North & South

by K T Munson

  He stopped on the other side of the cloth and said softly, “I apologize for not coming to see you earlier.”

  “I have missed your company,” Ashira responded.

  “And I yours,” Eliron said with a slight turn of his lips. “I have been working tirelessly. There are rumors that an army makes its way down The Knife.”

  Ashira’s blood ran cold at his words and she pushed the fabric aside to ask, “Will you take me to the shore? I want to see Guildafrey.”

  “Do not worry,” he said reaching across his body to put a hand on hers, “Your father is prepared.”

  Ashira was about to respond when she looked around asking, “What is that noise?”

  Eliron turned back and Ashira stepped from the tent staring. A humming noise that sounded like the incessant buzzing of an insect filled her ears. She was searching the ground when suddenly someone yelled and pointed towards the sky. Ashira stepped fully out of the tent and glanced to the heavens.

  Five dots were moving towards Guildafrey and they were moving quickly. Ashira gasped and seized hold of Eliron’s arm in terror. She didn’t even look at him as she rushed towards the shore. Once she reached the edge of the camp she went to the water’s edge and stared at the five dots. Items rained down from the five machines and landed in the city.

  Even from there she could hear the explosions and see the first signs of fire. Her hands went to her face. She gasped and shook her head. Eliron’s arms came around her and she stumbled back. Her hands went back to help steady herself as she turned to her husband. A tear rolled down her cheek when she saw the smoke billowing from her beloved city.

  “We have to save them,” she whispered to Eliron. “My family.”

  “Assemble!” Eliron called steering her away from the shore.

  She glimpsed once over her shoulder before telling her husband, “You do not know Roanoak like I do.”

  “You are not coming,” Eliron responded immediately.

  “Either I am coming with you,” Ashira responded, determined as she gathered her feet under her, “Or I am stealing a horse and following you.”

  Eliron shook his head. “I will not put you in danger.”

  “I know seven ways into the Rainbow Palace,” Ashira retorted, “Two of which are undetectable. We will go under the city, and the only place I will be is the palace to get my family.”

  “Very well,” Eliron said, clearly unhappy.

  “We can take seven of us and we will need horses,” Ashira informed him, before turning back to her tent.

  Ashira rushed back inside of her tent, her handmaidens gathered around her asking questions. She tore through the trunk before finding her sword. She strapped it to her hip as the women protested, all but Missari. Ashira put her hands up and called for silence.

  “The city is under attack,” Ashira informed them. “Stay here.”

  Ashira moved to leave in a hurry when Missari stepped in her way saying, “Where are you going?”

  “To get as many people as I can out of the palace,” Ashira said trying to get around her. “Eliron doesn’t know the way in.”

  Missari hugged her suddenly. “Be careful.”

  Ashira felt such appreciation for her little friend as she hugged her back. “I will.”

  Missari released her and Ashira hurried out of the tent and towards the six horses. She mounted up quickly—her dress only a slight hindrance—and her husband was beside her in chainmail. He stared down at the sword at her hip, a mirror of his own before giving her an inquisitive look.

  “We have much to discuss, my wife,” Eliron said clearly, surprised, but also amused.

  “I have my secrets,” Ashira said with a smile. “I was the only girl with four brothers, and we do not sew.”

  Eliron laughed as the last of their party arrived and they kicked their horses into a run. Eliron’s men were clearly unhappy; they were not use to riding horses. Yet Ashira felt free; she had missed riding her horse in the open fields. The entrance to the palace was surrounded by thick woods on the southern side and they could not easily land an Eagle. She glanced to the sky as the machines circled and hoped she wasn’t already too late.

  Chapter 42

  Hadrian

  Hadrian crept along the alley ways of his former home, surprised that he remembered them so well. He turned his attention to the sky and could make out the flying machines concentrating their attack on the eastern part of the city. They were both to cause a distraction and draw most of the guards away from the palace. Men on the ground were making their way through the palace now.

  Hadrian was loath to show them where the secret passage into the throne room was. It had been a secret guarded by the Rohan family for as long as they had ruled. He was sure others did not take it as seriously, but he did. Exiled prince or not, he was still of Rohan blood and blood does not forget. Not to mention he wanted to face his brother alone, the first to see his face. Hadrian came to the section of wall that looked like nothing more than solid stone.

  It was easier to access the passage from the inside, but there was a trick to getting in from reverse. Hadrian pulled the device Deckard had made. It was a long thin slip of metal with a sharp fork at the edge. This particular passageway was the oldest and used a bag of sand as a counterweight.

  He held the device over his head and thrust it into the crack, working it back and forth a few times before one final thrust. He felt the resistance and waited for gravity to work. Suddenly, there was a release of pressure and the door swung open. He took a step back as the device was free. He threw the temporary key against the wall; its purpose was served.

  Hadrian moved towards the throne room, his anticipation growing. He slipped from behind the statue and into the dim light of the room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but the throne room was much the same. Rodrick was on the throne giving orders with one of his sons standing next to him.

