by Sean J Leith
The nightmares that plagued him were all too real—where he resided in Renalia. He wished to go there one day, to bring victory for his people on the field of battle. If the Broken were rid of the Dragon, they could return to Renalia and conquer it once again, like the legends of their past. To live in the home of the Broken.
Thinking about battle soothed Saul. He fought with fellow warriors in the core of the Vale, the main city of Chromata, where the council’s temple stood. Through his markings, the exile, and the traitors of Rhoba, he felt separated from his mind. The clash of blades and flesh brought him back. The carving of traitors in Rhoba made him feel alive. It also made him question what his people truly meant. Rhoba was filled with Broken: his race, happy individuals, as well—but also the most horrid.
He dared not call them his people, yet they were Broken all the same. Saul didn’t know what he belonged to anymore. He was part of a clan who lived for honor, yet it wasn’t the race that made them. But he felt the other races weren’t his people, either.
They wouldn’t understand the life of a true Broken, as Saul was.
Drof shifted his legs, picking at his short fingernails. “Do you feel bad for killing all those people?” His peculiar eyes glowed in the fire’s light.
Saul shook his head. “No. I do not feel shame for what I do. Even if I did, I would atone for it later. Regret slows one down,” he replied. “Each was guilty as the last.”
Drof went silent again, staring into the fire. He was a relatively quiet one, and always raised a question when Saul posed a belief. He called himself a ‘balanced advocate,’ someone who raises the other points to make sure one understands every viewpoint. Saul didn’t like being challenged, but he knew Drof was simply keeping him aware. It was like a captain telling the general of an army where the weaknesses in his force were. It was no insult. It was necessary.
Saul unsheathed his blade and waved it from side to side in front of him. Thinking of his dream, he pondered the words of his goddess. If you had to choose between joining forces with an orderly and strong Hydrian society or a dishonorable, backstabbing Broken one, which would you choose?
He did not know. He experienced betrayal. But the Hydris…
It may have been a dream, but it felt real. The whispering winds, the smell of cold, thin air, the shock of lightning bolts—he felt it all. Her rough, granite skin, platinum hair, fierce eyes, and commanding tone filled his mind. Did I meet the true goddess? Saul wondered. He felt not, as it was simply his own mind bringing out what he thought she was, and a place that had only been described to him. The place he wished to see one day. It was a place where he felt he belonged—where his people belonged.
He stared at his markings, seeing fates that told of his death. “Rai soli moria, gadoras faust,” Saul whispered.
Where warriors fall, heroes rise.
Chapter Twenty-four
Alone in the Dark
Lira Kaar
Lira and Magnus waited and waited for the others to return to the inn. “Magnus, why were you so—absent, during that?” Lira inquired. “You seemed so calm while she—did what she did.”
He shook his head. “I have seen much. I do not fear watching vengeance.” He paused, realizing that Lira wasn’t satisfied with his answer. “We needed information, and she needed vengeance. For what, I do not know. Perhaps in time she will tell us.”
Lira sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” She wiped a small tear from her eye while she wondered what happened in Kayden’s past. She preferred to be alone—and was closed off emotionally from what Lira saw.
She was as curious as ever, but knew probing was not the answer. She felt sheltered, knowing nothing of the world. Each member of their group had seen much, and Lira was the opposite.
She worried for the days ahead and danger creeping toward her—and her brother’s soul.
Hours passed. The concern and anxiety set in. “It’s been too long,” Lira said. “I’m worried.” Her stomach wrenching finally subsided; the scent of blood made her feel sick.
“I, as well. What would you suggest?” Magnus replied.
Lira shuffled her feet. Kayden told us to wait. I don’t want to go against her, but what if she’s in danger? There was something off—she could feel it. Not about the mission, but there was something she sensed. It was a hunch she couldn’t shake.
The door to the room carefully opened. Domika poked her head in slowly. “Hey. Everything went well,” she whispered.
The door swung open, and Vesper charged in with ecstatic arm-waving. “Correct! The plan went off without a hitch! With Miss Ralta’s ideas, they won’t even know it was us!”
