The Allseer Trilogy

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The Allseer Trilogy Page 57

by Kaitlyn Rouhier


  Mirin nodded. “Then let’s be prepared for it as well.” She made a motion with her hand, shooing him away - a dismissal. He bowed and turned towards the direction of the tunnels. Before he was out of earshot, Mirin whispered, “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Tomias woke to the sound of footsteps. He blinked, the light from a torch momentarily blinding him. He heard his cell door creak open, heard another pair of boots join the first. A firm pair of hands grabbed him, hoisted him up off the floor. Two Seekers stood in his cell, one holding a black cloth.

  He’d lost track of time, not knowing whether it was night or day outside the confines of his cell. His mind had been torn apart, shattered into pieces by the force of Mirin digging through his thoughts and memories. He’d spent hours piecing it back together, pulling each part back to where it belonged, trying desperately to make himself whole again. His thoughts came into being agonizingly slow, scraping against the jagged edges of what he’d tried to repair.

  There had been no sign of Kirheen. His soul ached at not knowing if she lived, whether she was safe and warm and cared for. He hoped she remained far away from the Seekers, that she didn’t spend her days locked in a cell, trapped like an animal.

  “It’s time,” the Seeker with the black cloth said, stepping towards him. “Today is the day.”

  Tomias had been expecting the day of his execution to come, it only surprised him that it had arrived so soon. He had come to terms with the inevitable. Perhaps it was what he deserved - for Sanctuary and for his brother.

  The Seeker opened the cloth and slipped it over his head, casting him into the dark once more. His hands were bound behind his back and he struggled to walk and keep pace with the Seeker as he was led outside his cell. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a bath. His own stench filled the cloth, a cloying fog of hot breath and unwashed skin creeping up his nostrils.

  Another cell door was opened, groaning loudly on unoiled hinges. There was a muffled cry, a scream as a child was ripped from the arms of his mother. The prisoners across the way had warmed to him, had whispered across that expanse. The boy, nor his mother, had powers. They’d been turned into the Seekers by a greedy neighbor looking to snatch up their property. It was cruel and vile, and nobody seemed to care whether they were innocent or not.

  The fact that they’d join him in death, that they’d have to face the horror he was to face, was devastating. Val’shar continued to consume and feast and thrive off the innocent and guilty alike. Their blood would forever soak the ground the city was built on, tainting it for generations to come.

  Even if the royal family fell, how long would it take to repair relations between them? With so much hurt and blood shed between those with powers and those without, would either side ever be able to forgive? It was questions without answers that plagued him as he was led outside. The things that he would never know, the people he’d never see again, the things he’d never be able to confess, it all weighed so heavy on his soul.

  The sun warmed his skin but it could not warm the icy chill freezing his veins. He staggered along, unable to see his surroundings, and he resigned himself to being led - a lamb to the slaughter. Before setting out, another joined them, another soul to be given to Zekar in the most horrendous ways possible. He thought he heard Mirin whispering to the Seekers, but the voice faded too fast, lost in the sounds of movement.

  They wound their way through the city, a slow march towards death. Several times he lost his balance and fell, scraping his knees repeatedly until they were bloody and bruised. He felt none of it, too numb to register the things happening to him. An uproar of crazed, blood thirsty voices greeted them as they reached the square. He was hit and spat on, pelted with rotting food and things he was thankful he could not see.

  He was led up a set of stairs while his eardrums pulsated, the cheers and cries from below overwhelming in their ferocity. A wooden platform creaked and shifted beneath him and then he was walking over pieces of wood, rising higher and higher until he reached the post that would spell his doom. He was turned around, his back placed to the wooden pillar and his hands rebound. He could feel splinters digging into his skin, the dry wood so ready to accept the flame that would set it, and the kindling at his feet, alight.

  Someone approached and pulled the hood off his head. He was blinded by the sun, his eyes filling with tears as he struggled to see his surroundings. He wanted to search the crowd, to see if he could find her amongst the rabble. He didn’t expect to find her right next to him.

