Keys of Candor: Trilogy

by Casey Eanes

  Kull stood and paced on the roof. “Aleph has shown me a horrific vision, Wael. One that I can barely believe. May I share it with you?”

  Wael nodded. “Of course.”

  Kull shared the vision he had of the chessboard and the opposing kings, Seam and Isphet.

  The Mastermonk’s face grew somber. “Seam still lives. Even now...and it would seem as a Serub?”

  “Or something like that, if you can believe it.”

  Wael shook his head. “So, he has become what he sought to control.”

  Kull’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”

  Wael glanced at Kull, stifled out of his own thoughts. “I’m sorry...your vision. It made me realize that Seam has become the very thing he tried to control, to contain. This is the nature of evil. You cannot fight it or put it in submission. It is fueled by hate, contempt, and conflict. As you fight it, you risk the danger of becoming exactly like your enemy.”

  Kull’s body shook and he lowered himself to the ground, feeling faint.

  “Kull, are you okay?” Wael rushed to his friend.

  Kull’s face had gone pale, his complexion full of dread. It was as if Wael’s comment had aged him two decades. “The vision...he...Aleph said, ‘This is a game that cannot be won. This is a game where everyone loses. You must make your choice.’”

  Kull scrambled back up to his feet, but had to fight the dizziness overwhelming him. “I realize now what my choice is, Wael. For the longest time I thought the Key was for me to fight them…to fight them both. But now I realize that this is wrong.”

  Wael stared at Kull, silent as a stone.

  “Aleph have mercy on all of us,” Kull whispered, his face as pale as a ghost’s. “I must give the Key to one of them, Wael. This is my choice. I must give the Key to either Isphet or Seam.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  What word do we have on Elu’Qua? Any survivors? You must give me some answers. We saw what happened but we lost the feed.” Ewing’s eyes were bloodshot and his shoulders sagged as he sat hunched over a datalink screen with a cup of cold coffee. He puffed at the pipe clenched in his teeth, adding to the cloud of smoke swirling around his head.

  “Not good, sir. Total devastation. There are few survivors. Women, children, men…it didn’t matter...” The voice on the other end of the datalink broke off. “Excuse me, I’m sorry. I just got word we found some more. They hid in the sewers and waste lines. Might be a few dozen or more down there. Looks like mostly kids.”

  Ewing grimaced at the thought of families having to desperately drop their children into the filth of the waste system, hoping it would hide them from death above the streets. “Well, by Aleph, fish ‘em out. Get those kids safe!” Ewing choked a bit and gathered himself before continuing, clearing his throat and feigning a cough. “What of the military, only a minor base there in Elu’Qua, fortunately. How many fighting men left?”

  “Some good news there. We, uh, we still have several battalions of troops. They are chomping at the bit to take the fight back to that monster. But, um, we do have some, uh, bad news, sir...” The man on the line trailed off again and could be heard chattering with a nearby informant. “How many!?” Ewing could tell the news he was receiving was not welcome. “Okay, well tell them to pull together what they can and get ready.” The man came back over the link. “Apologies, but some bad news, sir. We lost twenty-seven jets in that single fight. That is nearly a third of the fleet and almost half of those left are grounded or need repairs.

  Ewing shook his head, his chin dipping to his chest as he rubbed at his forehead. “Thank you for getting out there so quickly, Captain. Connect with the Elumite generals, if they are still alive, and let them know our time is running out. I think we will have to put up a fight sooner than later.”

  “Yes, sir.” The reply was quick, but Ewing could feel the uncertainty hidden behind the words.

  “Oh, and Captain. Any word on Darian?”

  “No, sir. We are still combing the ruins of the palace.”

  Evan Darian lifted himself from a pile of refuse, and his hands slipped against the granite block walls of the cistern that rested below the ruins of his family’s palace. The putrefying odor continued to gag Evan as he scrambled for fresh air and sunlight. The horrible noises he had heard from above had dissipated; the bloodcurdling screams for help he had heard above him had since been silenced. Evan couldn’t calculate how long he had sat in the silence, fighting for breath in the sewer beneath his palace.

