A Kingdom Under Siege

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Still clutching the three-foot diameter table, Brock scrambled up the stairs to find the Ri Starian fleet less than a quarter-mile behind them.

  “Tenzi!” he hollered. “Raise the sails the moment you see this rune activate!”

  Without waiting, he closed his eyes and embraced the anxiety of the moment. The raw and angry energy of Chaos surrounded him, and he drew it in as easily as drawing a breath. Within seconds, a raging torrent of raw power surged throughout his body, threatening to tear him apart. Brock opened his eyes and gazed upon the rune he had etched into the table. It flared to life with a fiery glow, and Tenzi commanded her crew to raise the sails.

  Brock ran across the quarterdeck and, with a grunt, threw the tabletop toward the Ri Starian fleet. It spun like a disc, the charged rune etched in the wood pulsing and fading as the tabletop struck the water.

  A boom and a blast of green flame burst from a cannon on the bow of the nearest enemy vessel, launching a metal ball toward Razor. The projectile hit just below the quarterdeck with a massive crack that sent Brock, Broland, and Tenzi stumbling. It smashed through the rear of the captain’s cabin and emerged out the other side, destroying the quarterdeck stairs in a burst of splintered wood.

  “No! Not again!” Tenzi roared in frustration.

  The floating tabletop then turned pure white and the churning ocean around it began to freeze. A thunderous crack came from the ice and it expanded in a roar of pops and snaps. The air over the center turned the drizzle to snow that thickened into a swirling localized blizzard.

  Razor rocked and began to rise out of the water, sending those on board stumbling as the craft lifted upward. Brock leaned against the rearmost rail and watched the expanding ring of ice race toward them, far faster than the ship sailed. He glanced backward to see the Reduce Gravity runes on the deck, again pulsing with the next augmentation about to take hold.

  “Come on. Just a little more lift,” he urged, nervous that the ice would reach them too soon.

  The ship lurched and rose up higher, tilting as the hull came out of the water and the wind pushed against the sails. Broland fell into Brock, both of them rolling across the quarterdeck until they wedged against the port side rail. Tenzi held tight to the wheel. The sailors and arcanists toppled to the deck, many sliding across it before slamming into the rail. A sailor on the main mast slipped, spun, and dangled by a rope briefly before falling into the ocean.

  Brock pulled himself up and peeked over the rail. The ice ring had expanded beyond their position, the ocean now a white, choppy, uneven surface of frozen waves. The trailing fleet crashed into the ice in a massive collision, damaging hulls and launching crew members overboard. The sailors who landed on the ice did not move.

  As the Razor floated away, tilted at a hard angle a hundred feet above the ocean, the ice continued to expand. In the distance. Brock spotted a lifeboat from the sinking Torin vessel, fighting the churning waves as it headed toward land. Between him and the ship, the sea had become an Island of ice, two miles in diameter. Ten Ri Starian longships were locked in the ice and would remain there until the augmentation expired. Even then, Brock suspected that most of those vessels were too damaged to make it to shore. Those ships will no longer be a problem.

  “That was too close,” Broland said.

  “I can’t steer!” Tenzi spun the wheel with no response. “The rudder is useless! We are drifting toward the cliffs!” She cupped her hands to her mouth and bellowed, “Lower the sails!”

  Tenzi leapt off the quarterdeck and ran toward the main mast, which was unmanned. The sailors in the other two masts worked frantically to lower the sails while Tenzi scaled the main mast. Brock climbed his way up the angled deck to the starboard rail and looked down. They had passed most of the fleet with only the lead ship still ahead of them.

  “Broland, follow me.” Brock leapt over the broken stairs and landed on the main deck, almost falling on the slippery, tilted surface.

  With Broland following, Brock bolted to the closet beside the galley and opened the door to reveal three ballistae, three-foot long bolts, and long coils of rope. As the sails came down, the deck began to level, making it easier to stand.

  Joely appeared beside the door. “What can I do?”

  “Both of you, help me with this,” Brock said as he lifted one of the heavy ballistae.

