All the King's Traitors

by Keylin Rivers

  One of the guards tending to the line dropped what he was doing and marched over. “Still skies,” the guard greeted him.

  “And strong roofs,” Ion replied with as much confidence as he could muster.

  “As a Ninth of Sable, I command you to identify yourself, soldier.” The guard’s voice was stoic.

  “I am,” Ion hesitated for a split second, of all the things he had been told to prepare, he had forgotten to pick a fake name. “Sam.” He paused, remembering Vincent’s instructions on soldier introductions. “Soldier of the Azul Eighths,” he added, lifting his chest.

  He followed Vincent’s guidance. Whatever faction the border guards were in, go lower. If he said a higher faction, they would suck up to get close, hoping for scraps. If he claimed to be in the same one, it could cause a power struggle. And claiming a faction too low could lead to suspicion. Let them think they were in charge, that they were in the know.

  “I request entrance to the city for an audience with Hectar.”

  “Hectar? Take an audience with an Eighth?” the soldier chuckled. “I don’t know how things work in Azul, but you must have something pretty darn good to expect an audience with our lord.”

  “I do,” Ion said, hopping off his horse. His knees almost buckled from pure terror as he hit the ground, but to his surprise, he remained upright. “Let me pass.”

  “Of course,” the soldier said. Vincent had told him soldiers were supposed to have free passage, but not to expect it to come without a hassle. Everything seemed okay so far.

  Ion grabbed the horse’s reins and began walking towards the large, open gate. He could hear the bustling city on the other side.

  “Who is this?” The guard looked down at the three hooded figures.

  Ion turned around. “Prisoners. For Hectar.”

  “They’re not very feisty, are they?”

  “They’re drugged,” Ion said quickly. “Nightwine.”

  “Hmm, they must have been difficult then, if you had to use Nightwine. Well, let’s have a look, shall we? See who's so important you need an audience with our lord.”

  The soldier reached for the nearest hood, and Ion’s heart raced. it was Vincent’s. He had to do something. Vincent had been a soldier, so they could recognize him.

  He marched over and grabbed the soldier’s arm before he could take off Vincent’s hood.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” The Ninth yelled, pulling his arm from Ion’s grasp. He was drawing the attention of the other border guards.

  “These are my prisoners. You don’t touch them,” Ion shouted back. The surrounding guards had now stopped questioning the other folks and were focusing on the confrontation. “They’re for your lord and him alone!”

  “So you do have something special,” the guard said with a smirk. “Three of them, too. Could it be an Eighth has the delinquents on the run from Zar?”

  Ion watched as the guard twisted his ugly face and reached over again towards Vincent’s bag.

  “Enough!” A voice boomed from across the entrance.

  As soon as the voice rang out, Ion noticed a shift in the crowd. The other soldiers went right back to their duties. Ion looked for the source of the command. A large man with long brown hair stormed through the gates, his cape billowing in the warm breeze.

  “Get lost, Ninth.”

  “Yes, sir.” The soldier scurried off, kicking up sand as he left.

  “I am Rohan. As an Eleventh of Sable, I command you to identify yourself, soldier.”

  “I am Sam. Soldier of the Azul Eighths,” Ion said. “I request entrance to the city for an audience with Hectar.”

  “And your prisoners?”

  “Are for Hectar.”

  Rohan eyed Ion up and down. He glanced at the prisoners. He paused for a moment and then stepped much closer, so close Ion could see each fine wrinkle that lined his face. He couldn’t lose control of the situation or they would all be doomed.

  “Are these the three outlaws from Zar? The Northerner and the two boys.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ion said, hoping transparency would deter the soldier from checking.

  “I don’t recognize you,” Rohan said, his inquisitive glare burning into Ion. “And I have spent quite some time in Azul.”

  “The Eighths are a large faction in the capital, sir.”

  “I suppose you are right,” he said, his voice low. “And after you dispose of these prisoners, will you go back to Azul?” Rohan asked, his voice barely registering louder than a whisper. “Or will you be sailing west?”