  “I would rather die than stay here. I should have just let those monsters tear me apart.” Evan gagged as he drew in another breath of rotten air. His hand found a solid hold and he lifted himself from his toxic prison and onto a small, level slab of granite, all that was left of the cellar floor. Evan ripped his shirt free and threw it back into the pit. He tried to wipe his face clean, but the horrible odor was impossible to escape. He squinted and found a trace of light to his left, about nine feet over his head. It was nearly impossible to determine what obstacles were between him and the opening, but he reached out and felt for some type of support to pull up on. His fingers inched over crushed rock, bent rebar, and small shards of shattered glass.

  Evan hardly noticed the stinging sensation as his finger slid over a piece of glass. He was too focused on the fact that he had found a ledge. The sovereign of Elum mustered all his strength to lift himself to the narrow ledge and quickly found footing to lift himself again toward the light. Each movement brought a rush of adrenaline as he could smell the scent of fresh air flowing downward from the opening above.

  The light of the afternoon sun was blinding and Evan covered his face as he pulled himself out of the palatial wreckage. His left hand met with his bare chest and he quickly remembered his whereabouts for the last several hours. He scrambled to his feet, but tripped again over broken stones and shattered cement. Evan’s sight slowly returned and he blinked at the horizon. A sickening knot settled in his throat and he felt his chest compress with an overwhelming anxiety.

  He knew exactly where he was standing, but nothing was left to match Evan’s memories of the palace’s western garden. The Endless Ocean was stretched out, undisturbed and roaring at the cliffs below, but there were no standing walls, no shining glass ceilings, no brilliant marble overpasses or finely sculpted statues adorning these cobbled paths. A smattering of stone and steel littered the ground where his palace should have been.

  “What...” Evan trailed off as he stepped on top of the rubble, scrambling for a better viewpoint. His hands trembled and his right knee buckled as he fell to his side, landing on one knee and bracing himself with his right arm as he looked out over the ruins of not only his palace but the entire city of Elu’Qua.

  Tears rolled down the royal’s face as he sobbed at the sight. “How is this possible?” Evan whimpered as he tried to lift himself back to his feet, only to fail and fall back again, collapsing beneath the weight of his Realm’s destruction. His eyes darted back and forth across the scene, trying to find other survivors, but his initial search was fruitless until he spotted a large piece of displaced roofing flipped over. A blonde man sat up from the wreckage and bellowed in pain as he grasped at his right shoulder. A crimson stain covered his entire right half.

  Evan stumbled toward the new-found survivor, slipping and struggling to find a safe path. He was able to make his way down from the massive mound of rubble to the debris scattered below.

  “My lord, is that you?” The survivor squinted and gritted his teeth together as he tried to speak through the pain of a badly gashed shoulder.

  “Yes, it is. Are you alright?” Evan tried not to look directly at the free-flowing wound under the man’s hand.

  “I think I will be okay. Just need a medic. Did anyone else survive?” The young man tried to lift himself on his good arm to survey the wreckage, his eyes darting from one pile of rubble to the next, but his search slowed with each empty pile of wreckage.

  “Where are they?” Evan’s
voice was laced with dread as he spoke barely loud enough for the young man to hear.

  “I don’t see anyone. Maybe we are all that survived.”

  “No,” Evan shot back, still distracted by his thoughts. “Where are all the bodies of the dead?”

  Seam stared down at the sword that Aleigha had struck him with. Father’s. That is father’s sword. He stared at Aleigha and then back to his injury. The blade ran through his abdomen and pushed out his back. The pain was immediate and intense as single puff of air escaped through his lips. He lifted his eyes, meeting the gaze of his mother as she held firm to the hilt of the sword.

  “Damn you to hell,” Aleigha spat.

  Seam steadied himself and grasped the hilt, his hand enveloping his mother’s as he pulled the sword from his belly and swatted Aleigha to the ground, the ceremonial blade clanging onto the ground. “I’ve been in hell a long time, dear queen.”

