had crumpled under the firestorm of the Grogan raids. Seam cursed Willyn under his breath as he scanned the destruction.
The hot desert air whipped through Seam’s long brown hair, and the smell of war swept over the High King. Seam held up his datalink and summoned Arakiel.
The Serub stared into the device, his face like a sulking child disappointed at the arrival of a strict parent. “Arakiel, what is the status of the battle? We are preparing our entrance into the city.”
Arakiel let out a low growl before speaking. “The Grogans have been defeated, Keeper. We pushed their forces back, and they’ve retreated from Zenith. We have won the day.”
Seam smiled, but something still didn’t feel right. “What of our forces, Arakiel? What is their status?”
The Serub looked out somewhere behind the screen, as if surveying the troops. “High King, your army took many casualties from the Grogan assault, but thanks to Nyx and me, we have successfully held an adequate fighting force for you to wield.”
Relief flooded Seam’s mind. Grateful, he spoke, “You have my thanks, Arakiel. Truly, you do. Your leadership in my absence has been most helpful.”
Arakiel’s blood red eyes locked on his master’s and he nodded, a small acknowledgement. “What news of Isphet? Does he accompany you, High King?”
Seam’s face tightened with unspoken rage. “There is much that we need to discuss, Arakiel. Bring your sister. The Synod must reconvene in my throne room.”
“As you wish, High King.”
The feed was cut, and Seam motioned for the convoy to move on to Zenith. Hastily, he fumbled for Bronson’s number.
Bronson’s worn and aged face filled the screen with the first datalink call. “Bronson, we are making the descent into Zenith. Is Willyn Kara still secured?”
Bronson nodded. “Yes, my lord. Safely hidden in a holding cell awaiting your arrival.”
“Very good, Bronson. Your actions have pleased me greatly.” Seam’s words were sincere, and Bronson bowed over the datalink screen.
“Thank you, my lord. I will greet you upon your arrival at the Spire.”
“Until then, Bronson.” Seam shut the feed, allowing his mind to tally the spoils he gained in the last two skirmishes. He had accomplished all that he had set his mind to in only a matter of months. All the mirrors were his, and Isphet would soon be unlocked, securing his full and complete reign over Candor. The enemies who nearly bested him would soon die and justice for their tyranny would soon be realized. Willyn Kara would pay for her treachery, and with her deat
h, the Sarhood would be crushed and the Groganlands would bow to the High King of Candor.
For a reason he could not explain, his hand dialed his datalink once more, his fingers following a familiar pattern that he had not dialed in months. The feed triangulated and secured and was then accepted. The cold face of Seam’s mother filled the screen, her eyes wide with genuine surprise.
“Seam...I did not expect you to reach out to me.”
“Hello, mother.” He fumbled for words as he tried to feign pleasantries, knowing his own mother had betrayed him, fueling the Resistance in Lotte. “It is good to see your face. I...I am so sorry it has been so long. My work in Zenith has kept me very busy.”
Aleigha’s voice was curt and ungenerous. “So I heard. Your adventures have been showcased as legendary all across the continent.”
Seam smiled broadly, not hearing the disdain laced within his own mother’s voice. “How is Lotte, mother? Our home kingdom? I was so glad that you agreed to serve as my viceroy in my absence. I trust that our kingdom is secure and you are advancing the Dominion’s cause.”
Aleigha stared at her son, weighing her words. “Lotte is well and secure, though I am not as I would like to be.”
Seam cocked his head. “What’s wrong, mother?”
Aleigha stared into the datalink, her face unwavering. “You know the anniversary...it is coming up.”
Seam’s face blanked with confusion, and he regretted ever calling his mother. “What are you talking about?”
Aleigha’s mouth pinched up with rage. “Your father’s death, Seam. The anniversary of Camden’s death is only a week away. Have you thought of how you would acknowledge it, my son?”
Seam mumbled his response. “Dear woman...I will not acknowledge a Red Death...not now, not in these times. Terror has roared through our land. To acknowledge the terrorists’ success would only breed more upstarts, more rogues, more villains. Camden is gone, and his vision of Candor with it. I am all that is left of him, and I am doing the best to bear his heavy mantle.”
His eyes connected with hers, silently challenging her with their intensity, refusing to back down. “It gladdens my heart to tell you that Grift Shepherd has been captured and he will pay for the crimes he has committed against our family. Perhaps a public execution on father’s death day would be appropriate.”
Aleigha’s stare was cold and her eyes burned with an unrivaled fury. “Even after all this time, you still have learned nothing. You refuse to see the error of your ways, refuse to acknowledge the guilt that has plagued you for so long. I know the truth, Seam. You murdered your father.”
Seam’s mind exploded with hot rage. “What you are saying, woman, is treason!”
Aleigha cut in, her own words on the edge of screaming. “What I am saying is the truth! You will not stop until you see this entire horror through. I can see that now. I have prayed for you for months, begging for Aleph to show you mercy, but you will not bend. You will not stop from digging your own grave.”
Aleigha wiped away a trail of tears that fell from her face, and her voice ran cold. “My prayers for you stop today, Seam Panderean. Hear me and all that I say to you: You are no longer my son, and I declare Lotte’s independence from your so-called Dominion. Lotte and all her people will fight against you and the nightmares you wield until Aleph’s justice is fully realized.”
Seam sat as the titan continued to roll into Zenith, his face turning several shades of red to a deep purple. “So this is what we come to, mother? This is the line you draw in the sand? Very well. For months, I have known of your dealings with these terrorists.” Aleigha stared unwaveringly at her son as he continued. “Then you give me no choice. For your treachery, I will see you hung on the Pass, so that crows can feast on your flesh. You will see my wonders in the end, and you will regret your treachery. You will soon acknowledge me as I truly am: a God.”
