by Azalea Moone
Soon, he knew, they’d be back to the castle in no time. He’d have Sawyer in his arms again, whether he had to pull him back kicking and screaming. No, he’d find the best healer he could for Sawyer’s curse, be it mage or witch or sorcerer. He’d be cured one way or another.
They traveled from one end of the city to the other, close to the Dinchou Mountains. Upon a hill overlooking Jinchun, sat the emperor’s fortress, a large square-like palace constructed of wood and stone. A patterned fence carved with images of dragons circled the entire three-story castle, blocking the rest of the city from the citadel. Two guards stood outside the enormous gate equipped with full armor, spears in hand, and swords at their sides.
“Unmount,” Fithel said, slipping off his horse. “We’ll walk our horses closer. Let me do the talking.”
Kohaku followed him, and they both approached the guards. Neither guard seemed to care for the strange men advancing on them—they stood perfectly still and emotionless.
“Excuse me, sirs.” Fithel bowed. “We request the emperor’s attention—”
“The emperor is seeing no one. Please step aside,” one guard said without hesitation.
“May I inquire the reason?”
“He is ill. Prince Ishino is foreseeing all duties and requires privacy.” The guard stood tall, unwavering.
“And does he know his country is being taken over by a strange concoction, causing its people to behave like animals?”
The two guards glanced at each other, then back at Fithel. “We haven’t word of any trouble. Now please leave.”
Fithel snarled, he took a step forward, but Kohaku caught his arm. “Wait,” he whispered. “Look.” He nodded toward the guards—suspicious as they were, Kohaku had finally noticed it when they’d glanced at each other. The deathlike haze over their pupils and the automation of their movements. Surely they’d been affected by the drug too, or perhaps they were working for the perpetrator all along.
It took Fithel a moment to raise his head in disbelief. “This doesn’t bode well at all.”
Kohaku jerked him away lest the guards grow wary of their conversation. “There’s no use speaking kindly to them. We must come up with something else.”
“There’s only one thing left.” Fithel wrenched away from Kohaku’s hold, then drew his sword and walked up to the guards again.
They steadied themselves, despite their weapons, they didn’t draw.
Fithel side-stepped quickly, thrusting his sword blade through one’s stomach. Blood splattered on the ground. A cry rose through the air. The other guard was quick to swing his spear.
“Damn it, Fithel,” Kohaku cursed under his breath then drew his sword to meet the other guard’s spear.
“You.” The guard spat. “How dare you do this in front of the emperor’s palace.”
Fithel squeezed away from the collapsing of bodies. He spun to swing his sword; the remaining guard’s head dropping to the ground and rolling in the dirt, eyes wide and staring at them.
“Why did you attack?” Kohaku asked. “They would’ve heard the commotion.”
“What better way to get inside.” Fithel kicked at the gate’s double doors. They swayed open, hanging from loose hinges at his strength. “Let’s go.”
Inside, the courtyard was as silent as the city. Kohaku expected troops to be running upon them at any moment, but the further they walked, the more he realized that Shusen had control of much more than he’d deserved. To seize the palace and its people... how strong the man was with his drugs and magics.
The ground was worn to dirt, most likely from training practices of the country’s troops, and Kohaku expected the emperor’s citadel to be much more beautiful than this. A clacking noise made him pause—besides one structure, he noticed a strange contraption with water pouring out of the end of a hollowed tube.
Once they reached the taller central tower, they stepped up the stairs without pause—Kohaku fought back a sudden chill creeping up his spine. He was doing this all for the kingdom; he had to remember that. Not for Sawyer or himself, but to ensure Anscien would receive the help it’d called for.
He let out a pent-up breath of anticipation.
Anyone, anything could be waiting for them at every corner they rounded.