  Her gray eyes were wide, her face a mirror reflecting his own grief, rage, and confusion. She turned away from him and looked out at the cheering mass. Something was hurled from the crowd, striking Kirheen in the face with a sound that made him cringe. It hit the ground and rolled away from her, some piece of moldy vegetation. More was thrown towards them and he heard the boy on the opposite side of Kirheen let out a cry.

  She would not look at him, her eyes boring holes into the wooden platform, her expression one of unbridled anger. He could see her squirming, trying to free herself from the post she’d been tied to. It was useless. His heart was cracking, fissures forming as he looked at his friend, at the woman that had shown such bravery and strength and cunning. There was so much he wanted to tell her, so much he wanted to explain. He’d never told her how much he cared, how much he appreciated having her there with him, through grief and joy and everything in between. Her name slipped from his lips. “Kirheen…” He just wanted to see her, to have her turn her head so he could look into her eyes one last time.

  A sob broke free, her voice wavering. “It isn’t fair,” she struggled to say. “You should have stayed. If you hadn’t-”

  She was blaming herself as she always did. He couldn’t handle it, to have her feel like it was her fault in the end. “Stop. It’s too late for that now. Please, just -” His voice was drowned out as the horde of people surged, their voices rising into a single, excited cry. A man stepped up on the platform, black robes swirling and billowing about him, hundreds of shredded strands catching in the breeze. He was tall and thin, his limbs too long and face too lean. He reminded Tomias of the scarecrows he’d seen in fields as they’d traveled to Val’shar, only this one lived and moved and breathed. His eyes were hidden in shadows. The mask over the upper half of his face curved outwards, like the beak of a raven. He smiled before turning towards the crowd, rows of disgustingly yellow teeth greeting him.

  He pulled something from his robes, some sort of pouch that he lifted above his head with a dry, brittle howl. The crowd cheered, the sound rising higher and higher until it was almost deafening. The executioner turned towards Tomias, his fingers digging into the pouch. He drew forth a handful of red powder as he approached, child-like and eager, and flung it at his feet.

  His heart hammered wildly as he waited for the branches to burst into flame, but nothing happened. The executioner merely continued on, dusting the rest of them with the same powder. A Seeker waited at the end of the platform, a lit torch in hand. The executioner traded him the pouch for the torch, red fire glowing bright, hungry for their deaths. The executioner coughed and sputtered and laughed. Hunched over like some wild beast, he slid towards the young mother at the opposite end of the platform.

  Her son thrashed and kicked, his voice cracking as he screamed at the executioner. “No! Leave her alone. She doesn’t even have powers. Stop, please.”

  The executioner smiled wide, drew a pale tongue across his lips. “All praise the night warden, keeper of souls. Zekar, please accept this star, stolen from your sky by the traitor whom these poor souls worship.” The torch was lowered and a terrible scream filled the air, the cries of her child adding to the misery. Smoke smelling of burnt wood and burning flesh began to rise in a great plume, rolling over them in a horrifying wave.

  He could feel the jagged parts of his mind breaking loose, threatening to hurl him towards madness. He was running out of time. Squinting his eyes against
the smoke, he tried to drown out the sound of the screams as he focused on Kirheen. “Kirheen, KIRHEEN! Look at me, please. Just look at me.” He just needed to see her face one last time, to let her know what she meant to him.

  She turned slowly, tears creating pale rivers down her dust-coated cheeks. Gray eyes met his, so full of hurt and misery and guilt. He wanted to reach towards that hurt, to drown himself in it. “Why did you come with me? Why? You would have been safe. You wouldn’t be here if you’d just stayed.”

  He didn’t move, didn’t blink. He held her gaze, even as he saw the torch growing brighter in his peripheral, creeping ever closer to Kirheen. He was out of time. The words poured out of him, shattering what remained of his broken heart. “Because I love you.”

