"No adult was willing, so five parents offered their children," the eldest boy said bitterly.
Looking at him, the girl who had first found the outsiders spoke next. "Our parents hoped to preserve the future of our country, and they succeeded. However, they never imagined the horrible side effects. They never imagined that we would become this." She gestured over herself and the other four Kotai. "Not only can we not age, but we are also sterile. If we were to reproduce, we would break the power within us, and eventually fragment it completely. It hardly matters, since only two of us are physically old enough to produce children."
The eldest girl laughed, and Rebenna wanted to weep when she heard the undercurrents in the sound.
The middle boy spoke again. "When we were first created, we were also warned that if we are killed our assailant would inherit our power. We will never age, are not vulnerable to poisons or any other form of death except an assault with a weapon."
"That is why we had to deflect the war off Savann and onto Malzepher fifty years ago. We are truly sorry, and hope you will forgive us, but we cannot chance our power falling into the wrong hands." The smallest of them sounded sincerely repentant.
"How do we know that you aren't abusing your power?" Kellas asked under his breath.
The eldest girl heard him. "We have not left Wegire and Maytise Lake since we were placed here. It was also woven into the initial spell that we will only respond to agents of justice. Still, if you don't trust us, I cannot fully blame you."
Kellas stared directly into each of their eyes, assessing their statements. When he was finished, he smiled. "I think that I can trust you."
"Thank you, child,” the smallest girl said with an amused smile.
"Would you like us to tell you of the situation in Malzepher?" the middle boy asked kindly.
Rebenna nodded anxiously but said nothing. She was still unsure whether she could trust herself to speak cohesively. The eldest girl seemed to understand. "I am hesitant to tell you, for my news is not good for your friends. Still, since you wish it, I will tell what I know.
"Malzepher is close to being defeated. Noennaan soldiers have breached Kingdom Cove. I fear our original actions have caused great harm to the Malzepherians on several different occasions."
"What about the king?" Smith asked quietly, saving Rebenna the trouble.
"We cannot tell you if he lives or not. Our powers only reveal events, not the people in them. Once again, I feel we must apologize. The most we can tell you is that Malzepher is still under some form of leadership and has not slipped into anarchy." The eldest boy shrugged eloquently.
Rebenna swallowed. "You said that you would aid our mission. Will you please do so now?"
"We will," the younger girl replied. "Step close to us and we will transport ourselves to the capital of Malzepher."
Stepping forward immediately, Rebenna looked at her companions behind her. Smith stepped forward next, her hand like paws pushing the fine grains of white sand aside. Kellas finally joined them, completing the rough circle.
Rebenna set her jaw. Regardless of the outcome, what we do now will change history. I refuse to be a pawn any longer. It is time to truly see what my destiny will be.
Chapter 21
Malzepher was on the edge of obliteration; no one doubted that any longer. The remnants of the army stood on the walls and in front of the gates trying to halt the siege Noenna was laying to the city. It was no use. The walls were beginning to crack, and the main gate and first portcullis had been breached. It was only a matter of time until the second was destroyed, and the invading army entered Kingdom Cove.
The parley between the two countries had been the start of the crisis. Lord Richmon had not been present, but the few survivors had related the story to him. Treachery, treason, betrayal, no word he could think of began to describe the depth of the Noennaan's perfidy. Peace treaties were sacred, and he had never heard of a country breaking one before.
After the death toll started to rise, the Great Hall had been turned into an infirmary where all those dying or injured were housed. It was fortunate for Richmon and the entire country that General Portam had not been among those in the initial ambush. Only three of the original fifteen had survived the attack.
Richmon paced the terrace behind the general. "What can be done about our situation?"
General Portam turned to face Richmon. His face had aged greatly within a matter of days. "Nothing can be done other than continue our seaborne evacuation. As you know, we are surrounded on land, so we cannot save any civilians through those means.
