What will happen if our mission fails?
I reach over to Owyn and take his hand, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. With so much uncertainty in the world, I am grateful that we have each other.
Even if the world ends, it will be nice not being alone.
THREE DAYS LATER, THE messenger returns from Tarsys bearing a letter from the king. He had gone before the prisoners, who were released and prodded back to the city by the eager spears of their Nightingale guards. He had apparently not been executed by the king’s knights.
A good sign, I think to myself, standing beside Protector Thel and his attendants on the outskirts of camp.
The rider gallops to our position, pulling his lathered horse to a stop and dismounting, his hair wild and his face red from the burning cold of the wind.
“He’s agreed to meet!” He declares excitedly, rushing forward and presenting a sealed letter to the Protector. “King Aethelgar has agreed to discuss a truce!”
“Hmph,” Barus grunts, crossing his arms and causing his chainmail to clink. “And I thought I’d seen everything.”
The Protector breaks the seal and begins reading the letter, a grim smile forming on his face. “This is excellent news! And a proposed meeting on neutral ground no less... I could not have hoped for a better outcome. Thank you, Corvin.”
The messenger salutes and departs, leading his horse tiredly into camp.
Beside me, Owyn holds my hand and gives it a comforting squeeze. “Now we just need to hope that a peaceful solution can be found.”
I glance over at him and nod somberly. “Prayers will likely do more good than hopes. I think I'll do a fair bit of praying tonight."
He chuckles gives my hand another squeeze.
"The letter says to meet tomorrow," the Protector says at length, folding up the letter and looking at each of us, "and that we may only bring seven people to parlay. These, he suggests, should be our main decision makers, including any representatives from the rangers and the Conclave."
All eyes turn to Owyn and me.
"I suppose that means us," I say sheepishly.
"Indeed," murmurs the Protector.
A turbulent gust of wind rushes through the camp, causing clothes to flutter and tents to sway. Pulling my robes more tightly around myself, I give the Nightingale leader a look of resolution. "I would be honored to accompany in this mission."
Owyn, a bit more begrudgingly, adds, "Me too."
"Then it is settled," Protector Thel replies with an air of finality, tucking the letter into his coat pocket. "On the morrow we will travel to this meeting place and persuade the king to ally himself with us. May the Light shine upon our efforts."
Chapter Four
Owyn
Hooves beat a steady rhythm into the soft earth, thudding like drum beats as we make our way to the predetermined meeting location.
To my side, Zara rides her dappled mare with a look of grim determination on her face. When she notices me looking at her, she offers me an encouraging smile.
This is it, I think to myself, gripping the reins of my mount. The moment of truth. Let’s hope that a peaceful resolution can be achieved.
It is another grey day in the Heartlands, with low-hanging clouds and cold, humid air. The wind gusts ceaselessly from the north, rustling the grassy plains and carrying with it the bite of winter. Here, at the midway point between the Nightingale camp and Tarsys, it feels like we are completely alone, riding through a dismal fog.
Ahead, I can just make out the place we are to meet the king – an old stone church in the middle of a wide field of grass. It rises from the plains like a ruin of crumbling granite and wooden beams, a stand of gnarled oak trees encircling it like forgotten acolytes come to worship at the altar of the Light. Horses wait tethered outside of the church, along with pennants staked into the ground bearing the standard of the king.
He’s here, I realize, taking in a deep breath. I’m about to stand before a man who used me and my friends like pawns for his own schemes for power, who also happens to be one of the most powerful people in the world.
The thought fills me with more dread than I care to admit.
As we draw near to the crumbling old church, Xander Thel calls for a halt, motioning for us to gather around him. In total there are seven of us, including the Protector, Zara and myself, Barus, and three guards who look as nervous as I feel.
I don’t blame them, I think, nudging my horse to move closer to Thel. It feels like we are entering the lion’s den.
“I see seven horses,” Barus remarks, staring across the field of dead grass at the old church. “Same as us.”
“It was the number prescribed in the missive,” Thel replies dryly, tugging off his riding gloves. “At least we know that he has honored that part of the agreement.”
“At least we know that we won’t be outnumbered,” Barus grumbles under his breath.
Glancing upward, I watch as the swollen grey clouds drift lazily across the sky. It appears as though it might rain. Rotten luck, that.
“Allow me to do most of the talking,” Thel continues after a moment, setting his jaw in a look of stoicism. “There will no doubt be some negotiation involved, and I speak on behalf of the Nightingales. Magus Dennell,” he gestures at Zara, “will speak on behalf of the Conclave. Her authority as a Seeker will allow her as much. Barus, do try and keep your mouth shut. We desperately need for this meeting to go well.”
Barus grunts but does not otherwise respond. He looks particularly surly today, making it totally obvious that he disagrees with this meeting.
“If things go poorly,” he adds, resting a hand on his sword, “then we break for the horses. My honor guard will hold them off so that we can escape. Any questions?”
The only sound that follows is the howl of the icy wind.
“Alright,” Thel says after a moment. “Let’s go.”