The palace walls were decorated with elegant ink drawings and superior statues made of stone and ivory. Golden vases hung from the ceiling, unkempt vines jutting out of them and crawling up the walls. The rug below their feet was nothing like Kohaku had seen before. Possibly woven by hand, the image of a large four-legged gray beast wasn’t that of a dragon or animal he’d ever come across.
There were voices just beyond a closed door in front of them. Muffled by the thin walls, or else someone was careful enough to be silent to the intruders.
Fithel stopped a moment, gripping his sword tight. Then he stomped forward to push the doors open. On the floor lay a pile of soft, white sheets. A human form was underneath; the wrinkled and aged hand twitched at their invading footsteps.
“Who are you?” The command came from a younger man knelt beside the bed.
“Never mind that. Are you the emperor?” Fithel pointed his sword at the man.
The man furrowed his brow. “He’s my father.” He grabbed the older man’s hand. “Who’s very sick.”
Kohaku dared to step forward, at last spotting the silver-haired old man’s face, paltry and sunken in cheeks, and a matted, fuzzy white beard. The old man’s eyes were opened, but they were clouded, different from all the people he’d met consumed with the suir. They showed he would soon meet his maker.
“And who’s asking?” The man barked the order, standing immediately.
“We’ve come from Anscien to ask for your assistance,” Kohaku said, and Fithel returned him a disappointed look. He’d remembered he was supposed to let Fithel do the talking.
“Yes, our queen seeks your aid,” Fithel repeated. “And regarding the peace treaty your father signed with our former king, it’s—”
“I refuse.” The prince interrupted. “Despite the treaty, I have no reason to help your people.”
“Do you know your own country is under attack?” Fithel asked with a scoff.
“Excuse me?”
“Your people are all under the effects of a powerful concoction. Even your guards and possibly your troops.”
The prince furrowed his brows, motioning to Fithel. “You lie. I have received no messages from Anscien about this. Maybe you haven’t come from the northern kingdom at all!”
So, none of the messages the queen sent had arrived? Or perhaps, they were destroyed before they could make it to the emperor. “We’ve seen it spread through Anscien,” Kohaku added. “It turns simple men into machine. Controls their minds, bodies, and hearts.”
A surge of frustration came over the prince’s face. “Impossible. My troops would never fall for—”
“Then why is your courtyard so desolate?”
The prince stomped over to the nearest window, bending to look outside at the quiet square. “Perhaps they’re at rest now. They train daily, for hours on end. I heard them not long before you arrived.” When he turned back around, the frustration was gone, replacing it was a bit of mistrust. “They also check on the city more than once a day. Their last report spoke everything was satisfactory out there.”
“And how long has everything been all right? Weeks? Months?” Fithel asked.
Something passed through the prince’s eyes, like a sudden realization. He turned back to the window. “It is quiet...” he whispered. “Too quiet.” When he faced them again, he said, “Apologies I cannot assist you with your country’s affairs, but it seems I have something of more importance to deal with.”
“You cannot handle this alone.”
“Can I not? You’re forgetting this country is within the mage order.”
The mage’s—Kohaku had almost forgotten about that.
“I’d heard stories from long ago when our country incorporated
the land that is now Anscien. Wars were plenty to claim the lands rich in soil, and ultimately we were forced to this tiny corner of the mainland.”
“Perhaps we could talk about an exchange,” Fithel said.
“No. I’ve already signed the agreement with the mages. Once my father dies, this country will be turned over to them.” The Prince jerked away, kneeling beside his father once more. “Now, if you would please leave us.”
Kohaku stepped forward. “But you can’t just—”
Fithel grabbed his wrist. “Leave them. It was a mistake to come here.”
“You should suggest to the queen to do the same,” the Prince called as they were stepping out the door. “The mage’s offer better protection than your paltry troops could ever do. Besides, a war is coming soon.”
“War?” Fithel stalled.
“Your country has been hidden within fear of the unknown for so long... but of course you wouldn’t know of the hostilities between the mages and drows.”
“Drows?” Kohaku swallowed.