  “Returning to Az—?” Ion stopped himself mid-sentence, remembering Aurelia’s silly nursery rhyme. It couldn’t be that this man, an Eleventh, was one of the Free-Wielders. “Can you repeat the question?” Ion said, his heart pounding in anticipation.

  “Some people go back from where they came, others decide to sail out to sea for some… time off,” Rohan said ever so quietly.

  Ion’s eyes widened in shock, and he looked around. The guards were all out of earshot.

  “Yes,” Ion started, trying to remember the poem. “I’ll be headed west.”

  “Any destination in particular?”

  Ion shook his head slowly, whispering Aurelia’s words to the strange man. “Until I cannot see.”

  Rohan nodded curtly. “Let them pass!” he exclaimed.

  All the surrounding soldiers chimed in with a simultaneous, “yes, sir.”

  Ion continued looking at Rohan, who stared back at him with a sad look in his eyes. He put his hand on Ion’s shoulder. “Be safe, son,” he whispered as Ion pushed forward, trying to evade his grip. “Tell Elara I say ‘hi.’”

  Ion nodded, and Rohan let him go.

  Ion took the reins of his horse and led them all through the gate.

  “It’s safe,” Aurelia heard Ion say. “You can come out now.”

  She felt a cool object shoved between her wrists. There was a little bit of resistance and then, with a tug, Ion’s knife cut through the rope. Aurelia grabbed the bag on her head and pulled it off. She massaged her wrists, and Ion continued to free the others.

  Aurelia looked around. They were in a back alley, covered by the shade of a sandstone building. She could hear the city scrambling around them. She stood up on the wooden platform, her body stiff.

  “What happened at the gate?” she asked.

  “You didn’t hear?” Ion said.

  “Nope,” Kuba replied as he struggled to clumsily take the oversized bag off his head. “Just heard some guy yell and then nothing, just whispers.”

  “I think he was one of us,” Ion said quietly

  “What do you mean ‘one of us’?” Vincent piped in.

  Aurelia shot a glance at Ion. As much as she liked Vincent, she was still unsure of his intentions. He had mentioned nothing about the Free-Wielders, so neither would they.

  “I just meant he may have been a Wielder,” Ion said to cover his tracks, “I couldn’t be sure though.”

  “You aren’t a Wielder, though,” Vincent said sternly. “So you mean he was one of us.” Vincent motioned to everyone except Ion.

  Aurelia turned to look at Ion; he seemed furious. “Good thing you got us through then, Ion!” she said, trying to distract Ion and diffuse the situation. She wondered if her enthusiasm was a little overboard. “I guess this means it’s time to part ways,” she said, turning towards Vincent.

  “Indeed it does,” he said.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Kuba said, sticking his hand out to shake Vincent’s. “Thanks for the great plan.”

  “No problem,” Vincent said, taking Kuba’s hand to shake. It was clear to Aurelia that this situation was making him feel quite awkward. “You have a powerful Godstone.”

  Kuba smiled brightly at Vincent and the man smiled back.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Ion said curtly.

  Vincent turned to Ion and nodded.

  “Can I say goodbye privately?” Aurelia asked. All three of the others looked shocked.


  “Of course,” Vincent replied.

  Aurelia looked to Ion and Kuba. Ion did not look happy.

  Vincent quickly detached the makeshift tow from his horse's saddle. Once the dusty wooden platform was removed, he took the horse by the reins and followed Aurelia down the alley towards the entrance to a busier road.

  “I just wanted to apologize properly,” she said, looking at her feet. “You saved us, you saved me twice, and I just…”

  Aurelia reached around to inspect his back, but he grabbed her hand. Instead of letting it go, he held on, bringing it up to the side of his face. Her cheeks immediately flushed.

  “I am fine,” he said. She could feel his strong jaw move underneath her palm. “Do not worry for me.”

  Aurelia was taken aback. In the past two days, she had not seen him so gentle and soft.

  “I hope you find your friend.”

  “As do I.” He let go of her hand, and her heart sank a little. But she knew he couldn’t stay with them. He was a liability. Kuba and Ion had been fresh, not yet indoctrinated into Apollyon’s world. Vincent was too much of an unknown, and much too powerful; they had all agreed he could not come.