Wordlessly, we spur our horses onward, riding up to the grove of trees and the crumbly grey building beside it. Standing outside of the doors are a pair of guards, their expressions hard as they stare out at us from beneath their polished steel caps. Each of them wears the red and gold of the royal house, and both of them are armed.
As I pull my horse to a stop and dismount, I keep a wary hand near my hatchet, watching for any signs of treachery. Zara steps up next to me leading her horse by the reins, and I see that she is clutching her talisman in a white-knuckled grip.
"It'll be alright," I whisper as we tether the horse to a weathered hitching post. "We have each other's backs."
She smiles at me, but the stiffness in her features tells me that it is forced. Still, I try to appear positive and calm so as to lend her comfort.
The guards say nothing as we approach, merely push open the doors and stand aside.
Walking tall with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, Thel steps inside, the perfect image of military decorum. Barus and the three soldiers go next, eying the guards suspiciously, then finally Zara and I step through.
The inside of the church is dimly lit by a few candles, and wan sunlight filters through a few cracks in the walls. It is musty inside, with moldy wooden pews in disorderly rows and stringy cobwebs clinging to nearly every surface. The whole place smells of rot and dust, and I find myself crinkling my nose against the offending smell.
Five knights stand at the end of the meeting hall next to the decrepit altar, their gleaming plate helmets covering their faces and their mail armor glittering in the light of the candles.
No one else appears to be in the room with us.
Thel stops midway to the altar, looking about searchingly. "Where is the king?" He asks, voice carrying throughout the abandoned church. "I was under the impression that he would be meeting us here today."
The knights don't immediately respond, an uncomfortable silence filling the moldering meeting hall. Finally, the one in the middle breaks the silence. "King Aethelgar will be arriving shortly. You needn't concern yourself
with his whereabouts."
Behind us, the doors creak shut, sealing us off inside of the church.
The hackles on the back of my neck begin to rise. Something doesn't feel right, I think to myself, glancing around the room for signs of a trap. Judging by Zara's concerned expression, she apparently feels it too.
"We came here to discuss peace between the Nightingales and Tarsynium," Thel replies evenly. "The king gave us his word of honor that he would personally attend this meeting – when, might I ask, will he be arriving?"
The knight chuckles within the depths of his helm, a hollow sound that chills my blood. "Don't worry about a thing," he says. "You and your companions will be dealt with justly."
A stream of dust catches my eye, sifting down from the rafters above us. I look up and catch a glimpse of movement among the shadowed beams.
"My lord Protector," Barus growls, reaching for his side sword. "We need to leave, now."
Then, something snaps and a crossbow bolt embeds itself deep into his shoulder.
I immediately jump into action, ducking to the side and pulling out my father's hatchet as the five knights in front of us draw their swords in unison.
"It's a trap!" One of the Nightingale soldiers yells just as he takes a crossbow bolt through the skull. His body slumps hard to the ground.
Zara conjures a radiant shield like a wide dome over her head as more crossbow bolts fly from the rafters, thunking into wood and bouncing harmlessly off her magic. The two door guards close in along with the five knights, surrounding us with their blades drawn.
Barus lets out a roar, rushing to Thel's side and ignoring the shaft sticking out of his shoulder. The Protector draws his sword as well, but instead of anger, his face reveals only horror.
We're doomed, I think, stepping over to Zara. And he knows it.
Steel rings out against steel as the knights engage the others, advancing as a cohesive unit and pressing the four Nightingales against the pews. The two door guards, who advance more cautiously towards me and Zara, fan out with their swords held menacingly out in front of them.
“Here,” Zara shouts, reaching over and touching my arm while chanting in some strange language. My skin prickles as a layer of shimmering blue light clings to my body. “That should protect you from the crossbows.”
Sure enough, something cracks against my back and clatters to the floor, leaving me unharmed.
“Thanks,” I mutter, keeping a wary eye on the man in front of me.
He lunges a second later, stabbing hard with his sword. I take the hit, allowing the blade to glance off Zara’s magic, then move forward with a counterattack, swinging my hatchet in at a sideways chop. My blow connects, biting into his chainmail armor, but it is hardly enough to kill the man. He grunts in pain shoving me back as he attempts to stab at me again with his sword.
The fool doesn’t understand how powerful Zara’s magic is.
Again, I absorb the blow, only this time I bring up my fist, catching him off-guard and punching him in the face. His head snaps back and he staggers, allowing me enough time to slam my hatchet into his forehead, cracking his head open like an egg.
To my side, Zara completely immolates the other door guard, spraying him with magefyre and sending him crashing into the pews. He shrieks and thrashes, causing the old wooden benches to catch fire as well.
I curse. Soon, this whole building will be ablaze.
Spinning around, I can see that Thel and the other Nightingales are in a terrible position. Crossbow bolts continue to rain down as they lock blades with the five knights. Barus has several more bolts sticking through his back and shoulders, and still he fights, swinging his sword like a madman.
Two of the knights are bleeding on the ground, but one of the Nightingale guards lies dead, a crossbow bolt through his neck.
