The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  Even now she could see them reloading the same boulder.

  Derk grumbled as he seemed to ready himself for the next volley. “It’s not fair. We’re much better for getting it that far.”

  Should she give up their plan? They could try to meet up with Beneral’s catapults, but they were sorely far behind them now. Much damage to the city would happen in that time. Should they just keep trying? She and Derk hadn’t been that far off. The next time, they might get it. Or they might tire further and not make it even as far as the first.

  “I have another idea. Can you make a wall of air?”

  “Not one solid enough to stop a boulder like that.”

  “What if I smash it into tiny pebbles first? Can you keep the debris from hitting us? Otherwise I think the roofs should be able to handle it much better than a boulder that size.”

  He pursed his lips. “That I can work with. I’d rather clobber them with their own boulder, but let’s try it.”

  They’d decided in barely enough time. The whistle of the next projectile already approached.

  She would have to be very precise. Too late and the effort would be for nothing. Too early, and she might miss the boulder and waste her energy.

  She leaned back against Ro. His arms circled around her body as she closed her eyes, her mind reaching out to find the rock in the sky.

  An arrow thunked into Samul’s back. Miara wished it had come as a surprise, but the only surprising thing was the timing. She and the king had made it perhaps a half mile from where she’d trapped the mages in her vines, and clearly at least one of them had gotten free. She’d had no idea how much time her vines would bring them, but delaying them indefinitely would have been nice.

  “Where are you hit?” she shouted over the wind. Lukor sensed her urgency and picked up his pace further into an all-out sprint.

  The king didn’t respond immediately, and she feared the worst. She could heal him if he was injured, but if they’d hit him in the neck or the heart—

  “Should probably have tried to bring that breast plate with us, I guess,” he grunted.

  She swore, but at least he was still alive and joking. “I’m sorry my fins failed you, my king. I shall strive to do better next time.”

  “See that you do.” Bleak laughter followed.

  She needed to do something to stop them—something more. Vines weren’t enough. She couldn’t just heal him over and over again. If he passed out from blood loss or the healing or the pain of the arrows, she wasn’t sure she could keep him in the saddle. She swept the grassy fields around them—squirrel, rabbit, chipmunk, sparrow. Gods, nothing that could help them unless she wanted to swarm them with small, adorable mammals. She heard the shriek of the falcon in the distance but couldn’t feel him anywhere. Perhaps he was too high up?

  The city was closer now, though.

  “Should Aven be here by now?” she shouted.

  “Yes.”

  Could she reach him? Find him amid the many denizens of the city? If she swept her mind far in that direction, she might just barely be able to reach. She’d be taken away from the battle mentally… but then she could call for help.

  But many people lived in the White City, which did indeed live up to its reputation as a shining beauty on the horizon. Could she really find Aven amid the mess of a city?

  Another arrow collided with Samul’s thigh, and he gave a muffled groan. At least there were no vital organs in the thigh. Except the arteries. And well, at least they hadn’t hit Lukor, which could take them all down in one fell swoop.

  Hmm. What if those mages figured that out?

  Hold on, Lukor. This is going to feel… weird.

  She recklessly went with the idea as it came into her mind. Lukor sensed the urgency, the danger, and braced himself. On his flanks and shoulders, she grew a strange armor, like a turtle’s shell, then poured calm and trust back into him. It will protect you from them. He didn’t much like that, but he didn’t like getting shot either.

  She swept her mind out forward, searching for any large predators. Or Aven.

  The city was on fire with life, people teeming here and there. Panicked. They were panicking. Why were they panicking?

  Inadvertently she brushed minds, seeing glimpses of sound and light. A boulder had hit the city. A large tower crumbling. Important people had been inside. Bad, that was bad. Fear quaked, whipping anxiety into panic.

  Important people? The Assembly meeting. Had the Masters attacked it?

