Crown of Chaos

by Sarah E. Burr

  “I warn you, Katalina,” Jax had cautioned when the deal had been struck back in the bowels of the infirmary. “When word spreads of the freedom people have throughout all my nations, you may find it hard to navigate the changing world by yourself.” Jax did not believe for a second that Katalina’s dictatorial vision would work, even if the Duchess thought she was doing what was in the best interests of her people. The woman had yet to understand that all people deserved a voice, no matter their bloodline or background. It would be a hard lesson for her to learn, but the day would come, and Jax hoped Katalina would look to her for help, rather than for blame.

  As for Savant, Beautraud, and Tandora, they had made their position clear. Jax felt no satisfaction over the war that would swiftly come to an end under her command. Even without the armies of Hestes, Crepsta, and Kwatalar now at her disposal, the floundering Coalition was no match for the might and will of Saphire and her friends.

  She rested her cheek against George’s back, shedding a single tear for the bloodshed to come. Even though the war would be swift, many of her own people would perish, fighting for freedom within the realm.

  She must have fallen asleep, for the next thing Jax knew, she was jolted upright by the shrieking scream of a wounded animal. Frantically trying to figure out what was going on, Jax watched the horse next to her, carrying her grandfather, collapse to the ground, an arrow lodged in its neck.

  “Grand-Père!” Jax cried out, her arm stretched out toward the fallen man.

  With one hand, George pushed her back up into the saddle, his order a growl. “We cannot stop, Jax. We’re under attack. The Knights will tend to your grandfather. I have to get you to safety.”

  “But—” Jax’s protest was drowned out by more confused shouting as the Knights of Grace struggled to get into a defensive formation. She followed the wild cries to the crest of a nearby hill, covered with well-armored soldiers.

  Soldiers bearing the banner of Savant.

  “You didn’t think I’d leave without saying goodbye?” a voice booming with arrogance called down to them.

  George urged a rattled Mortimer through the pandemonium, dodging a volley of arrows that came raining down on them.

  “Did any hit you?” he asked.

  Jax could not remember a time when George sounded so afraid. “I’m fine.” She whipped her head wildly around. “Where is Perry?”

  George slowed their pace for only a moment to allow Jax to more easily search for her husband, which quickly proved to be a sentimental mistake. A volley of rocks exploded against the ground in front of them, sending Mortimer rearing toward the sky. Jax fought to stay on, but she tumbled off the back of her horse, a mishap she hadn’t suffered since she was a child.

  “Jax!” George leaped from Mortimer, landing a few feet from her.

  She pushed herself off the hard ground, fighting to mask a wince. “I’m fine.”

  “Your head is bleeding.” George assessed her gravely, his chocolate eyes pulsating with terror. Yet, he spoke to her with a calm, reassuring tone, his emotions hardened by his years with the Ducal Guard. “We have to make for the tree cover. We can’t trust the Virtues to divert another volley of arrows.”

  Jax scanned the chaotic scene. Savant’s men charged down the hillside, spears and swords pointed at the Knights’ defensive formation. Each Knight boasted a gleaming shield, but their numbers were no match for the horde assaulting them now.

  Behind the wall of Knights, Jax spotted Landon and Captain Roche dragging her grandfather’s limp body away from the battlefield.

  Darian had his sword out, running furiously behind them to ward off any surprise attacks.

  “Grand-Père.” Jax choked on her dread.

  A little farther away, she spotted two other figures struggling to flee the scene. “George! Perry and Ivan are over there!”

  George followed her frantic jabs. “Once I’ve gotten you somewhere safe, I’ll go help them.” He stood, bringing her with him, his muscular arm encircled around her waist, carrying her like a limp ragdoll.

  She tried to resist, but George’s determined strength was no match for her dazed state. Strangely, she could not recall the circumstances of her injury; she must have hit her head quite hard when she landed.

  Once they were in the safety of a strange, deathly forest, George placed her on the ground, in the arms of a large, dead tree trunk. “Do you have a weapon?”

