"Sorry to keep you waiting," he says smugly, his thick dark hair ruffling in the wind. "I trust my men treated you with the dignity you deserve."
"You betrayed your word of honor," Zara accuses, glaring up at the king with a look of pure disdain. "The Conclave will be furious when they find out–"
"The Conclave is in my pocket, child," Aethelgar interrupts. "Oh, the High Magus still considers herself something of an idealist, but most of the Circle regularly take bribes from me. They'll never say a word about this little incident."
Her mouth drops open, and for once she looks completely at a loss for words.
The king chuckles to himself and gestures at some of his soldiers. They dismount and promptly remove our weapons, though none of us resist. Zara looks furious, and Thel looks resigned. I feel nothing but exhaustion – that, and a sense of disappointment.
I cannot believe that this is how it is going to end after everything we've been through. At least now I won't have to witness the utter destruction of humanity.
The guards force the three of us to our knees and finally the king dismounts, walking lazily over to us with a smirk on his face.
"You know," he says, approaching Thel, "you and your band of miscreants have been a thorn in my side for years. To think that you would be foolish enough to deliver yourself into my hands... well, let's just say that this isn't how I thought it would end between us."
Thel doesn't reply, merely stares up at the monarch. He manages to look dignified even while on his knees.
"No curses? No word or pleading?" The king asks, sounding almost disappointed. "Pity."
He then pulls a dagger from his belt and slides it across the Protector's throat, cutting a wide gash and spilling blood all down the front of his uniform. He does not cry out or gasp. He simply closes his eyes and is still as his life's blood pours out. Then, slowly, he falls forward, landing on his face in the grass.
Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, the king casually wipes the blade and returns it to his belt.
Zara lets out a cry of despair, tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes. I just stare at Thel's body, feeling numb.
"Now, as for the two of you," Aethelgar turns his attention on us. "You have been nothing but trouble from the moment I met you. Not only did you ally yourselves with traitors and rebels, but you cost me my campaign against the Nightingales. The loss at Dunmar City was your fault."
"Spare Zara," I blurt out, trying with everything I have to act contrite. "All of this is my doing. Kill me and be done with it, but do not harm her."
Zara protests, denying her own innocence, but the king shakes his head, a truly malevolent smile forming on his ruddy face. "You think I want to kill you? No, Owyn Lund. Death is too swift a punishment. I have something special planned for the two of you." He glances up at his soldiers. "Take them," he commands, then spins around, making his way back to his horse.
The last thing I remember is gazing into Zara's eyes before something cracks across the back of my head.
Then, blackness.
Chapter Five
Zara
I wake to the sound of wagon wheels grinding.
My eyelids flutter open, revealing a dimly lit wooden room. My hands are bound tightly together with rope, and a painful lump has swelled up on the back of my head, causing an excruciating headache. To my side, Owyn lays on the floor of the wooden room, his wrists bound in similar fashion.
The jostling movements lead me to believe that we are in some sort of a carriage, though it is too dark to tell for sure. The only light coming in is from a small window on the far wall, fitted with thick steel bars.
Shaking my head groggily, I push myself to my feet, staggering over to the window. Outside, I can see the shapes of trees in the grey light of day, their leafless limbs like skeletal fingers clawing from the sides of the road. I can also make out the nickering sound of horses, as well as the noise of clopping hooves.
A prison wagon, then, I think, settling back down on the dirty floor. My legs feel wobbly even after a minute of standing.
The memories come rushing back, along with the painful feeling of helplessness and betrayal. Barus, dead and pierced by many crossbow bolts, Protector Xander Thel with his throat slit. And then there was the leering visage of the king, and the promise of retribution. I reach my hand to my chest, remembering that they had taken my talisman, and grimace at the thought of being clubbed on the back of the head.
Where are they taking us? What horrors does the king have planned for us?
Owyn begins to stir from his place on the floor, groaning softly. I shuffle over to him, laying his head on my lap. “Owyn,” I whisper, gently stroking his face. “Are you alright?”