  Seam stood with wonder as he felt his body repair itself. Dyrn’s wizardry went to work in an instant, and he could feel his innards being stitched back together as the flow of blood slowed and eventually ceased. Seam picked up the cast aside blade and chuckled.

  “You try to kill me with my father’s own sword? What kind of theatrics are this? What kind of queen are you to try and murder your own son?”

  Aleigha’s eyes cut through Seam as she lifted herself from the hard floor, her hand held to her bleeding mouth. “You...are not my son. My son died the day he betrayed our family. The day he murdered his king, his father. My husband. The day he betrayed our Realm. The day he betrayed Aleph—”

  Seam clasped his mother’s throat as he lifted her into the air. He pulled her face close as she swatted at his arm, hopelessly trying to free herself. “Oh, you are right, woman. The man who was your son died a long time ago. He has no kingdom. No freedom.” He drew her in, his eyes inches away from hers. “No mother.”

  Seam’s glanced at the royal blade, his body vibrating with fury. Without hesitation he struck the weapon deep into her gut with no remorse. She screamed and Seam stood over her like a predator as the life faded from her eyes.

  “Where are all the bodies of the dead?”

  The question would not be answered by any of the Elumite survivors. They stared at the disgraced ruler as if he had grown a second head.

  “Sir, they are…”

  “The dead?”

  Evan’s neck swung far, to the sound of the woman’s voice. He wiped his eyes to remove the drying filth that hung on his body like a putrid mud bath. He blinked rapidly, not believing what he was seeing. Before him stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She stood out like an angel among the wreckage and smoking ruin. Her voice, figure, and eyes were like electricity, making Evan alert, aroused, and agitated all at the same time. He tried to find his words, but they all flew away in the burning wind.

  “I…”

  “Evan Darian, Master of Elum, surely you can see that there are no dead here. This is a ripe and beautiful field, full of lush first fruits for my Lord and Master.”

  A cold bolt of dread flew down Evan’s spine as the woman’s brown eyes turned to deep pools of ash. The rubble around her began to shake with new life, as Evan’s mouth went dry with fear.

  “Your country and people are a great tribute to Lord Isphet’s reign. You are most honored above all men of Candor to contribute this gift to his coming kingdom.” The beauty that had once enveloped her was now completely gone, as Evan fell to the ground in horror. In a matter of seconds, the rubble rippled with new, unnatural life as the bodies of the dead began to rise, mutilated and bloody from the previous onslaught. Each broken, mangled face rose from the debris, turning their hollow gaze upon the cowardly son of Filip Darian.

  The woman smiled broadly, like a kind crocodile. “After all, Evan...haven’t you consulted the holy texts? Surely you know the one sacred truth of this world?” Throngs of the dead now walked toward him, their blank eyes somehow focused on him, their mouths opening in a bleak, dreadful unison, their words a collective chant of a verse all too familiar to Evan, but now its context all too abominably real.

  “From death comes life.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Willyn stared at the datalink screen as her transport made for Damrall. Her blue eyes could not be pried from the bright dancing light of the screen. “Aleph above,” she whispered. She adjusted the volume. The Lottian accent of the reporter filled the dark walls of the cavern.

  “...murdered in the High Hall of Vale. This only moments after learning of the tragedy of the Darian estate in Elu’Qua. Candor is without any governmental leadership within the Realms for the first times in centuries.” The reporter paused, choking down the emotions that threatened to overtake her. “If you’re joining us now, then it has just been reported that Queen Aleigha is dead. Her body was found within the High Hall, and an emergency call to Council from the Lords of Lotte has just been issued. The house of Panderean has ended. Reports are coming in...wait...wait one minute.” The reporter’s face filled the screen and another window came up. “We just received a data transmission from the Royal Guardsmen of the security footage of the High Hall.” The feed played and there, standing over the body of Queen Aleigha, was a tall figure with dark brown hair.