  Jax nodded mutely and reached for the dagger Ziri had given her earlier, still tucked in the sash around her waist. “Please,” she bleated. “Please, George, bring Perry to me.”

  His eyes pinched at her request, no doubt with conflicting emotions. As Captain of the Ducal Guard, he’d sworn an oath to protect the Duchess of Saphire with his life. But as her friend, could he really tell her no?

  “George!” Darian’s voice jolted them both.

  George rose and stepped away from the cradling confines of the trunk. “Over here!” He waved. With a lingering look at Jax, he seemed to debate whether it was all right to leave her side.

  “Go. Help them,” Jax urged. As he sprinted away from view, she placed her palm on her pounding head, the touch shooting a torrent of fire through her. As she brought her hand away, she stared at the blood, horrified and slightly confused to realize it was her own.

  George returned with Duke Mensina, the older man leaning heavily on the Captain.

  “His leg is broken.” George placed the delirious Duke next to Jax.

  “Where are the others? Where’s Perry?” she asked, her words feeling heavy on her tongue.

  “Captain Roche was brought down by four arrows, but his sacrifice allowed Darian and Landon enough of a window to find shelter. They’re holed up behind a boulder a few feet in front of this tree.”

  “Where’s Perry?” She fumed at having to repeat herself.

  George’s features grew tight with worry. “I haven’t found him or Ivan yet.”

  Her brain continued to pound against her skull, bringing forth a surge of tears. “Where is Perry?” she wailed, feeling like she was losing control of her senses.

  George knelt by her, trying to stop her from writhing against the pain. “Jax,” he said, his calm façade beginning to falter. “Jax, I have to bandage your head. You’re bleeding too much.”

  “Where’s Perry?” She looked wildly around a suddenly lopsided world before everything faded into blackness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As Jax slumped in his arms, George breathed a slight sigh of relief. He couldn’t think straight, seeing her in such pain and misery. Her fainting spell had earned him a reprieve to clear his head and figure a way to get her safely out of this nightmare.

  After skillfully binding her bloody head wound with linen torn from her dress, George checked on Duke Mensina. The older man’s pulse was weak, but it was the best George could hope for, given the state of his crushed leg. His stomach flipped at the sight of the mangled limb. It was one of the worst breaks he’d seen since joining the Ducal Guard.

  In the confines of the eerie forest, George whispered a prayer to the Virtues, begging them to watch over Jax and her grandfather. He ended with a short lament for his beloved mare who had fallen so abruptly on the battlefield, felled by the arrow meant for Duke Mensina. He hoped his noble companion had not suffered.

  Signaling to Darian and Landon, George confirmed they were all right for now. Through the fossilized trees of Deadwood Grove, he could see the battle raging in the open field to the west. Needing to understand what they were up against, George left Jax and Duke Mensina in the shadow of the large tree trunk and inched his way closer to the battlefield. Despite their lesser numbers, the Knights of Grace were warriors of a caliber George had never seen before in all his years with the Ducal Guard. He spotted Ziri Axesinger wielding two slim blades, whirling with lethal grace. She was a stunning sight to behold, dancing through the enemy, bringing them down with her swift, fluid strokes. He had to admit, her flawless swordsmanship
put his own skills to shame. In a single heartbeat, she had taken out five of Savant’s soldiers.

  Though none seemed to come close to Ziri’s skill level, the Knights fought valiantly against their attackers, despite being sorely outnumbered. The warrior within him boiled, and he knew he could not remain hidden in the dead forest any longer.

  Abandoning his position, George gave the breastplate he wore a final tug. Thank the Virtues that Captain Leopold had come through with procuring armor for the remaining ducal escorts. With his prized sword fused into the palm of his hand, George darted forward into the chaos raging on the plains, a war cry bellowing from his chest.

  Just then, to his left, he spotted two figures emerging from the forest a hundred feet away, their swords raised, accepting his unintended challenge.

  Virtues, no!

  “Perry!” George yelled across the field. “Get back! Get back, you fool! Jax needs you!”