  “Be safe,” he whispered in her ear. “I am sure we will meet again.”

  Aurelia felt his breath move across her ear towards her cheek, his soft lips landing upon it.

  “Goodbye,” she said.

  Vincent pulled away and smiled. He grabbed his horse’s reins and tugged gently. Moments later, the two of them were all but lost in the chaos of the city’s streets.

  Chapter 25

  Sable, 13th Day of the Month of Warmth, 1114 A.F.F.

  The City of Sable was like nothing Kuba had ever seen before. They had only been there for a couple of hours and he was so overwhelmed. The streets were bustling, even into the evening. As dusk started to fall on the city, it became even more beautiful. In the light of the setting sun, all the buildings were golden-red, as if carved from the Redcliffs’ sand. Most of the buildings had multiple storeys, unlike those in the Village of Zar, where only a select few right at the city centre did.

  As they wove through the streets, Kuba couldn’t help but stare at all the vendors selling goods on the side of the road. It was almost dusk, and the cooler temperatures brought out even more vendors, which was good for them, because they were looking to sell.

  “This place is amazing,” Kuba said as they passed by a man selling roasted fish on-a-stick. He didn’t recognize what kind of fish it was, but it smelt good. His stomach growled at the sight of the food. “And I’m hungry.”

  Aurelia turned around and smiled at Kuba. She had torn up the lower legs of her pants and tied them together to use as a headscarf. She wore the material loosely over her head and around her neck to conceal herself. She had been on the run for a while, and did not want to risk being recognized.

  “We will eat soon,” she said. “This armour is made with some of the best metals in the country, so we should get quite a lot for it. Enough for a sloop and some extra food, hopefully.”

  Kuba smiled. It was the first time he had seen Aurelia so optimistic. It was nice. He looked over at Ion, who was silently carrying the equipment. He had been quiet all afternoon, and Kuba wondered why.

  They weaved through the busy streets for a few more minutes until they came upon a little side street filled with seedy-looking vendors.

  “This looks good,” Aurelia said. “Let me do the talking.”

  They walked down the side street, scoping out all the vendors. Kuba cautiously peeked at the different tables as they walked by. There were stands with precious jewels, some with little unmarked bottles, and some with exotic live animals. The street was dark, hidden in the shade, and the people looked tough and wary of one another. About halfway down the alley, Aurelia stopped at a table. It was covered in an array of metals.

  “What do you want, pretty lady?” said the broad man sitting behind the table. His trapezoid muscles were so large that his neck appeared non-existent and his greasy hair was pulled back into a knot, much like Ion’s, though Ion's was much more beautiful. “Some precious metals, Nightwine, and a date, maybe?”

  “We are here to sell, actually.”

  “Ah, I see,” the man said, picking his tooth with the edge of one of the knives he had laid out on the table. He looked past Aurelia. “The little one or the blond? I wouldn’t have guessed you were a trafficker. I don’t generally trade humans, but I will admit, I do dabble—”

  “Not them, no,” Aurelia said. Kuba noticed she was signalling for them to stand closer with a wave behind her back. He obliged.

  “This.” Ion whipped the sack off his back and onto the table. He opened the top to reveal the armour inside.

  “Oh,” the man said, clearly excited, “is this a full suit?”

  “Yes, completely authentic.” Aurelia said. “Of the best make in the lands, straight from Azul. Mined in the depths of Míastrad. Full iron with a brass chestplate. This metal is worth a great deal in your market.”

  “How did a beauty like you come across it? Steal from an ex-lover? That’s a crime, you know.” He winked at her. “Or did you do something worse? Is the man who wore this still alive?” He eyed them each in turn, then examined the breastplate at the top of the bag. “Or could it be yours? Do we have a runaway on our hands?” he whispered, looking straight into Aurelia’s eyes.

  “Does it matter?”

  “No, no,” he said disappointedly. “I just love a juicy tale.”