  Once the weapon was out the door, Brock returned to the closet, grabbed two coils of heavy rope, and threw one over each shoulder before scooping up a ballista bolt with a grappling hook on the end.

  “Broland, Joely, Stein,” Brock said as he moved past them. ”Carry the ballista to the bow.”

  As the trio scrambled to pick up the ballista, Brock looked up to find only the lowest sails still unfurled. The ship had slowed and leveled but was still headed toward the cliffs.

  With Broland, Joely, and Stein in tow, Brock led them to the prow. The Razor was now even with the leading ship – the craft a few hundred feet to the starboard side and a hundred feet below them. Kneeling, Brock tied the two coils of rope together and then tied one end to a massive cleat normally used when docking. As he secured the other end to the eyelet on the ballista bolt, he issued instructions.

  “Rest the ballista on the rail and hold tight.” He turned to Joely. “You know this weapon. We only get one shot. Make it count.”

  Joely nodded, eyeing his target while Brock cranked the launch mechanism back, inserted the bolt into the ballista, and held on tight.

  Joely tilted the ballista upward and moved it slightly to the right. He pulled the release trigger, and the bolt launched, the recoil sending Brock, Broland, and Stein stumbling to the deck. The coil of rope rapidly unwound as it slid over the rail, chasing the projectile.

  Brock scrambled to his feet and watched the bolt fly toward the other ship. It hit a sail, tearing it. Reaching the end of the rope, the grappling hook recoiled and leaped backward, spinning around the main mast before latching on. The rope drew tight and the Razor lurched, causing everyone on board to stagger.

  Razor’s prow dipped and tilted toward the ship towing them. Their direction altered slightly, but the cliffside was approaching fast. The cliff drew close…too close to avoid. A deep grinding sound came from the hull. Razor lurched and shook as it scraped across the cliff face. Moments later, the sound ceased and the ship slipped free.

  A glance over the rail provided a wave of relief. They had cleared the obstruction and were now heading toward open waters. Brock wiped his brow and turned to find Tenzi glaring at him, her fists on her hips.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I have a hole in my ship, thanks to you.” She gestured back at her cabin and the broken stairs.

  Looking through the opening, Brock was able to see the cliffs behind them, slipping into the distance. “Yes. I’m sorry about that.”

  Tenzi crossed her arms and stared north, toward the trapped longships, now appearing as dark specs in a field of white. After a moment, she sighed. “I know you did your best. I just wish they would stop firing flash cannons at my ship.”

  Brock moved closer and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Tenzi. However, look around you. We are a hundred feet above the water. You may have a hole in your cabin, but I am willing to bet that Razor is also the first flying ship. Ever. It should make a great story next time you’re having drinks with other sailors.”

  1

  A Task

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  The sound echoed outside Parker Thanes’ cell and repeated in his head. He had become convinced the leaking pipe was intentional –a torture of insidious design.

  Through the small window in his door, he had spent many hours watching the pool of water collect on the floor and run toward the nearby floor drain. The image arose in his mind as he lay on the pallet in his dark cell. He imagined bursting through the door and licking the pool of water until it was dry – anything to quench his thirst. Have they turned me i
nto some sort of animal, like a stray mutt digging through the trash for food? The thought sent his stomach growling.

  Parker was not alone in his misery. Dalwin Pretencia occupied the neighboring cell, Hex in the cell beyond. Days had passed to become weeks and now Parker had lost count. Tenzi had escaped. Of that, he was sure. The day after his capture, Duke Chadwick had visited Parker’s cell. The questions asked and the fear in the man’s eyes informed Parker of the truth – Tenzi’s ability to elude the duke had created frustration. Chadwick was afraid of what might come of her escape.

  Good, Parker thought. You have good reason to fear her, Chadwick.

  Since that day, Parker had seen nobody other than the three rotating jailors. He missed Tenzi and hoped she might find a way to rescue him. Yet, he worried about what she might try. After all their years together, she still tended toward brazen, dangerous actions rather than safe ones. He had to admit her attraction to danger was among the reasons he loved her.