  Willyn’s jaw dropped. She said his name before the reporter identified him, “Seam.” The attacker turned, and the screen zoomed on his face. The reporter audibly gagged at the sight. “Gods...it’s...it’s Seam.” Seam stood tall, his face blank of emotion and his arm seemingly transformed into a long, dark sword. Willyn backed away from the screen. What has happened to him? From the reporter there was a long, pregnant pause, and then it cut to black.

  Another feed came in, this time a hovercam high above what looked to Willyn like the coast of Elum. A voice came over the feed, “This is a live feed from Elum. It’s hard to tell from the altitude, but what you are seeing is thousands of Elumites marching, following the figure who attacked their city only days before. Our intel on the ground is reporting back that the mob are not…alive, but are rather shambling. They are marching to the east, but it is unknown their final destination.” The screen faded to black, and Willyn cursed under her breath. Then the datalink feed looped back on. “We have just received news of a terrible tragedy. Queen Aleigha has been found murdered in the High Halls of Vale. This is only moments after…”

  Willyn cut the feed. It would loop on an endless parade for everyone left on Candor who wanted to flagellate themselves with the fear of the datalink reports. She closed her eyes, allowing her mind to listen to calm itself. She felt a cool fall breeze wick away the fire of rage that seemed to envelope her whole body. She forced herself to breath, to take in the fresh open air. She began her mantra to steady herself began.

  Focus. Now is the time for action, not for fear. What do you know? She tallied the facts, speaking to herself aloud, enunciating the words with rapid energy.

  “Seam is alive. I don’t know how he survived Isphet at Zenith, but he’s alive.” Another thought penetrated her mind. “Isphet is marching…marching with an army of Elumites toward the east.”

  Hearing herself admit these facts made her stomach turn. Contending with Isphet was hard enough, but to add Seam to the fray felt like cruelty on a divine scale. She buried her worries and pressed on.

  “Lotte is without a leader, and so is Elum…” Her mind orbited the map of Candor she had memorized as a little girl in her father’s war room. “Riht remains barren, and Preost has been burned to the ground…” A thought crystallized, sharp as a razor blade, and it cut her to the core.

  “There is only me…” She shook herself in disbelief. “I’m the last of the royal line in all of the Realms. Only me...and Seam.” Her hands began to shake, but she did not allow the terror to rise within her. Her hands flew to her datalink, focusing her anxiety into action.

  “My Sar, we stand ready for your orders,” Rander spoke on the other end of the device.

  “Rande
r, brief me on the condition of our people. How many able-bodied do we have in Damrall?”

  It was obvious that Rander had expected this call. “Many Grogans died in the escape from Rhuddenhall, but we have six thousand soldiers ready to serve, my Sar.”

  “Is the armory well-stocked? What do we have in terms of firepower?”

  Rander chuckled, and Willyn could hear a smile grow on his face. “Fully equipped, my Sar. Damrall has proved a well-stocked strategic outpost. Your brother was wise to have a contingency plan if we ever lost Rhuddenhall. We can outfit all the able with weapons, and we have two phalanxes of rooks, not to mention several hundred titan artillery.”

  “I want every vehicle piloted by our soldiers, Rander. Fill all the datalink feeds with the call to war. Have every able-bodied Grogan in the Realm make their way to Damrall. We will ready our forces...if only for one last time.”

  “Where will we strike first, my lord?”

  Willyn’s mind whirled with the possibilities, but her gut told her where to go.

  “We will make for Cotswold, Rander.”

  It had surprised Willyn how fast her people mobilized. She had traveled from Legion’s Teeth to Damrall only to find her troops, assembled and ready, their black rooks polished and in formation. They had all answered her call. Rander put out his call over the datalink feeds, and both Reds and Grogan alike had come, men and women from every rustic corner of the Groganlands, united and hell-bent to fight together one last time. To fight for their Realm and for their leader. Soldiers dressed in the spartan black uniforms anxiously checked their vehicles and weaponry. They were only waiting for their Sar’s arrival.