"In addition, both the Alemerian and Rugerrese transports that brought their respective armies to Malzepher's aid have been destroyed by pirate ships. Malzepher's remaining naval ships destroyed the last of the enemy ships, but General Wyatt was killed in the process. That leaves me as the only remaining general for all three armies since Schuss, Ardana, and Raito were all killed in the ambush. In our current situation, even combined we cannot hold the Noennaans much longer."
Shaking his head, Richmon thanked the general. Almost immediately, the former mercenary turned and hurried back to the city walls. Richmon knew that Malzepher was losing, and that it was his job to protect the civilians. Walking into the castle, he made his way through the halls purposefully.
Has he gotten lost, he could still have smelled his way to the infirmary. The stench of sickness and death permeated the air. Taking a last clean breath, Richmon pushed back the giant, ornate doors and entered the room.
A wave of nausea passed over him as his eyes met countless horrors. When he had been out on his father's country estate, he had seen tenants sustain serious injuries, but none of them had been of the caliber he saw. In a state close to despair, he noted that there were more beds with sheets over them than beds with live people.
As he shuffled down the aisles, he touched the men's hands and offered words of solace. Toward the end of the long room, two of the three survivors of the initial ambush sat side by side on a bed. Alain's shoulders were crumpled and Richmon could see the tear stains on his reddened cheeks. Raymond sat next to the older boy with a hand on his shaking shoulder. His own expression was completely blank, and he remained motionless.
Both had sustained injuries when they had fought their way out of the tent. Cory, the third member of their trio, had died in the process, and though Richmon had never approved of having a Low-born at court, he pitied the boy's friend and brother. Alain's bandaged hands lay limp in his lap. They had been broken when a horse outside the tent had spooked. It was likely that he would never be able to use a bow again, if Noenna left any survivors within the city. Raymond had a deep cut to his thigh that seemed to pain him whenever he moved.
One of the lesser healers stood near the two boys, and Richmon looked at her askance. The young woman noted the lord's interest and walked over to him.
"How many of these men can be moved quickly?" he asked.
The young woman sighed wearily. "Perhaps two thirds of them. Why do you ask?"
"I wish them relocated to an area near the docks so they can be evacuated," Richmon explained quietly. He was not sure how many of them could be evacuated, as there were only a handful of ships in the harbor.
"I will begin relocation immediately."
The woman walked off before Richmon could thank her, but he realized it didn't matter. Every moment spent doing something useful was much more important than any pleasantries. Turning away from the grieving boys with a grimace, he left the infirmary. He had another charge that he had to look in on: the king, who lay unconscious in his bed with Healer Keller in attendance.
"I can do nothing. I'm very sorry,” said Keller, shaking his head.
"Yet he still lives. Why is that?"
"As I have noted before, his will to survive is strong, but often will alone is not enough. With his injuries, he rightfully should have passed on days ago."
"What can be done in the meantime? Do we just leave him lying
here to die?"
"I hesitate to suggest this..." the healer held up a vial, and Richmon knew what it contained.
"No, I will not be party to that. He would not want to die that way."
"It is merciful. Even in peacetime, he would most likely have no chance of survival, but he simply does not have enough time to recover, if it were even possible. We cannot leave him here for the Noennaans to find."
"Why don't we evacuate him with the rest? Even if he were to die, at least we would have tried to save him."
"For what purpose? Perhaps I do not know him as well as you do, Lord Richmon, but would he really want to die on a ship and not on his bed? Would he really want to die a coward, fleeing from his enemies?"
"Would he want to die without making any effort at all?" Richmon countered angrily.
***
They were so intent on their discussion that they failed to realize that the very man they were arguing about had come into full consciousness. Delmer’s half open left eye wearily regarded Healer Keller and Lord Richmon. He tried to talk, but his throat was too parched to make a noise.
Reaching out to the cup of water by the bed, he only succeeded in sending searing pain through his body that was centralized in his chest. His arm dropped again, limply falling to the bed. Nevertheless, the sound was enough to draw Richmon's attention.