  The executioner was lowering the torch and Tomias mustered what was left of his strength and will, pulling apart his mind in a final, desperate attempt to save her life. He focused on the executioner’s mental barrier, twisting thorns and ravens and malice. His power shot forth like an arrow loosed from a bow and he dug deep, breaking through that wall with every ounce of power he had left.

  The executioner howled and stumbled, fell back towards the edge of the platform, the torch dropping from his hand. It caught the edge of the wood piled at Kirheen’s feet and began to ignite, crackling and spitting as the flames fought to get a hold, to swirl to life.

  There was a loud commotion to his right, a shifting of energy from the crowd that went from zealous cheers to frightened shouts and screams. Kirheen was shuffling frantically, trying to pull herself up and away from the flames that were growing beneath her. The smoke was thick, obscuring his view of what happened out in the crowd. It was difficult to breath and the world blackened, the edges of his sight growing dim. That last bit of power had cost him, throwing his mind into disarray once more. Thoughts slowed, the screams and anguished cries becoming hollow, meaningless things.

  The wooden platform creaked and shifted, nearing a point of collapse on the edge where the fires had started. A black shape appeared before him and he felt something slip between his wrists, cutting him free from the bonds that held him. He spoke her name over and over again, hoping they’d hear, hoping they’d free her too.

  Firm hands dragged him off the platform and kept him on his feet, kept him moving. He kept shouting her name as he was led away, his vision failing and mind unraveling. The faces they passed were those of demons, snarling and hissing and biting. He squeezed his eyes shut, too afraid of what he was seeing. He let the person holding him lead him through the maze of people and hoped wherever they were taking him was safe. He needed rest and a chance to mend his mind. A fear gnawed at him, a deep worry that maybe he was beyond fixing, that maybe what had broken was too far gone to repair.

  He tried to think of Kirheen, to keep her face in his mind, the words he’d let spill into the world. He clung to that light, warm and radiant and whole, before his mind collapsed, a mirror of thoughts and memories shattering into pieces.

  CHAPTER 28

  Something was wrong. Sampson could feel it, a deep dread that wound its way up his spine, halting his movements as he made his way through the castle. He stopped in a hallway awash with colors, the morning light shining through stained glass windows. It was too quiet, the castle eerily devoid of life.

  The morning patrols were nowhere to be seen, the foot soldiers with their clanking armor and spears pulled away to some other matter. He continued walking, his footsteps sounding too loud in the deserted hall. He entered a room with high ceilings. To his right were a set of carved doors leading to a domed room he’d seen once years ago. The doors were made of a dark red wood, the face of a snarling demon at its center.

  It had been sealed off years ago, after the death of the prince. Sampson suspected it was the final resting place of Agna’s deceased son, but his suspicions had never been confirmed. The queen was fiercely protective of the room and was the only one in existence to hold the key.

  He continued towards the throne room, his heart thumping in his chest. There were no guards in front of the doors, none at the end of the hall he now walked. He feared what he might find beyond that door, what he might have to face. This isn’t right.

  His thoughts went to Lillana. If something had happened to her, his plans would crumble. He’d spent years breaking down her anger and hatred, had tried to open her mind to more than just the teachings permitted by her family. Over time, she’d become more to him than just his student, more than just the child he’d picked to help break the power her family so firmly held. She had become something like a daughter to him, the child he’d never allowed himself to have.

  His steps hastened, fear clenching his throat until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. The door to the throne room was ajar and he gripped it with fingers that had gone cold as ice. He slipped into the room, his breath catching in his lungs.

  Two guards stepped to the doors behind him, pulled them shut with a thump that almost made him jump. Those same guards approached him with caution and grabbed for his arms. He did not fight, did not try and run. He only looked to the throne, to the girl crying there.

  Agna sat on the throne, her back rigid. Her weathered face was a mask of cold indifference frigid enough to shatter bones. Her raven hair was bound atop her head, a few gray strands poking out erratically. In her thin right hand she held a dagger, the tip pressed against the neck of Lillana who wept at her feet, a handful of her hair held painfully in her mother’s grip.