  “There is not one here,” Aurelia responded. “Do you want it or not, because I can see some of your neighbours eyeing us and they might be quite interested in—”

  “No! I want it!” He leaned forward in his seat, hastily waving his hands in the air. “How much do you want?”

  “A thousand Zanthies.”

  Kuba looked up at Aurelia, shocked. He had never even seen a hundred Zanthies in one place before, let alone a thousand. In Zar, they mostly just bartered. He had never been in a city were currency was so heavily relied upon.

  “Ha! Not a chance. Four hundred.”

  “Nine,” Aurelia said. “A collector would pay good money for this. So would a spy from Raknabrooke.”

  “Five,” he growled.

  “Eight fifty,” she said. “That is the lowest I will go, and like I said, everyone around here seems pretty curious.”

  “Fine, girl.” He stood from his chair. “Follow me. We do the deals in the back.”

  All three of them took a step forward, but the huge man raised a hand.

  “Just her,” he said. He was tall, broad, and overly muscular. Aurelia looked so small next to him. It made Kuba nervous for her.

  “Go back to the main road. I will meet you there soon,” Aurelia said.

  “But—” Ion protested, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Go,” she said firmly. “I’ll be fine.”

  The man walked over and opened the door to a rickety looking house a few feet behind the table. He held it open and motioned for Aurelia to walk in. Kuba watched as she grabbed the bag of armour and entered the decrepit building.

  He did not have a good feeling about this.

  The dusk sun was beaming down on Vallich as he lurked on the rooftop of the lower section of the castle, carefully concealing himself in the shade of the dusty brick tower. He went over his plan again. Over the past few days of travelling, he realized how he would get his army.

  He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. Even in the evening, Sable was scorching hot. He narrowed his grey eyes as he spotted his subject: Lord Hectar, the appointed ruler of the southwestern province of Sable. Hectar was sparring in the courtyard with one of his soldiers.

  Vallich watched with intense interest as Hectar made easy work of the soldier he was fighting. Hectar wore no armour, yet the soldier was in head to toe steel-plated gear. The Lord of Sable moved elegantly, barely even kicking up the sand beneath his feet. The sword Hectar had in his hand danced in the fadi
ng sunlight, reflecting it in all directions. He was so methodical; the clangs of swords created music that rang throughout the large castle grounds. As the swords clattered together, a cool breeze rolled off the ocean from the west and swept up the wall of the castle, cooling Vallich. He felt his dark hair flutter in the breeze and a pang of excitement hit him. A vicious smile crossed his face. He had the perfect plan and it was now time to execute it.

  The clanging caught his attention again. The beautiful sound of sword on sword had ceased and was replaced by the ugly clatter of fallen steel. The soldier had been disarmed and had fallen to the ground. Vallich watched as Hectar tossed his own sword to the ground and marched over the fallen man. Hectar got down on his knees, straddling the man, and proceeded to punch him repeatedly in the face.

  Vallich scowled at the scene. Hectar had not changed at all.

  With no need to watch Hectar continue his pointless bombardment, Vallich walked along the flat, beige rooftop. He looked out at the wall guarding the fortress; all the guards were looking out towards the city. He was in the clear.

  He continued to the end of the long roof towards the tower on the opposite end of the square courtyard. Once he was in the tower’s shadow, he grabbed onto the wall. His sights were set on the first window a couple feet beyond his reach. He dug his nails into the crevices of the old brick and hoisted himself onto the wall. He made quick work of the climb and easily pulled himself onto the window ledge.

  Vallich swung his legs inside, thankful that the southern castles were too hot to have glass panes in their windows. His feet touched down quietly on the wooden floor. He quickly surveyed the room. Empty. It was different than the last time he had been here—there was much more gold. He walked over to the bedpost, brushing his fingers along the sheer veil covering the side of the bed.

  Hectar had taught him long ago to never stay in a room too high, else you cannot escape. Bot nor did you want to stay in a room too low, or you would not have time to see your enemy coming. This room—about four storeys off the ground, with access to the roof—was perfect for him. Vallich knew he would be coming back soon. He was anticipating his arrival.