Domika slapped Vesper’s arm so hard he almost toppled over. “Shut up, idiot! You’ll get us in trouble,” she hissed.
Lira gave a few moments as the two glared at each other. She couldn’t wait any longer. “Where’s Kayden?” She rubbed her legs nervously.
Domika heaved her ringmail onto the floor with a slump. “She wanted to go for a walk to blow off some steam. She seemed pretty shaken up. I’m a little concerned. Should we go look for her?”
Lira bit her lip. “I’m going to go outside to look around.”
“Would you like us to accompany you?” Vesper inquired.
Lira shook her head. “No, that’s okay. I can handle it. I’m going to see if I can find her. With any luck, she’ll be back soon, anyway.” She got up and put up her hand for them to sit. If Kayden needed someone to talk to, it was best for only one to go alone. She didn’t want Kayden thinking they were all ganging up on her.
Lira tip-toed down the stairs and slipped out the door. She listened in silence outside and heard nothing; it was the dead of night. She wandered toward the town gate, wondering where she would have gone.
She knew Kayden was a good climber, and that she enjoyed jumping from building to building during whatever tasks she had long ago. She liked the idea of escaping, or ‘sticking it to the state’ as she called it.
Lira strolled for a little longer and noticed a few particularly tall homes down toward the market. When she crept closer, she listened, and heard someone talking. She looked around, perking her ears up, trying to find the source. The tallest building stood with four levels reaching to the sky, with various steel ducts going from floor to floor. It was a tan home, with burnt orange, clay scaly tiles for the roof. Lira quietly stepped on a box and reached for the first level. She climbed up, barely. Then she jumped to the next one, clambering up awkwardly. She huffed and puffed, already exhausted. How does she do all of this so easily? Lira wondered. As she looked up, she saw the moon above, and then heard the sound of Kayden’s heavy breath once more.
“It’s just that easy. I could just do it, and I wouldn’t have to worry anymore,” Kayden said to the darkness.
The next two levels had small ramps and ladders, which made it easy. As Lira struggled to climb over the final ledge, she saw Kayden with a dagger to her own neck.
Her breathing was rapid and unstable. Tears dropped subtly from her cheeks.
“Kayden?” Lira blurted out.
Kayden turned around abruptly, with the blade still to her neck. “Lira? What are you doing here? How did you find me?” she said in an accusatory tone.
“You like tall buildings, and I have good hearing.” She stepped forward.
“Go back to the inn, Lira!” Kayden commanded, waving her other arm away.
Lira flinched and almost stumbled off the roof. But she stood firm. “No.”
Kayden’s eyes widened. “I’ve had it, princess. I’ve—I’ve tried to run. For so long, I really thought I could get away from that bullshit. But I can’t—you just saw it. I can’t, and I never will. This is the only way I can forget about all of it!” she screamed. “You heard what Callidan said. He’s still after me.”
“But why? Why this? This isn’t right, Kayden!” Lira’s voice cracked, and tears began to sprout from her eyes. “I don’t want you to die, I want you here!”
Lira stepped forward, and Kayden put her hand up and held the blade closer to her neck. Lira just pouted and said, “A goody-two-shoes who cares about her friends.”
Kayden shook her head in disbelief and coughed up a laugh. “Friends? Is that what we are?” Kayden’s eyes grew more fierce. “I flat-out lied to you when I said I’d come back. What kind of friend lies like that? I lie, and now you come for me?”
She only shook her head in response. “If you lied, maybe it was because you’re afraid! I don’t care about that. I care about you.”
Kayden’s expression turned to a sharp glare. “You don’t understand what I’ve had to live through. No matter what I do, I can’t get rid of the memories. I’m not worth the effort. Stop trying to help me!”
Giving in wasn’t an option. Never would be.
Lira stepped closer and stood strong. “Stop making excuses! Why can’t you just have a friend? Why do you have to be alone all the time? Think about what Domika said—we’re in this together! You told me you wouldn’t die because no one tells you what to do, and that you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction!” Lip quivering, Lira’s voice grew brittle as she begged the next few words.