Aleigha screamed into the feed, her face a violent shade of her own son’s twisted rage. “So ends the house of Panderean! When I see you next, my son, it will be in a coffin!”
Grift felt the fresh rush of hot desert air roll over him as the large doors opened from the side of the cramped transport. All at once, the hundreds of morels moved out with metronomic movements, their marching measured and calculated by some unknown force. Grift was swept up in the tide of bodies like a capsized ship captain, struggling to keep his head above water.
Aleph, please help me for what is coming next. Let me die in a way that pleases you.
The morels that surrounded him split away from Grift, leaving him in the presence of the giant Serub that accompanied Abtren in Preost. The green-eyed monstrosity looked down at him with a sneer, pointing at him.
“He’s the one. Lock him down and bring him to the pinnacle. The High King wishes to deal with him personally.” Dominion forces were on him in an instant, holding him down and binding him with heavy chains.
Grift’s heart fell to his stomach as the shadow of the High King’s dark tower covered him. The last time he had been dragged to this place, he would have died if not for his son. Tears began to roll from his eyes at the thought of Kull and what he had done for him. I’ve done all I could, and it still wasn’t enough. Aleph, have mercy on me.
Adley woke coughing and gagging in the smoldering sanctuary of Taluum. Her head was light and spinning and the smoke stung her eyes. As she tried to stand she remembered her ankle was pinned beneath a heavy timber. She tugged at her leg but the large beam would not move.
She scanned the floor, trying to find any way of escape. A cloud of smoke filled the dark room, obscuring Adley’s vision, but as she searched for a way to pull herself free she spotted the silent, still body of Wael, lying in a large pool of blood. Adrenaline surged through Adley’s veins and she pushed against the timber again, trying to reach her friend but her leg did not move. As she braced to try again her sight landed on a mace nearby, dropped by one of the fallen monks.
Adley fumbled for the iron weapon and wedged its handle next to her ankle. With all her strength she hoisted the beam and slid her leg free. She gasped for breath and tumbled backwards as the timber smashed to the floor.
The thinning oxygen made Adley’s head spin and she struggled to right herself on her bad leg. Each step was excruciating but she forced herself to push further into the burning sanctuary; she had to get to Wael.
Adley ripped a sleeve of her shirt free and wrapped it around her mouth to try and slow down some of the smoke inhalation. She made her way to Wael and felt for a pulse on his cold, clammy neck.
Her heart skipped a beat once she felt a faint pulse beating. Adley rolled Wael to his back and quickly examined the seeping wound. She ripped her other sleeve free and used it to pack the wound as best she could before cutting one of her pant legs free and tying it around Wael’s stomach to hold the pack in place.
“It’s crude Wael. But it will have to work!” “Stay with me!”
Adley worked Wael to a sitting position and tried to hoist him to her shoulder, but her leg buckled beneath his weight. She set him down and checked his pulse again. “I will be back Wael, I promise. Just please hang in there.”
As Adley jogged for the exit she heard a faint whimper. She glanced to the side and saw Rot, lying on his side trying to steady himself upright, one of his legs badly broken.
“Don’t worry, boy. I’m coming for you too.” Adley’s heart beat quickened and she turned for the door. As she burst out into the war torn streets of Taluum, gasping for fresh air she screamed out, each word causing her smoke filled lungs to burn.
“Please! Anyone! Help me get the Mastermonk from the sanctuary!”
Grift stood chained to the floor in the middle of the Spire’s throne room. All of Candor circled around the room, and Grift’s hands shook as he gazed over the vast, panoramic expanse. In the west, he could see the wide, dark clouds of smoke billowing into the air; Preost was still burning. From the east, a wide and violent thunderstorm was rolling in, out of the G
rogan mountains and into the Rihtian plains. Everything that Grift saw from this vantage point on the Spire bid ill tidings and dark omens.
Grift’s thoughts turned toward his end. There will be no escape this time, Grift. Today is the day you die. He weighed the thought in his mind, holding it loosely. He saw the face of Rose, whose beauty and joy had been robbed from her life too soon. His thoughts turned to Kull, who died only months before in the very room where he was now chained.
They are waiting for you. The thought invaded his mind without asking, and it tore through him like a blazing beacon of insane hope, a small but powerful torch of light within the darkness of his soul. The torch warmed Grift’s heart and calmed his nerves, anointing him for what was coming next. Grift’s whole body shook with a blanketed energy, a quickening of comfort, and his eyes pooled with both grief and hope. I’m not afraid of what is coming. Rose and Kull are waiting for me on the other side. That is enough for me. By Aleph, that is enough.
Grift’s solitude vanished in an instant as Seam Panderean broke through the large double doors that led into his opulent throne room. He stepped up on the ivory staircase that led to his throne. Each of the steps was flanked by one of the four mirrors in Seam’s possession. He ascended silently without giving Grift a second glance. Two golden eagles were perched at each side of the ornate chair, serving as Seam’s armrests, and as he sat, Grift marveled at the clothes the High King was wearing.
The spartan armor of the Grogans was gone, and in its stead were the royal robes of the Kingdom of Lotte. In fact, Seam sat wearing the very robes of King Camden, and on his head, he wore his father’s intricate golden crown. He sat with such authority that it made Grift do a double take, as if he were looking directly at the ghost of High King Camden himself. The High King stared down on his captive, his voice booming in the high hall.