He rushed to his king's aid immediately. Grabbing the cup, he supported Delmer's throbbing head and trickled water slowly down his throat. The young lord was careful not to give him too much.
Delmer cleared his throat, causing his head to split in pain. "Get the others out first," he rasped.
Healer Keller looked at his sovereign in wonderment. "How can you be conscious? Your body was exhausted even before the ambush from sustaining the wounds you did. It is a miracle you are alive at all, never mind talking."
"No, I should not be." Delmer agreed. My injuries won't let me forget that little fact.
Richmon smiled, but then turned serious again. "We are evacuating everyone we can by ship, but there are almost no vessels left. We are surrounded on land."
"I have another way," the king replied briefly. The two men looked at him in confusion, so he continued slowly. "Within the walls of the castle is a system of tunnels that were built expressly for the purpose of escape. Until I found them, they had been forgotten."
Richmon absorbed the information more quickly than Healer Keller. "Of course, all nobles have some version of that system. How do we access it?"
"Push my mirror aside and one of the tiles will cause a door to open."
Healer Keller pushed Delmer's large mirror out of the way. He then proceeded to push every tile until one sank slightly. With that, a door no one had ever suspected existed swung outward.
"There are countless other entrances and once within the passageways, they can all be opened from the inside. Keller, go through the tunnels and open the doors in the Great Hall. There are three of them. You will be able to tell where you are through the spy holes.
"The fourth door in the Great Hall leads outside the city. To open it, first pull back the statue on the dais, which will reveal a switch. Activate the switch and a trapdoor will open. In order to activate the switch, you will need this." Delmer weakly held out his signet ring and Keller hesitantly accepted it. The king looked to his heir as the healer nodded and entered the tunnel quickly, shutting the door behind him.
"Richmon, please find as many people as you can. Tell them to spread your message and to come to the Great Hall in order to be evacuated. Give the civilians two marks to present themselves at the castle before you begin evacuating the army."
Lord Richmon looked at Delmer in awe. "What about you, Your Majesty?"
Delmer had a sad look in his eyes. "I have another job."
The young lord's jaw dropped in surprise. "You can't do that. I mean, your people need you."
Delmer smiled in spite of the pain that coursed through his ruined eye. "I told you once, Richmon, that I do not matter. You and the people are the future, and that is all that matters. A nation can continue without land, but people cannot survive without a purpose. If I survive, I will help Malzepherians find that purpose. If I do not, then this job falls to you."
Richmon nodded solemnly, and Delmer's good eye followed the motion, making him dizzy. The heir to the throne noticed his king's distress and moved closer. Delmer took a steadying breath. "Now, I have another request of you. Please would you help me stand? I cannot do what must be done lying down."
The slightly young lord started. "You can't stand up. You'll kill yourself."
He still doesn't understand, Delmer thought sadly. "Richmon," he repeated, "Please help me."
Nothing more was said, but Delmer saw the grief-stricken expression on Richmon's face. Nevertheless, he walked over to the king. Carefully, he helped slide Delmer's feet to the floor. Sitting down beside Delmer, Richmon dropped the king's arm over his shoulders. They stood together, with Richmon supporting the king's weight.
Delmer could feel the deep puncture wound near his heart tear open again, and black spots took over his vision. Richmon's face now had a fuzzy edge, and Delmer felt his muscles begin to go slack. The vicelike grip on his shoulder tightened, and the new pain it awakened made him groan.
He took a deep, agonizing breath. "Richmon, you should go now and warn the civilians."
The comforting support receded, leaving Delmer feeling faint. The young noble bowed deeply, hiding the tears in his eyes. Slowly, Delmer fought his way back to balance as Richmon exited the room. Taking a few steps, the king bent over. He could feel the blood from the reopened wound trickle down his chest, warming his flesh.