Lira put out her hand. “Please, Kayden. Please, put it down. I—I don’t know what I’d do—” Tears flowed from her eyes like an unending flood. “You don’t have to be alone. I don’t want to be alone.”
Kayden wiped the tears from her cheeks with her free hand. “I’ve always been alone.” Her eyes drew to the roof at her feet. “I always will be.”
She stepped forward, and Kayden shook the blade at her own neck threateningly. Lira advanced again, and Kayden did nothing. “I don’t want to lose my friend,” Lira said weakly. “Please.”
One more step, and her blade began to lower. As Lira stared into Kayden’s eyes, they grew soft. The clattering of steel echoed around them, and Kayden stepped into Lira’s chest. As Lira felt Kayden’s emotions writhe in weak cries, she embraced tightly and wouldn’t let go.
“We’re in this together,” Lira said, over and over, looking out into the night. “You aren’t alone anymore.”
Chapter Twenty-five
The Beast Within
Zaedor Nethilus
“It’s been a fortnight since his fight with Gorlin,” Kindro said. “Do you think they’ll pick him again soon?”
“Definitely. They usually wait so they have a comeback after being broken for so long.” Freya sighed.
“Do you think he’s going to win?”
“No clue. He’s got a good heart, and more anger than I’ve seen in anyone for a while. It could go either way. I have hope, but he could get beaten again. Poor guy.”
“I’m awake, I’ll have you know,” Zaedor grumbled.
It was early in the morning, or so they were told. The guards kept time for them and attempted to allow decent sleep schedules. Fighters who slept well fought better. While those who imprisoned them were brutal, they weren’t stupid. Zaedor’s back ached from the awkward sleep, his nose ached from being broken, and his chin still had a strange click when it opened too wide. It wasn’t enough to impair him. ‘Your physical side is fine,’ Freya had said. ‘You need the mind of a fighter, a man in the midst of a vital battle. You aren’t sparring here.’ There was one question he hadn’t asked, that frustrated him since day one. “Why are you helping me?” he finally inquired. Kindro coughed up a laugh, and Freya sighed loudly.
“Because, Mr. ‘Zaedor of Amirion,’ you have a good heart. Despite being a bit of a drake, you do deserve a mourning period,” Freya said, rolling her eyes.
Kindro scratched his scraggly beard. “There’s nothing to do around here, and helping you makes me feel like I’m not just here to die.”
Zaedor chuckled. What an interesting pair. A hairy, funny, scraggly man, and a beautiful, sweet, but fierce woman. It had only been a week, and he felt like he knew them for years. Being locked up in a cage infuriated him; speaking with Kindro and Freya was the only thing not driving him mad. If it were not for them, he would have been dead already.
He lost his home, his leader, his friends, and his beliefs. Part of him wished he’d died in the ring a fortnight ago, but death refused to take him. Why do you test me, Death? Part of him wished to end it all right here. If he had a blade in hand, he probably would have done it already. He sprouted tears now and again, hoping Kindro and Freya didn’t see.
“Listen, you can’t be all frilly, happy-go-lucky in the ring. Use your hate and anger to your advantage. You seethe for revenge, and this is your chance. If we ever get out of here, maybe you’ll get it for real. Just don’t be a moron,” Freya reminded him, playing with her long ponytail.
She was right, but Zaedor didn’t know how to channel it. He only knew what made him angry—but what was he to target? His thoughts were clouded. He knew the event occurred, but he could only remember it in bits and pieces.
The door slammed open. Maroia entered, shooting a creepy grin to the room as he glanced from cage to cage. He didn’t walk around the cages this time. He went directly for the one holding Zaedor and Kindro. The fire from the torches around the room danced in his eyes, and he had a skip to his step. “Your moment has come, Amirionian! Let’s see if you can return from the hole Gorlin put you in.”
Zaedor looked to Freya for one last piece of advice, and he felt a cold sweat drip down his forehead.
“Did anyone specific hurt you? Do you remember anyone that you truly hate from that night?” Freya whispered.