  Either the young Duke did not hear him or chose to ignore his plea. Perry ran headlong into a horde of enemy blades, his glistening silver sword held high. George instantly changed direction, his feet pounding against the hard bedrock, willing his body to take him to Perry faster.

  Three Savantian soldiers got in his way, but George didn’t let them slow him down. His blade cut through the weak spots in their armor, and he charged through the blood and gore that remained.

  “Perry, fall back! Fall back!” George screamed at the top of his lungs, but to no avail. The cries of battle snuffed out his shouts, forcing him to cut through the wall of men separating him from the Duke of Pettraud and his brother. The horde tried to swallow him, but he fought with every fiber of his being. He had to get to Perry and Ivan. If he could pull the brothers from the battlefield, George and Ivan could protect the sovereigns while making a run for Fort Uhstal. If they kept to the trees, they stood a chance at slipping away while the Knights kept Savant’s ambush preoccupied.

  George kept his attention focused ahead, afraid of losing Perry and Ivan in the sea of violence. His blade cut through armor, flesh, and bone as he darted through the chaos, his eyes never leaving the Pettraud brothers, fighting back to back, bathed in the blood of their enemies and fierce determination.

  George was an arm’s length away from them when the enemy surged and swallowed Perry in the crowd. Distracted by his brother’s disappearance, Ivan failed to see a blade slice through the tangle of bloody limbs swarming him. It pierced his side, right between the buckles of his cuirass.

  “No!” George lunged forward, severing the arm wielding the sword from its stunned owner.

  Ivan collapsed to the ground where he stood, his lifeless gaze wide as the enemy converged all around. Death had already claimed the valiant commander.

  “No!” George yelled to the skies, his heart aching with sorrow at the loss of his friend and comrade. As he screamed, letting loose his pain, his fury fully unleashed. Giving no thought to his own safety, George dove into the crowd of Savantian traitors trampling barbarically over Ivan’s body. His sword sang a lethal tune as he swung it through the air, parrying the few blows that managed to come his way before he ended the life of the one who dealt it.

  He had no idea the number of the men who fell by his blade. His tired muscles moaned in futile protest as he hacked away at Savant’s forces, trying to locate Perry in the crowd. Where was he? George stumbled over the bodies of Knights and fallen ducal escorts, unable to mourn their losses as he fought onward. Even finding Duchess Zaltor among the dead brought him nothing but unbridled rage.

  “Captain Solomon!”

  The voice broke through the torrent of angry vengeance consuming him. He turned, avoiding a glancing blow of an enemy blade, to find Ziri Axesinger rushing toward him.

  Her twin swords dipped blood onto the corpses beneath their feet. “We need to fall back to the forest.”

  With a swipe of his hand, George wiped his face clean of blood from his foes. “Jax and the other leaders are there. We can’t lead Savant’s men to them.”

  She gave him a hardened glare. “Then we must retreat elsewhere. We’re outnumbered. Even with our skills, the Knights cannot combat this attack.”

  George assessed the madness around them. While the Knights continued to fight hard, it was clear this was a losing battle. His chocolate gaze trailed along the outskirts of the fighting, to the crest of the hill where Duke Savant cowardly perched atop his horse with Duke Beautraud and Duchess Tandora on either side. He noted the charred sleeve of the Duchess’s left arm, her red, blistered skin on bright display. She must have been wounded fleeing the burning fortress.

  Sticking his sword upright into the body of a fallen enemy soldier, George scanned the ground. It only took him a few seconds to find a discarded crossbow, an arrow already notched by its dead bearer.

  “What are you—”

  He didn’t let Ziri finish. He aimed the crossbow and released the trigger.

  The arrow hit its mark with fatal accuracy. Duchess Tandora screamed in surprised pain as the force knocked her from her horse.

  The abrupt, direct attack visibly startled Duke Savant and Duke Beautraud. George savored the expressions of unrestrained panic on their faces. He didn’t relish their fear for too long, though. He pulled an arrow from the back of a fallen Knight and loaded the crossbow.