  Mirin stood to the right of the throne, a watchful hawk eyeing the ensuing catastrophe. It was impossible to see her expression, to glimpse anything off the face of the Seeker he had trusted so much. Had someone betrayed them? Had she? There were too many people he relied on to keep his secret, to keep him protected. It could have been anyone.

  The soldiers dragged him towards the throne, coming to a halt right at the foot of the dais. He remained calm, even as the old crone tightened her grip on a fistful of hair, causing Lillana to squirm, a cry echoing through the chamber as she wept. He tried to meet her gaze, to let her know everything would be okay, but she squeezed her eyes shut, her sobs growing louder.

  “My queen, what is the meaning of this?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level. There was no telling how much she knew, how much she would accuse him of. Of one thing he was certain - he was not likely to walk away alive.

  Agna gave him a cruel smile. “Perhaps you should be asking yourself that. You may just have the answer, locked away behind your wall of lies and deceit.”

  “I don’t-”

  “What sort of tales have you been corrupting my daughter with? My only child, the child I entrusted you with, and you fill her head with nonsense. You fill her head with lies. Explain yourself!”

  Sampson took a moment to gather his thoughts. If this was all about what he had taught Lillana, it was likely things could work in his favor. He could explain himself. Agna was slowly losing her mind, but she wasn’t so insane that she’d kill him over teaching his daughter about the world. Had she realized he’d been a spy, his head would have left his body the minute he walked through the door. “My queen, you brought me into this castle to educate the princess.”

  “You were to lecture her on the teachings of Zekar, to keep her faith strong in these troubled times. You were not to fill her head with filth of the outside world, to teach her compassion for those monsters. You’ve slept in this castle, ate our food, worshipped in our temples and lectured in our halls. I have given you my trust and you have shattered it. There is no compassion to be had for those cursed beings. None. I will not allow such softness to exist. Not in you and certainly not in my own daughter. Your foolishness has cost you your life. I will not allow such doubt to plague this castle. I will eradicate it, even if I must paint these walls in blood. Kill him.”

  As the guards approached from the outskirts of the room, Lillana began to shout in a frenzy, flailing herself around to try and break free from her mother’s grasp. “No,
no! That’s not what you promised me. You lied, you lied, you lied. Let me go. You promised.”

  Agna stood, casting the dagger aside and grabbing another fistful of Lillana’s dark hair. She began to drag the princess down the dais and across the hall, all the while ignoring the pleading and screaming and flailing as she fought to get free. “As for you, you can join your brother.”

  Sampson whirled on the soldier to his right, slamming into him with his shoulder and knocking him off balance. The soldier was poorly trained and his blade tumbled from his fingers as he fell. He paid for the mistake with his life. The other soldier took a swipe at Sampson as he shifted but was quickly cut down in a flurry of black robes.

  Mirin remained on the dais, bound by her duty and her secrets. To fight on his behalf would reveal herself as a traitor. It was too soon and there was still so much at stake. She could only stand by. She wouldn’t actively engage in the fight and the soldiers were fast approaching. He was on his own.

  They swarmed Sampson, their blades drawn. There was little to do except defend himself as long as he could. He fought, taking down one soldier after the next, blood splattering his hands and robes. He was made for killing, made for taking life. He’d been born to it, raised with a blade. He would not let himself die so easily.

  A blade bit into his arm as he turned, and he severed the hand of the soldier that landed the blow. The room was chaos and noise and the sickly-sweet tang of blood. Another blade took him in the back of the leg, staggering him. He fell to one knee, watched as a dozen blades descended to end him.

  Lillana was screaming in the distance, still being dragged to whatever fate her mother had planned. He’d failed her. His desire to make the world a better place had cost the girl her life and that was something he would never forgive himself for, even in death.

 

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