The back of his head is crusty with dried blood.
“Ugh,” he groans, opening his eyes a crack. “Wha... what happened?”
“We’re prisoners,” I reply in a small voice. “King Aethelgar has captured us and is transporting us somewhere.”
“That coward,” he replies vengefully. “He’s worse than the R’Laar. At least they’re honest about wanting to destroy the world.”
I smile sadly, gazing down at him. He looks to be in even worse pain than I am. “Owyn, I – I’m so sorry. I should have done something with my magic... stopped them in some way. Now... well, I’m not sure how we’re going to get out of this one.”
He reaches up and takes hold of my hand, his calloused fingers giving mine a squeeze. “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he replies softly. “You were exhausted, and there were too many of them.”
Tears well up suddenly in my eyes, and I forcibly blink them away. The thought of being tortured by that monster while the world crumbles down around us is almost too much for me to bear. Leaning down, I kiss Owyn gently on his dry lips, then settle back against the bumping wall of the carriage. We fall into a gloomy silence, still holding each other’s hands as the prison cart rolls on.
At some point we stop, the wheels grinding to a halt as rough voices sound from outside. Someone suddenly pulls open the door on the back of the carriage, causing the pale light of late afternoon to come pouring in.
Blinking against the sudden brightness, I can see the unshaven face of a soldier staring back at me. “Looks like they’re still alive,” he calls gruffly to his fellows. “Though they look a little worse for wear.”
Behind him, I can hear the derisive laughter of other soldiers.
“Here,” he says after a moment, unceremoniously tossing in a half-empty water skin. “Drink that. Wouldn’t want you dying from thirst on the way there.”
I hesitantly reach forward, picking up the leather container.
“Where are you taking us?” Owyn asks, his voice sounding raspy.
Again, the soldiers burst into laughter. “Oh,” the one in the doorway replies with an amused smirk, “you’ll find out soon enough. If I were you, I’d make my peace with the Light while you still have time.”
Then, he slams the door, leaving us once again in relative darkness.
Before long, the carriage lurches forward and continues carrying us toward our unknown destination.
We sit in silence for quite some time, lost in our own thoughts as we hold each other close. Our clothing and hair still smells like smoke from the fire, and the enclosed space we sit in has an odd smell, like the unwashed bodies of the prisoners who came before us. The sun begins to set after a while, further shrouding us in darkness, and through the barred window I can see the flickering light of torches coming from the soldiers, their muffled voices too faint to understand.
After an indeterminable amount of time, Owyn shifts, stretching his back and letting out a grunt as he tries to get comfortable. “Can I ask you something?” He asks, eyes glittering in the wavering light.
“Of course,” I reply, shaking myself from my grim thoughts.
“When we first met, what did you think of me?”
The question surprises me. “When we first met?”
>
He nods.
“I suppose I thought you were an uncultured bumpkin who was more accustomed to living in the forest than indoors.”
His face splits into a wide grin. “Well, I’m glad I was able to change your mind.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I reply, smiling as well. “Though, I suppose you do have some redeeming qualities as well.” I nestle closer to him, resting my head against his shoulder. “And what did you think of me when we first met?”
He chuckles. “Honestly? I thought you were a spoiled rich girl from the city. I couldn’t believe you didn’t even know how to ride a horse.”
I snort. “Proved you wrong, didn’t I?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “You still seem a little spoiled to me. You fret over your outfits, and I’ve never seen someone pack so many things into their saddlebags.”
Gasping, I pull away and give him a look of mock outrage. "There's nothing wrong with being prepared, Owyn Lund. Besides, I only pack the essentials."
He quirks an eyebrow at me. "And how are dozens of books considered 'essentials'?"
I am about to come up with a witty response, something that would likely make him feel positively foolish, when a thought occurs to me. My books, I think, imagining the wealth of knowledge I had taken from the Conclave and Dunmar City. The Nightingales will probably discard them when I fail to return – Ignus doesn't even know that I have them. I don't think I'll ever see them again...