Staggering towards his wardrobe, he leaned heavily against it. I'm dying. I cannot deny that, nor will I seek to fool destiny...but, I will fulfill fate my own way.
The thought steadied him, and he reached into the wardrobe, drawing out a plain set of his robes of state. Sliding into them gingerly, he noted that his blood had soaked through the bandages and was blooming on his white linen shirt. He knew that it would soon come through his pure white robes too.
Walking across the room, Delmer left the sword lying beside his bed. He opened the door and continued out into the hall. As he walked down the echoing hallways he tried not to stumble, having to adjust to a new depth perception. The few servants still remaining in the halls bowed deferentially and rushed to help him. Holding his head as high as he could manage, he waved them off. Then he felt a slight form slip under his arm.
"Delmer, you will not be alone in your fight," Annabeth, Delmer’s quiet foster-sister, spoke quietly in his ear.
He shook his pained head. "Thank you, but I can't ask you to sacrifice yourself to these mongrels too."
She smiled as best she could. "You never have to ask me anything. I know and I want to help. He grew up together.”
Smiling in return, Delmer felt a drop of blood trickle down his cheek like a tear, escaping from beneath the bandages. Annabeth reached up and tenderly brushed the blood away. "Brother, if I could, I would take your place. Anyone who knows you as I do would feel the same."
At her words, his thoughts turned to another woman he loved just as deeply as his foster sister. Closing his left eye and relying on Annabeth to guide him, he sighed. Please, let her come too late. Please, let her not have to witness her people destroy my land. Keep her safe. Silently, he sent a prayer to any god who would listen.
Opening his eyes again, Delmer saw that they stood outside the Great Hall. People swarmed the huge room. Some wore rags and others wore the finest silks, and all had various belongings packed on their backs. The only other thing they had in common was the look of pure fright that froze their faces.
Touching Annabeth's shoulder gently, Delmer drew comfort from his oldest friend. He walked forward with all the dignity he could muster. Every escapee seemed to sense the change and looked towards their king. They did not realize he was dying or that Malzepher had, at most, a fe
w marks left; instead, they took respite and comfort in their leader's presence. To them it no longer mattered that their king had left them for nearly a month, or that he was inexperienced. What mattered was that he was there during their time of crisis and attempting to lead them out of it.
Unsure of whether he could address an entire crowd in his condition, Delmer nodded gravely at his subjects. He could almost see hope, which had been lost when their king had been ambushed, return. The refugees drew themselves up and set their jaws. They would survive Malzepher's defeat.
Delmer continued to walk, leaning against Annabeth. They passed Low-born and High-born, and his effect on both groups was the same. Fighting the urge to weep at the fate of his people, he reached his final destination. It was the courtyard; the very same where he had addressed his troops, hosted his father’s funeral, and even where his father had been assassinated.
Civilians continued to file in, taking heart in the fact that their king stood guard over them. None of them seemed to remember Delmer's physical state. The shift in the demographics occurred suddenly. Civilians were not alone but joined by retreating soldiers. People ran hysterically for the castle entrance.
Delmer peered through the crowd, frantically scanning the panicked faces for a ranking officer. Ironically enough, it was Travis he spotted. Hoarsely, he called the man's name, but the words were lost in the tumult of the crowd.
Annabeth left his side. Weaving through the throng of people, she grabbed the new officer's torn sleeve. He followed her back to where Delmer stood, though he wasn't able to thread through the masses as easily as Annabeth.
Travis's face was frightened. "Your Majesty, the second portcullis has fallen. General Portam and a few soldiers are still fighting at the entrance to the city proper. Since the space is narrow, we may be able to stall for time. He is one of the only officers left and ordered me to report to Lord Richmon. I didn't even realize you were still alive until now."
"Then I have another request," Delmer spoke sharply, effectively cutting off Travis's torrent of words. "Report back to General Portam or another officer in charge and order the troops to retreat to the castle. If no officers remain, call the retreat yourself."
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