Zaedor closed his eyes and thought through everything. He remembered slaying a few brigands, who he’d fought with Lothel at his side. Then he remembered the drake that killed him—Cloaker, the disgusting shapeshifter. Zaedor saw his emotionless green eyes, sand-covered wolf cowl, and the voice that grinded his ears like a sharpening stone. His mind filled with rage, as if he was back in the Citadel again, witnessing his king’s murder once more. He gritted his teeth, clenched his fists tightly, and screwed his face into an intense frown. He opened his eyes once more to her, nodding.
“Your opponent,” Freya said, “is the one you hate.”
Zaedor nodded fiercely. His desire sprung forward; he spoke without his mind even registering the thought. “Fallad! I have a request.”
Maroia jumped back slightly, pausing as he approached the cage with his massive guards. “Oh?” he began, sporting a sly grin. “And what would that be?”
“I want Gorlin,” Zaedor said. He didn’t know why he said it. He saw Gorlin in his mind becoming Cloaker; they were one in the same. He wanted vengeance on both of those who defeated him.
“Zaedor, no! What are you doing?” Freya whispered harshly. “I’ve beaten him, but this?”
“Oh, how interesting!” Maroia hollered. “I do love a good comeback.” He turned his back. “Now my friend, we don’t usually do this,” he pondered. “If you fail, which you most likely will, he might kill you this time. It’s hard to keep people who lose twice in a row.” He turned his head to Zaedor with a wide smile, showing all of his browning teeth. “Are you ready to accept that?”
Without pause, Zaedor knew his answer. “Definitely.” He didn’t bother looking at either Freya or Kindro. He sought blood. Blood must have blood, he thought. Zaedor shook the cage violently.
“My my, you’re feisty today!” Maroia laughed like a hyena. “Don’t let me down, now. And remember, you don’t kill breakers.” He turned, sauntering away. “Take him.” The guards opened the cage and grabbed his arms. He did not resist and went willingly. He was being given what he desired, but that didn’t stop the giants from bruising his arm with their grip.
Zaedor barely heard Maroia speak. Gorlin represented what he hated most: unyielding, brute force without mercy or attempt at diplomacy. An absence of sophistication.
It was the sam
e as before, but different. They wrapped his arms with the cloth and leather to cushion his hands. Cloth or not, I will break my hands if I have to. Their grip tightened, forcing him against the back of the small wooden chair.
Maroia Fallad entered with a stern look. “Okay, Amirionian. You’re getting what you want. I could have made a fortune off of you, and this could ruin my chances of that. However, Mr. Kuralia, the organizer you are pitted against, enjoys watching me lose, and had to take my larger bet on this fight,” he said, glaring at Zaedor. “If you don’t die in the ring, you won’t live through the night.” He gritted his teeth into a smile. “You look different. That’s good.”
Zaedor didn’t say a word. He glared right back, bloodlust in his mind and heart. He didn’t care if he disappointed anyone.
Maroia stood back. “Good luck, you insane fool. I’m hedging a lot on this. I do love a good gamble.” He strolled out of the room and slammed the door. The sound of footsteps slowly dissipated down the hall.
The guards pulled him up and forced him down the execution hall, then threw him out the door to the pit. The crowd filled the stands from end to end. Gorlin walked out alone, willingly. How long has he been here?
“Ladies and Gentlemen! We bring a grand spectacle to you on this day! One week ago, we witnessed the brutal defeat of Amirion by our Giant-killer, Gorlin!” Gorlin’s beard barely hid his smug smirk. His eyes mocked Zaedor, as if he saw a weakling before him. He towered over him by almost half a foot and had more reach. Although, it was like Freya said—it’s how you fight. Zaedor had not seen her in a fight, but knew she defeated the ‘Giant-killer’ before.
“We bring you a story of atonement, a story of revenge! This special spectacle is a first time for all of us! The Amirionian has challenged Gorlin to a rematch!”
The crowd went wild. Their cheers were muffled, and Zaedor paid no attention. His eyes never left Gorlin’s.