Owyn seems to realize that he struck a nerve, no doubt seeing my fallen expression in the flickering torchlight. He wraps his arms around me and holds me close, despite his hands being bound, gently stroking my hair as I lean once more against his shoulder.
"May I ask you another question?" He whispers after a moment, sounding a bit more somber.
I glance up at him. "You're not going to call me spoiled again, are you?"
He shakes his head.
"Then ask away."
Hesitating for just a moment, he leans in closer. "When did you first realize that you loved me?"
This one takes me completely off-guard. "Love you? What makes you think I love you?"
He considers this for a few seconds, then shrugs. "Well, I love you, Zara. I was hoping that the feeling was mutual."
I open my mouth to respond, but once again find myself at a loss for words. You love me? This is the first time I'm hearing about it. But the more I consider it, the more it feels right. At this very moment, the two of us are being carted off to our deaths while the world is literally coming to an end around us – not the most romantic of situations. However, sitting in this carriage, wrapped in his arms I feel warm inside. There is no one else in the entire world I would rather spend these last few hours with. Yes, I realize, feeling myself start to flush. I suppose I do love him.
"Remember when we met up in Tarsys, when the king called on us to go to Dunmar City?"
He nods his head.
"I think that was when I first felt it. I had come up with a dozen things I wanted to say to you, not all of them pleasant, but then you hugged me. I completely forgot about everything I was going to say. It was like all those fights we had didn't matter." Light, I think, cringing on the inside, it sounds so stupid when I say it like that. "I love you, ranger boy," I say quietly, trying to salvage the moment. "And I'm glad you're with me right now."
Owyn smiles and nestles in closer to me.
After a moment, I ask, "When did you first realize that you loved me?"
He thinks for a moment, a faraway look entering his eyes. Then, he replies, "I think it was back when you were being raised to become a full mage. After the ceremony, we looked at each other and it was like we were the only two people in the room. That was when I knew there was something special between us, something I didn't want to lose." He looks down at me, his green eyes peering deeply into my own, then, he tenderly kisses me.
It feels so strange, having an intimate moment while confined in a dingy prison cart, but for the barest instant it feels like everything is right with the world. I forget about the pain in my head or the ropes rubbing my wrists raw. Instead, I focus on us, on feeling something beautiful despite the terrible circumstances.
More time passes as we rest close to one another, and I find that my thoughts are much more enjoyable than they were before. I think about a life we could have built together, the children we could have had, and instead of making me feel sad, they make me feel peace instead.
The resigned sort of happiness is enough to carry me through the long hours of the night.
The carriage abruptly comes to another stop, and I can hear commotion outside as the soldiers dismount and begin moving. Someone throws open the door, and we are temporarily blinded by the orange light of dozens of torches. “We’ve finally arrived,” one of the soldiers says, sneering. “Your time is up.”
He comes in, a looming shadow standing above us, and roughly pulls us by our bonds to exit the prison cart. When my eyes finally adjust, I find myself standing in the middle of the forest surrounded by grim-looking soldiers and even a few mages. Their blue robes stand out, even in the darkness.
Mages? I think in confusion. I don’t recognize them. Why would mages be here?
Then, a sudden idea comes to me, filling me with a sense of dread. Turning around, I can see a wall of light rising up from the forest floor, giving off a soft glow.
“Oh, Light,” I whisper, realization dawning on me.
“What?” Owyn asks, turning around to follow my gaze. His face immediately drops. “Exile,” he says, sounding defeated.
The soldiers around us snicker.
“Let’s get on with it, then,” the soldier holding our bonds says. Now, I can see that his cloak bears the tasseled knots of a captain. “No sense in waiting around.”