Fithel scoffed. “Our queen has all the protection she needs. Besides, it’s a conflict we’ve no concern for. Come.” He motioned for Kohaku to follow him out the door and back into the empty courtyard. Once outside, he whispered, “We’ll deal with this on our own.”
“Be careful, elf. This war is nothing to ridicule. It could change the face of our countries forever!” The prince warned, his voice fading as they stepped outside.
Chapter Fifteen
Stone’s Power
They were back on the streets, riding down the desolate road—or what seemed desolate with the strange, drug-induced people roaming about—toward the brothel at the edge of the city.
Kohaku was all but tired and confused by the Prince’s declaration. He thought they’d receive help from the neighboring country, considering their problems were also Qeoca’s. And what was this war he’d spoken of? Kohaku had barely any knowledge of mages, let alone the drows. Still, a war in which their people had no business wasn’t their trouble. What they needed to focus on now was retrieving Sawyer... wherever his lover could be.
“Don’t worried about whatever the prince said. He’s—” The sound of clanking armor and hoof prints rose just around the corner. Fithel reined his horse to a stop, thumbing across his sword. “It’s an attack! That scum...”
As the troops appeared, so did the large flag fluttering high above one horse of Anscien’s colors. Fithel settled again. “About time you arrived.”
“Apologies, sir. We were caught up at the passing across the Wyst by a group of inebriated madmen. Have you found the whereabouts of the suir, by chance?” The lieutenant asked.
“We have an idea, but I have grave news. Qeoca’s emperor has no intention of assisting us,” Fithel said.
A round of gasps circled around the troops.
“We must go back to our country and fight our battles alone.”
Disbelief and disappointed grunts sounded again. One man yelled out, “Can we do it alone?”
Fithel careened his head around and hollered, “We will! No complaining. It’s a civil matter, not a war! We’ll go back to Anscien and do what we must.”
“And what of Sawyer?” Kohaku wondered, surely he would not leave the man here.
“Yes,” Fithel turned back to him, softening his expression. “It’s part of the strategy.” He looked out over the troops and rose a fist in the air. “You lot will return to Anscien, taking care to burn every place associated with the suir along your way. We’ll stop this nonsense once and for all!”
The troops gave a round of applause, though Edwyn’s expression was still of doubt.
Once the excitement died, Fithel leaned in to whisper something to his lieutenant... Kohaku couldn’t tell what it could’ve been, except the sudden jerk back meant it was of shock to Edwyn.
Fithel moved to pat him on the shoulder. “Say nothing, dear friend. Now off with you.”
“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant turned his horse around and began shouting instructions at the troop. “We’ll ride back to Anscien prouder than ever, men!”
They waited for them to march back around the corner before Fithel said, “Let’s go.”
Screams filtered from inside the brothel as Kohaku sat upon his horse with torch in hand, waiting for Fithel to return. It wouldn’t take much to see the brothel burn—the wood structure was simple enough to ignite. But they needed to make sure it was empty before lighting.
Evening was drawing in fast; the squall of storms had passed long ago, and a bright orange horizon now lit up the surrounding land. Passersby had eyed him suspiciously; travelers who might have not understood the prospects of the city they were coming to. The population drunk from the suir paid him no mind. It was easy to tell which was which... those infected wobbled to their destination.
At last, Fithel pushed open the door, the petite attendant struggling in his grip. He yanked on her arm as she screamed. “This place is condemned!” he hollered at her and forced her down the stairs. She landed on the dirt.
Wafts of smoke escaped outside; he must have already lit a fire somewhere before rescuing the woman.
“No. Master Shusen’s belongings!” She picked herself up off the ground and attempted to dart up the stairs, but Fithel caught her by the wrist, yanking her away.
“What was that name?” he grunted, and she shook her head “You just said a name. What was it?”
“T-this won’t please Master Shusen! He’ll stop you.”