  She could see the tower, but she groped further. People had fled down into root cellars and catacombs, wine cellars and sewers. They were in the ground, waiting to see if the buildings collapsed above them. Even having only seen the White City for a moment or two, she hated the thought of it coming to this. How were the Masters doing this? She hadn’t seen any troops.

  Could that have somehow been where the arrows had come from?

  Thunk. A groan.

  No time to think. Only time to search, maybe heal just a little.

  Dozens of people flew past her, and then—

  One underground area vibrated with magic. The other mages—Wunik, Siliana, Derk—they would be with Aven. That area could be them.

  She narrowed in on it and—yes! His familiar smoke-sulfur twinge caught her senses, pulling her toward him.

  Aven!

  Gods, Miara, you—

  I have your father. We’re on horseback en route to the city, but we’re under attack. We need help.

  My father! Where are you? Troops are headed toward the catapults, can you see them?

  No.

  You must be farther east then.

  We had to go off the road to evade the mages pursuing us. I’m stable for the moment. But your father is badly hit. I can heal him, but he might fall off the horse from the pain, or—

  I’m coming.

  No–

  But he was gone; she had lost him again in the crowd of the city.

  She reeled her mind back into her body. “I found Aven. He’s going to send help.”

  “As long as he’s not fool enough to come himself,” Samul grumbled.

  She winced.

  “He’s coming, isn’t he.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, let’s just hope he doesn’t come alone.”

  “Beneral—I need a horse. Now. Miara just contacted me. She’s found my father.”

  The lord dropped the map he was holding to the table. “What?”

  “Horse. Now. Asten, come with me. Get your bow. And one for me. Ben—two horses. Where’s Thel?”

  “He was on the other side of the tower with Alikar and Niat. They had to take a different way down.”

  “But where is he now?”

  “He hasn’t reached the bottom yet. We don’t know.”

  Damn—was Thel missing? If he’d last been with Alikar, that would be a bad thing. “Find him,” Aven ordered. “Send some men to look for him.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Asten returned at a jog. “Where to?”

  “Up these stairs,” Beneral said quickly. “We’ve gotten two horses off a carriage. They’re nervous, but it’ll have to do.”

  “Oh, wonderful, no saddles.” Aven took the stairs two at a time.

  “Shouldn’t be a long ride.” Asten mounted up. “Let’s go.”

  Aven urged the horse toward the east gate, only a few blocks away. Beneral hastily ordered several men to mount up and follow them. That was probably wise. Asten brought her mount even with his as they neared the gate and drew her bow.

  There—Asten had already spotted them. Aven found her fiery red hair, tied neatly back, and the glint of his father’s pauldrons. Something was… very strange about their horse.

  The men that followed them surged forward too, probably on orders not to let Aven be the first one on the field of battle. If they could do it, fine, but he wasn’t slowing down for them, not in the slightest.

  Another mage on horseback followed behind them, arrow
trained on his father. Aven slowed his horse, drawing his own bow now. The others would be closer, so he would be steadier. He nocked an arrow and carefully aimed, but waited a blink, another, to see if they would fire first and true.

  Asten’s arrow found its mark in the mage’s neck, and strangely, he seemed surprised. He must have been so intent on Miara and the king that he hadn’t noticed additional company. The man lost the saddle and tumbled to the earth, his own shot flying wide. Blood spurted as he went down, and Aven had the sick certainty that he would quickly be dead.

  The others all turned their horses, narrowing in on Miara and the king. But to Aven’s shock, he watched as the enemy mage’s horse itself started to suddenly twist.

  It was transforming. Gods, it wasn’t a horse at all.

  Even as the blond woman began to take shape, Aven fired. Asten’s eyes caught on his shot, and she nocked a new arrow of her own, turning back to the mess.

  The creature mage was only half human, half equine. She yanked Aven’s arrow from where it hit her in the thigh, which seemed like a foolish move, although perhaps she planned to heal herself. First, though, her hands melted from hooves to fingers as she drew her own bow up and back and—

  Asten’s arrow flew, and the creature mage fell, a crumpled mess beside the first.