He marches us over to the Arc, which looks weaker than I ever remember it being. Its swirling blue radiant patterns look dimmer, and its thrumming energy sounds fainter, as if it has grown weary. I have little time to consider this, however, as I can feel my pulse quickening. They’re going to exile us, I think, feeling sick. They’re going to cast us out and let the demons destroy us.
The wastes are not believed to be a forgiving place.
The mages come to either side of us, producing talismans from the folds of their robes. They glow with a soft blue light that matches the Arc. Then, holding the crystals aloft, they fix their eyes on us, their expressions as somber as the grave.
“By order of his majesty, King Aethelgar of Tarsynium,” one of them intones, “you have been sentenced to exile, to live out the remainder of your days in the wastes of the fallen world. Do either of you have any last words you wish to speak before the Light?”
I do not reply, and Owyn simply grunts, looking resigned. “Let’s get this over with,” he mutters.
The mage blinks, then continues in a sonorous tone like a priest. “Death is but a single part of a longer journey, one that stretches on into the eternities. We pray that your end may come swiftly and that your deaths may provide redemption for your heinous acts of treason. May the Light, in its infinite wisdom, have mercy on your souls.”
The two mages step forward, lifting up their talismans and pressing them against the wall of radiance. The patterns begin to shimmer and swirl, parting like water until a gaping hole appears in the Arc itself, leading to nothing but blackness beyond. Behind us, the soldiers level crossbows at the hole, their tension filling the air. Then the captain pulls out his sword and approaches us from behind.
“I wanted to thank you,” he whispers, leaning toward Owyn and cutting his bindings. “This is a fine weapon. Maybe I’ll use it to kill some Nightingales.”
Looking down, I can see that Owyn’s hatchet is now hanging from the soldier’s belt.
Owyn grits his teeth, staring straight ahead. He does not acknowledge the jibe, nor attempt to escape. He would be feathered with crossbow bolts in an instant if he tried.
“Good luck out there,” the vil
e man continues mockingly, moving on to cut my bindings as well. “I hear it’s just lovely in the wastes.” Then, using his sword like a cattle prod, he pushes the two of us forward, forcing us to walk toward the hole.
I reach out, grasping Owyn’s hand, which I clench in a deathlike grip. My heart begins to pound within my chest, my breath coming faster. Oh, Light, this is it, I think, stepping up to the awning. The point of no return.
We walk through, stepping into the blackness as our feet crunch on dirt and stones. Then, the hole closes up, completely closing us off...
Sealing us to our doom.
Chapter Six
Owyn
The hole in the Arc snaps shut, leaving the two of us alone on the other side. Behind us, the wall of light rises high into the sky, a soft blue glow at our backs. Ahead of us, there is only menacing darkness and an uneven, broken landscape.
Zara huddles beside me and I pull her close, staring straight ahead and waiting for my eyes to adjust.
“What do we do now?” Zara whispers, her voice sounding small and frightened.
“Survive,” I reply simply. “And figure out a way to get back inside.”
She shakes her head. “There is no way, Owyn. I’ve read the histories. No one who has ever been exiled has been able to return to Tarsynium.” Her voice shrinks, becoming almost inaudible. “We’re trapped here... forever.”
I cup my hand beneath her chin and look into her deep brown eyes. “Don’t talk like that. You’re the most talented mage at the Conclave. If anyone can find a way in, it’s you.” She seems to brighten as I say this, her lines of worry softening around her eyes. “Besides,” I add, looking back out at the darkness, “I’ve been trained as a ranger. Surviving in the wilderness is kind of my thing.”
She takes a deep breath, then nods resolutely. “You’re right,” she says, sounding a little more courageous. “We make quite the team.” Then, under her breath I hear her say, “We can do this.”
I release her then take a few steps forward, away from the glow of the Arc. Ahead, I can see what look like hills, breaking up the landscape like uneven mounds of rock. Above, the stars shine like they do in Tarsynium, only now they appear brighter, more vivid. Breathing in through my nose, I notice that the air is drier and dustier here, like the inside of a tomb, and it is cold, very, very cold.
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