Shusen? Fithel’s jaw tensed. “It’s no use. We’ll burn it to the ground before he can get here.”
“No!”
A tremble ran through Kohaku. Shusen? So they finally had a name. He couldn’t understand how someone would give their life for someone like Shusen, but it must have been the powers he had on people. To control people with his drugs... then again, it had to be something else, instead of a simple earth-made concoction. Was this Shusen also a magic man, like the sorcerer Kladus, or something much more wicked?
Flames ignited the second floor in a whoosh. Streamers burned away, with it was an earthen scent much like what he’d smelled within the room earlier in the morning... the suir burned his nostrils. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
The woman fell to her knees, weeping into her palms.
So this was it. He a strange premonition the suir was inside, though he wasn’t sure if this was the main distribution den or not. Still, one less they’d have to worry about.
Kohaku glanced at them; those bystanders who were even slightly human scuttled away from the fire... Something sparkled out of the corner of his eye. A sword? He furrowed his brows in hopes to get a better look. Between a merchant’s cart and a deserted cabin, stood the familiar figure with glistening blue iris’ and a silver sword.
“Sawyer?” he whispered to himself.
A deafening blast like a rocket came from inside as the flames burned higher into the sky. The woman pouted even louder; Fithel stood at her side, making sure she didn’t make another attempt at fleeing back into the building.
“He’s here,” Kohaku said over the clamor. “Sawyer!” He reined his horse into a trot toward the edifices just as the form disappeared.
“Kohaku?” Fithel called back. “Wait.”
Damn it, Sawyer. Around the houses, Kohaku spotted Sawyer in a dash toward an awaiting horse. He picked up speed, noting the sound of hoof prints and yelling behind him—so Fithel followed him.
Sawyer hopped up on the saddle and galloped through the city. They weaved around houses and people until they were out of the village and back onto the path leading to the river.
“Sawyer!” Kohaku called, but it didn’t matter. Sawyer wouldn’t stop for him, probably didn’t even know who he was... or did he? Why the hell was he watching them earlier, if he didn’t recognize their faces? Or was the brothel of that much importance?
Still, Kohaku would chase him to the end of time, if necessary.
They twisted around trees a
nd across the bridge over the Wyst. Bells rang in the distance; the shadows of the ships at dock outlined in the last seconds of the horizon. On the opposite side of the river was a larger part of the forest, spotted with cavernous entryways and other strange carvings Kohaku had never seen before. It seemed darker here, too, perhaps because the hills and full trees shielded out the retreating sun.
The road was thinning, barely enough room to continue the chase, as they now rode swiftly following the mouth of the river around sharp bends in the earth.
“Kohaku,” Fithel hollered from behind; he’d finally caught up.
Sawyer hadn’t glanced back since riding out of the city. He’d slowed to maneuver around a group of downed trees, making it almost possible for Kohaku to reach him. But as they passed the rubble, he kicked his horse into a gallop again.
“Damn it, Sawyer,” Kohaku cursed. “Stop!”
Sawyer gave him a sidelong glare, eyes aglow with the familiar blue blight Kohaku had always known. But there was something different about him—control.
They raced to the edge of the bay; the sea tides whooshed up on the beach and the gulls crooned in the near distance. At the appearance of a large cavernous entrance, Sawyer slowed to a stop at last. He hopped off his horse, yanked out his sword, and stomped toward Kohaku.
So too did Kohaku jump from his horse, yet he dare not draw his sword or call upon Malrith. No, he could pierce Sawyer’s mind without violence—there had to be a way.
“It’s okay, Sawyer,” he said calmly while holding out his palms. “Sheath your sword and let’s talk about this.”
Sawyer readied in a fighting stance.
“Yes, we burned down the brothel. Are you upset about that?” Kohaku hadn’t thought it affected him much considering his lover’s narrowed, bloodthirsty eyes. “Or perhaps you’re being controlled by him. Somewhere, he’s pulling the strings.”