  His aim rang true as the second bolt slammed into the neck of Duke Waylon Beautraud.

  Beautraud’s hands flew to his throat, blood spurting through his fingers. His struggle against death lasted but a moment before he slumped forward on his horse and toppled to the ground beside Duchess Tandora.

  Duke Savant reined in his spooked steed, his gaze bouncing wildly between his two fallen allies and the battlefield.

  George wasted no time securing another bolt, this one placed in his outstretched palm by an impressed Ziri.

  “This ends now.” With gritted teeth, George lifted the crossbow one final time.

  A dead Savantian soldier crashed into him, having already been skewered by Ziri’s blades as she fought to ward off anyone who approached them. The force knocked his aim askew and the bolt flew, lodging itself into Duke Savant’s thigh.

  The Duke roared in pain but managed to stay atop his horse. George cursed, frantically searching for another arrow he could notch, but it was too late. Duke Savant whipped his mount into motion, retreating down the far side of the hill and out of sight.

  “We have to go after him!” George called to Ziri, who sliced a man’s head clean off in response.

  “Here, use this.”

  George whirled to see Perry stumble through the bedlam of blades and blood. Relief flooded through George to see Jax’s husband standing, only to have it quickly squashed by the bloody arrow in Perry’s grip.

  “Once you pull it out, that is.” Wincing through the pain, Perry chuckled at his failed joke. His hand encircled the bolt sticking out of his abdomen.

  George rushed to his friend’s side, offering him support. “Virtues, Perry.”

  “It’s only a scratch.” Perry struggled to give his friend a comedic shrug. The action had him stifling a muffled whimper.

  Ziri supported him from the other side. “If we pull it free, he’ll lose too much blood. We need to get him to a healer, first.”

  George agreed with her assessment and began dragging Perry toward the tree line.

  “What about Savant?” Perry murmured, making a halfhearted attempt to resist their helping hands. “We have to end this.”

  Ziri shushed him with gentle force. “His soldiers are already falling back to rally around their leader. Now’s the time to retreat to Fort Uhstal while they regroup.” She paused, her bronze gaze resting hopefully on George. “A wound to the leg like that won’t be an easy one to recover from. Given his losses, Savant won’t soon risk another open attack.”

  “Losses?” Perry repeated, his head hanging low. “What losses did he suffer?”

  His bitter tone made George wonder if Perry knew about his olde
r brother’s fate. “Duchess Tandora and Duke Beautraud both fell.” He glanced over his shoulder to confirm that their two bodies still lay motionless at the crest of the hill from where Savant had fled.

  “Well, that’s encouraging news…” Perry’s sluggish words trailed off as unconsciousness claimed him.

  Ziri grimaced as she and George adjusted to Perry’s full weight. “How are we going to get to Fort Uhstal?” she asked. “All the horses are either dead or have bolted into the woods.”

  For Jax’s sake, I hope Mortimer made it free of this madness. Tension throbbed at the base of George’s neck. His relief that the battle was behind them for now was drowned out by the reality of its aftermath. Many of the ducal leaders needed immediate medical assistance. Jax’s head wound needed to be examined, her grandfather’s leg had to be reset or removed, the bolt in Perry’s gut needed to be extracted, and George didn’t even know what injuries might have befallen Darian, Landon, and the Knights of Grace.

  Prelate Brath appeared beside them, relieving Ziri of Perry’s weight. “The others?”

  George nodded into the myriad of trees ahead of them. “Hidden in the forest.”

  “Fort Uhstal is about a league from here.” Brath looked to the western horizon.

  Fear returned tenfold. “Without horses, the wounded will never make it.” George glanced at the unconscious Perry. The blood from his friend’s wound had already seeped onto George’s own tunic. He needed help fast.

  As they reached the tree line, joined by the surviving Knights of Grace, a horn trumpeted in the distance.

  The prelate stiffened. “Another attack?”

  The horn pierced the mid-morning air again, its song filling George with renewed hope. It was a song he had known all his adult life, a song of home. “No. That is the horn of Saphire.”

  Chapter Nineteen