  From the dim light coming through the small barred window in his cell door, Parker knew morning had come. If not for the meager light, there was little to differentiate the days from the nights. With the morning came breakfast – gruel and a cup of water. Lunch and dinner were repeats of the same – a disgusting meal that did little more than keep him alive.

  Sometimes, surviving was the most one could hope to achieve.

  The door at the end of the corridor opened, creaking noisily, followed by the tapping of boot heels on the stone floor. His brow furrowed when he recognized the sound of multiple footsteps. With an effort, he rolled off his pallet and rose to his feet, a groan slipping out.

  He pressed his face against the small window in the cell door and blinked at the light coming through the high, grate-covered window. Six guards stood in the room, arranging themselves along the wall opposite from his cell. Chadwick entered the narrow room with two more guards at his side.

  The man wore a double-breasted green coat with gold buttons, cinched tight at the waist with a gold gilded leather belt. Parker had always considered Chadwick a bit of a fop. Recent events had proven him a traitorous fop.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Chadwick said with a smile.

  Parker wished he could squeeze the weasel’s throat and wipe the smile from the man’s face with his fist.

  “Have you finally come to your senses, Chadwick?” Pretencia said from his cell. “Are you here to free us? You know we have done no wrong.”

  “What you have or have not done is immaterial, Dalwin,” Chadwick replied. “Your identity remains the reason behind your incarceration. Perhaps you will find some relief in the knowledge that you will not rot in this cell.”

  Parker blinked at the statement and wondered if he dare hope for his freedom.

  Chadwick drew a letter from his coat, unfolded it, and began to read aloud.

  Duke Chadwick,

  I am pleased that you have formally committed to our cause. The events that will soon unfold require your full support. As a means to demonstrate your dedicated loyalty, I give you a task.

  My son informs me you have King Dalwin and Parker Thanes in your custody. Somehow, Dalwin found a way to escape the Sol Polis dungeon. Do not allow him to repeat such a feat. Having a rogue king on the loose could cause difficulties the Empire wishes to avoid. As a result, you are to execute these prisoners in a very public manner. Use it as a demonstration to galvanize the undivided loyalty of your citizens. Make them aware that the Empire will exact a steep price from any traitorous action, but fealty will bring rewards to all.

  Expect to hear from me soon, for this is but the beginning of our war against Chaos. More will be required of you and your people to ensure a better future for Issalia.

  The Avatar of Issal,

  Archon Varius

  Chadwick folded the note and slipped it into his pocket. “When we captured you, I was unsure of how to proceed. In fact, I spent an undue amount of time considering that very question. Archon Varius has solved the problem for me. The only decisions I had to consider were the manner and timing of your demise.

  “It has been many years since a public execution has been held in Wayport. So I considered the means carefully. Though other methods might be faster, a good old hanging is apt to linger in the minds of witnesses. The choking, the kicking, the process of watching someone’s life drain away…it sends quite an effective message, don’t you think?”

  “I think you’re a traitorous weasel,” Pretencia growled.

  Chadwick shook his head. “Oh, come now, Dalwin. Certainly, we can be civil. As you can see, I am merely following orders, and your death is a matter of practicality.”

  “Let me out of this cage, Chadwick,” Parker said with a snarl. “If you don’t, I’ll be sure you find the practical end of a sharp blade.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Master Thanes. That is no way to speak to a duke…one who will soon govern all of Kantaria.” A smile clung to Chadwick’s face as he stared into space. After a moment, he put his finger to his lips. “Where was I? Oh, yes. The date of your hanging. A new gallows platform is already under construction, and notices are being posted throughout the city.

  “We will make the event a spectacle, held right here in the citadel plaza. Enjoy the next eight days as you consider what might be in store for you in the next life, should Issal wish it so. On the ninth day, you will die.”

  The man and his guards left the room, with his words hanging in the air. Even after they were gone, Parker stared through the bars, and his thoughts turned toward Tenzi. Of course, he missed her. However, he also feared for the impulsive woman. If she hears of the execution, she is bound to try something rash. Chadwick might be a weasel, but Parker knew the man had a cunning streak.