  Miara’s horse had nearly reached him. “Aven!” she shouted.

  “Are they dead?” he called. Would she hate him for killing them? Perhaps he should have found some other way to stop them. As slaves, they likely had had no choice but to pursue. They hadn’t chosen this fate.

  She paused, checking. “Yes.” Nothing in her voice held reproach or regret.

  He steered his mount over to her and his father. The old man’s face was white, and he leaned heavily on Miara. An arrow protruded from his thigh near Aven’s face as well as his lower back. “Is he… ?”

  “He’s not dead yet, but I’m not sure how long we have. Is Siliana with you? I can’t—”

  “Of course. We’ll lead you to her.” He turned to their escort. “Surround them,” he ordered. “No gaps.”

  The men needed no encouragement. The horses sidled as close as possible to the brave—and apparently armored like a turtle—steed that bore two of the most precious people in Aven’s world.

  When this all blew over, he’d have to get that horse a carrot. An apple, even.

  He snorted at himself. What an inane thought to have at a moment like this.

  As they entered the city’s walls, the boom and whistle of another catapult launch echoed off the empty streets. The volleys were aimed at the west side of the city right now, but Aven urged them along faster anyway. Who knew when they might change direction?

  “What was that?” Miara asked.

  “Catapults,” Asten replied.

  “But—we didn’t see any close enough—”

  “They’re using mages to extend the range,” said Asten, voice hard.

  Miara winced.

  “Asten, can you ride ahead and warn Siliana? And the queen. Get a bed ready or—”

  “Yes, my lord.” Her horse galloped the last few blocks remaining ahead of them.

  “Are you hurt?” Aven said.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” Miara managed a brief smile.

  They reached the cellar just as Siliana and Elise charged back up the stairs. His mother’s face paled. Aven jumped off his horse and helped Siliana get his father down, with more than a few groans. It took two more men to help him inside and down the stairs.

  “Make way for the king!” Miara bellowed from behind them.

  The corner of his mouth twisted into the slightest of smiles at that. He’d be glad to toss off the title if it meant the old bastard would live, especially hearing Miara say it. But would he live? He’d feel less anxious when the old fool wasn’t bleeding, full of holes, and semi-conscious. They reached the table Asten had cleared to serve as a makeshift bed. The cellar wasn’t meant for supporting troops in battle.

  “Get the arrows out,” Miara ordered, collapsing onto a bench against the wall. Elise joined Siliana at the other side of the table as they prepared to work. “Asten, you and Aven do it, let the healers save their energy. Count of three, ready?”

  Miara counted, and they pulled, Aven gripping the arrow at the thigh and Asten at the back. Samul let out something between a groan and a howl. They lowered him to the table, and cloths from unseen hands were pressed into the wounds. Siliana and Elise leaned over him, eyes searching, intense, then closed.

  He could feel them working now, though it was different than his own magic. He realized numbly he was getting more sensitive to it.

  Samul let out a tortured wail, and Aven staggered back. They were working now. Good. Nothing else he could do.

  He slumped down on the bench where Miara had been only to discover she was no longer there. Gods—where had she gone? He couldn’t lose her again, not so quickly. Why was he always losing her—

  As he lurched to his feet, searching for her, he caught sight of his hands. They were covered in blood.

  His father’s blood.

  Everything around him froze for a moment. Somewhere, another boom shook the building. Somewhere, someone shouted, screamed. Somewhere, he needed to do something—help someone—stop all this. But for a moment—he just stared at his hands.

  Hands joined his. Wet cloth slid over his palms, wiping them clean. He looked up.

  It was her. Of course it was her. Of course she would make it to a moment like this, to a place like this with him. Of course she was steady. Of course she was calm.

  “You made it,” he whispered.