Most miraculously, however, is the way the Xander Thel fights off two of the knights. He moves like a whirlwind, dodging and lashing out with his blade, forcing his attackers on their heels as he dances about. His movements remind me of Elias, who has an astonishing way of fighting multiple enemies. Even so, I can see this ending badly for them.
“Come on!” I shout to Zara. “We need to help them!”
“You go,” Zara replies, turning her attention upward. “I’ll deal with the crossbowmen.”
Even as I rush toward the embattled Nightingales, I can see that she is conjuring another ball of magefyre in her hand.
As I run up to Barus, the last Nightingale guard takes a sword through the stomach. He grimaces, falling to his knees as the knight yanks his bloody sword out of his gut.
I descend upon the armored man with a vengeance, striking with my hatchet and forcing him to defend. He heaves, attempting to use his superior weight to push me off balance, but I manage to disengage from him at the last minute, twisting to the side as he stumbles forward onto the Nightingale’s corpse. I bring my hatchet up in one swift movement, bringing it down hard onto his back again and again. The blade punches through his mail and into his spine, throwing up flecks of blood with every chop.
The crossbow bolts seem to have stopped, and I look up to see that the entire front ceiling of the church is aflame with blue magefyre. Zara stands below, tossing up ball after ball, and I can hear men screaming from the rafters, some even falling writhing to the ground.
“We have to get out of here!” I shout at Barus, who slashes one of the knights across the throat just beneath the helm.
The man goes down and Barus turns toward me, looking pale as a ghost. Blood trickles from his lips as he coughs, his back and shoulders practically bristling with crossbow bolts. “The Protector...” he wheezes, gesturing to Thel.
He has managed to bring down one of the two knights fighting him and is now locked in combat with the last one.
“Go to Zara,” I say, readying my hatchet. “I’ll help the Protector.”
The big man nods and lumbers off, moving lethargically to where Zara stands amid the flames. The church is now choked with smoke, the light blue and hazy as the whole building seemingly burns down around us.
The last remaining knight curses beneath his helm as I approach, falling into a defensive stance as I run up and attack him from the side. This allows Thel to strike a series of lightning-fast blows on his flank, quickly slicing into the side of his chest and cutting him down to the ground.
“Thanks for that,” Thel says, breathing heavily. He coughs as the smoke becomes almost too much to bear.
“Let’s go,” I shout back at him, coughing as well.
Together, the two of us stumble over the corpses and the burning wood toward the exit, where Zara stands at the now-opened doors. The whole church seems to groan and shutter around us, and by the time we finally make it outside, both of us are stained with blood and soot.
We collapse on the ground outside of the church, falling to the earth and gasping for air. Behind us, the building begins to collapse, the walls crumbling and the roof caving in.
Zara and I clutch each other, the effects of her spells wearing off. She quivers as I hold her, and when I look down I am surprised to see that she is weeping, tears streaking her smoke-stained face. I have never seen her in such a state before – the shock of the betrayal and the exertion of using so much magic, combined with nearly being burned alive, must have taken a heavy toll on her.
“Barus!” Thel wails, his voice sounding husky.
I look up to see the Protector on his knees, cradling the bearded man’s limp form. “Barus, stay with me! The surgeons will fix you up.”
“My lord... Protector...” he rasps, blood bubbling up from his mouth. “I... can’t....” He descends into a fit of wet coughing.
“Don’t speak,” Thel commands, voice quavering. “Save your strength, general. That's an order.”
Barus nods, grimacing as each cough appears to cause him tremendous pain.
More of the church collapses, the blue flames crackling as they quickly consume the structure, sending
a plume of thick black smoke into the air.
From somewhere on the hazy plains, I can hear a distant rumbling. It's soft at first, almost imperceptible, but gradually grows louder with every passing second.
Zara, apparently hearing it too, perks up. "What is that?" She asks, sniffing.
"Horses," I reply, watching as black dots appear on the horizon. "Lots of them."
Sure enough, the dots soon materialize into dozens of riders, thundering toward our position at breakneck speed. The smoke gives them a clear target of where to find us.
The two of us shakily stand up, brushing ourselves off and walking over to the Nightingales. "Protector Thel," I say, shaking him out of some sort of reverie. "We need to get out of here."
Dazed, he nods and glances down at Barus. The Nightingale general stares unblinkingly up at the sky, the blood on his lips stark against the black of his beard and the white of his face.
"Light rest your soul, general," he says, laying down Barus' corpse and getting to his feet.
We walk over to the hitching post, but quickly discover that it is broken, the horses missing. They must have panicked in all the commotion and broken free. The riders are almost upon us, and we will never be able to outrun them on foot.
It is apparent that there is no way out.
The three of us turn and face our fate as the riders bear down on us, surrounding our position and levelling spears. These men all wear the king's colors and are heavily armed, their expressions hostile beneath their polished metal caps. One of the men stands apart from the rest, dressed in rich apparel and wearing a golden crown atop his head.
King Aethelgar, I think to myself, hot anger boiling in the pit of my stomach. Come personally to see that the job is completed.
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