  A public execution was also likely to be a trap.

  2

  The Abyss

  Rena Dimas huddled on her pallet inside the cavern, rocking with her arms about her knees and her eyes closed as she sought her center. Where the Order rune should be, she only found shadow, as if an abyss waited to swallow her should she dare to venture too close. Rather than finding her center, she had failed. Again.

  Meditation was growing more difficult with each passing day. Whatever had taken residence inside of Rena had invaded even that place of solace.

  She did her best to forget the dome of rock above her and the mountain beyond, pressing downward with an immense weight that was sure to crush her and everyone else with the slightest shift. Repeatedly, she found herself wishing she were far from Vallerton and the horror haunting the town. People surrounded her, but she felt alone.

  Alone. I am tired of feeling alone.

  Thoughts of Torney arose and left her desperately missing him. She prayed he was well and hoped she would see him soon.

  Yet, the darkness and fears inside her remained, slipping tentacles of terror through her defenses and penetrating deep into her soul. That terror lingered from her nightmares, which had grown worse.

  A hand touched her and she jumped with a start, opening her eyes to a girl staring at her. The girl was young, certainly no older than ten summers, and had brown hair and large, brown eyes. Somehow, the girl and the other children in the tunnels behaved as if nothing were amiss, as if living below millions of tons of rock were normal.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Tian asked. “It’s time for dinner.”

  Rena collected herself, attempting to appear calm despite her racing pulse. “Sorry, Tian. I was focused on my meditation.” You failed, Rena. What if you fail when they need you?

  Tian stood and tucked her long, brown hair behind her ear. “When we get out of here, I would like to go to Fallbrandt one day. Perhaps I can learn magic, too.”

  Rena forced a smile. It felt like a lie. “I hope so, too, Tian.”

  The girl said, “Come along before it gets cold.”

  Gathering her will and doing her best to smile, Rena stood and followed Tian across the cavern. She passed dozens of makeshift pallets to her left and r
ight, each covered by blankets and furs. The surviving citizens of Vallerton slept here, as did Rena and the other wardens who had come to help the townsfolk. Over a week had passed since she had first entered the mining tunnels – ten days that felt like years. Rena wondered if she would ever see the sun again. Without natural light, it had become impossible to know if it were day or night outside. Does it matter? Does anything matter?

  Following Tian, she approached an open spot at the end of a bench. The women and children seated at the tables were sharing stories as if they were at home having a simple family dinner. How many of these families remain intact? How many have died? Somehow, Rena’s thoughts grew darker. How many will soon join the dead?

  A woman named Marta placed a steaming bowl of goat stew before Rena, the scent stirring hunger that been buried beneath her anxiety. She picked up her spoon and gripped it like a weapon. I don’t even know how to wield a knife, she thought. Without magic, I am helpless.

  Noise from the tunnels caused everyone to fall quiet, even the children. All eyes stared toward the dark opening…waiting. Movement shifted within the darkness and Grady emerged, the big blacksmith removing his snow-covered fur hat to reveal the wisps of his remaining gray hair. Kwai-Lan, Bilchard, Nalah, Kirk, and the surviving men from the village trailed behind Grady.

  Kwai-Lan pulled down his hood and removed his cloak. “It must be tonight, Grady. We are limited on food and cannot wait in here forever.”

  Grady turned toward him with a scowl. “I prefer to discuss this in private.”

  Despite standing a head taller and outweighing Kwai-Lan by a fair margin, Grady looked away from Kwai-Lan’s grimace.

  “Fine.” Kwai-Lan waved toward Rena. “Wardens with me.” He then turned back toward the tunnel.

  Kirk shrugged and followed the man into the shadows, with Bilchard and Nalah trailing. Realizing she had best join them, Rena stood and left her warm stew behind. Grady waved the men of Vallerton along as he followed Rena to the neighboring cavern. When they arrived, the other wardens were already seated and Kwai-Lan was tapping the table with his fingers, appearing impatient.