  Her gaze fed him, fortified him, those brown eyes silently, patiently studying his own. Those eyes that said, I know. I did.

  Samul cried out again, and Miara ordered someone to—he wasn’t sure. He just focused on cleaning the blood off. He glanced up. She was sending for more water now, ordering them to shut the doors, board the cellar windows.

  She returned to his side, again a pillar of calm, the shouting complete. She led him to the next room with her hand in his. A basin filled with icy water waited, and he washed off the rest of the blood. Asten’s voice cut through the fog around him as she shouted directions to someone. She was glued to Wunik’s side now, obsessed with the view of the catapults and troops attacking in the circle of light. What was she saying again?

  “Our riders have almost reached the catapults. Half a mile more, maybe. Tell those mages upstairs to keep it up!”

  His eyes caught on Miara now. Her usual leathers were also soaked with blood, torn in the shoulder and the thigh. The shoulder, she’d healed; smooth skin peeked through the torn leather. Her thigh was still wounded but didn’t seem to be gushing blood.

  He threw his arms around her and crushed her body and the soft leather against him, burying his face against her neck. Huh. Still lavender under all that blood, sweat, smoke. Her arms tightened around him.

  Someone cleared a throat. Oh. They were standing a bit awkwardly close to the officers working… Asten was staring now, eyebrows raised, Wunik looking amused.

  Aven withdrew, pulling them away from their audience as short a distance as he could manage before turning back.

  Her lips covered his with a kiss. He pressed hungrily against her, and her mouth opened eagerly, their bodies molding together. For a long moment, he forgot everything around them, everything that was wrong, everything that he needed to do, every obstacle they faced. There was nothing but the two of them and that kiss.

  How could he have come so close to losing her? He had to make sure such a thing never, ever happened again.

  The thunder of another crash shook the building above them. Voices shouted outside.

  “That one was close—”

  “By the gods, are the riders nearly there?”

  “A quarter left—”

  Another boom thundered, but this one was followed by a strange sprinkling, almost like hail in a rainstorm.

&
nbsp; He eyed the ceiling, then her again. He moved one hand to stroke her cheek, chasing the line of her jaw, the edge of her scar with his thumb. She mirrored the gesture, cradling his face in her hand. She leaned her forehead to touch his.

  “I thought—”

  “Shh.”

  “I thought you might be dead.”

  “I’m not.” She pressed her lips together. “But I thought the same.”

  “That you’d be dead?”

  “No. Well, yes, that too. But I saw the carriage, the lightning strikes.”

  “Oh.” Had she figured out he’d killed a man with them then? Maybe more than one? Did she care? “Then you saw—”

  “Let’s just say if that damn demonstration happens again tomorrow, you are not getting out of it this time.”

  He let out the slightest snort of laughter but quickly sobered. “They said a… body was in your room? Two bodies?”

  “Sorin,” she whispered. His eyes widened, even as he felt a sudden rush of rage. “But I left the other one alive.”

  “Wait, did he… hurt you?”

  “Nothing like I hurt him, that’s for sure.”

  He drew her close to him again, burying his face in her neck and her scent for just one more moment. Another boom thundered. The strange hail followed.

  “Is that… the catapults?”

  He nodded, not releasing her. “Yes.”

  “We should try to stop them.”

  “Riders are on their way. Oh, and Jaena—”

  “Jaena reached you?”

  “Oh, yes. And she brought—”

  Another thunderous boom and more hail cut him off for a moment. “Wait—what about her?”

  “Her, Derk, and Tharomar are trying to do something to hold the catapults back—”

  “Do what?”

  “I don’t know exactly. The king needs to be directing the action, not off in some tower—”

  Her eyes widened as she processed the events in her mind. “Wait—the king?”

  “Yes…” No, gods, no. The fear still lurked there in her eyes. “Having… uh, second thoughts?”

  “If Samul lives, will you still be the king?”