  When Hadrian stepped into the light Rodrick stood and demanded, “Who are you?”

  “Don’t you recognize me, little brother?” Hadrian asked stepping further from the shadows.

  His half-brother's eyes widened. “Hadric?”

  “It is good to see you have not forgotten me after all these years. I have come to reclaim my throne and give my people a home. I will allow you to surrender.” Hadrian informed him. It was strange to be called Hadric after so many years; he had shed the name like a snake sheds an old skin.

  “We will never surrender,” the boy said.

  “You must be Rodni,” Hadrian said as he heard a guard’s strangled cry in the hallway. “Last I saw of you, you were nothing but a squirming child.”

  The throne room doors flew open and a large man stumbled in. He was young, but still a man, and there was blood dripping from a wound at his waist. He collapsed a moment later as a pool of blood spread around him. Rodni unsheathed his sword yelling in anger and Rodrick shouted for him to stop. Before Hadrian could react the boy had thrown himself onto his trained men. There were four of them and one angry prince.

  “Stop!” Rodrick yelled, rushing forward waving his hands.

  Before Hadrian could give the same order a sword ripped through the boy’s body. He gasped and blood trickled down his lips. His face was contorted in bafflement as the blade was jerked from his body and he fell to his knees. He pushed a hand to his chest in astonishment and considered his own blood before falling backwards.

  “Stand down!” Hadrian called, his voice shook the throne room. His men stopped in surprise as Hadrian commanded them, “Secure the palace.”

  They nodded before leaving and Hadrian turned back to his half-brother. He hardly recognized the man in front of him, having aged so completely. Hadrian may have been the older sibling, but Rodrick looked years older. His hair was all but grayed completely and he had the wear of a kingship on his face. Shock and deep sadness covered his face as he knelt by his fallen sons.

  “You killed my boys,” Rodrick said as Rodni’s breathing became pai
nful gasps for air. “My sons.”

  He touched Rodni’s face as the boy died, his eyes wide open and frightened. After a moment the King of Roanoak closed his eyes and bowed his head. Hadrian walked towards the throne, knowing that it was his. Rodrick stood, dragging Rodni’s fallen sword as he touched the head of his other son.

  “You took my sons from me,” Rodrick spoke louder as he turned to face him.

  “You took my home, my birthright!” Hadrian raged as some of the old resentment came back.

  Rodrick yelled and lifted the sword above his head. Hadrian pulled his sword in astonishment as Rodrick rushed him. Hadrian tried to stumble out of the way, stunned, but Rodrick skewered himself onto the blade and swiped down. The edge of the blade cut across Hadrian’s arm, missing his head entirely and hardly grazing him.

  Rodrick fell to his knees, Hadrian’s blade buried in his belly. Hadrian couldn’t understand what had just happened as he heard commotion by the door. His mind unable to comprehend the devastation in the room as his brothers and nephews died. His attention was drawn to the door as a woman dashed in She came to a complete stop when she saw the boys on the ground. Terror covered her face as she teetered towards them and under the shock he realized she was familiar to him.

  Another man entered calling to her, “Ashira.”

  The woman appeared in a daze as she shifted towards the man, but her eyes stopped on Hadrian. “What have you done?” She screamed.

  Her eyes narrowed accusingly before they dropped down to the fallen king. Rage washed over her features as she glanced between the boys and Rodrick. She didn’t hesitate to run towards him, screaming in complete anger. The man grabbed her around the waist before she made it a few steps and held her back.

  “My father!” She called pointing, “We have to help him.”

  A second man entered in the room and then a third. The man holding the woman pointed at Hadrian and ordered them to kill him. Hadrian reached down and dislodged his sword from Rodrick’s belly as blood pooled against his boots. The two men charged as the woman and the man came forward to help Rodrick.

  Hadrian’s sword broke through the first man’s swing and directly into his neck. Hadrian wrenched it free and shoved the first man’s body into the second. They went down together in a jumble of limbs, the first one dead before they hit the ground. The woman had gathered Rodrick onto her lap and was pressing a cloth into his wound. She was whispering to him, with her face covered in tears.

  She was Vivia’s daughter, princess to Roanoak. He had known Rodni and the second son, but when he left Vivia hadn’t given birth to a girl. It was as though a more beautiful version of Vivia sat in front of him now and he was a young man again. She was as pretty as he remembered her being.

  He narrowly jerked back as the man swept his blade across his face. Hadrian saw the tip slice the air with precision and speed. Hadrian took a few steps back and threw off his black cloak. The woman was still crying and rocking back and forth, but it was clear Rodrick was dead. Rodrick had made his choice to die on Hadrian’s blade.

  Hadrian parried the man’s thrust and narrowly deflected it. They continued to exchange blows and Hadrian focused on the blade. It was made by a competent Swordsmith, but not with the same technique. If Hadrian continued, his opponent’s blade would eventually give out. The woman gave out a protest and the man’s attention faltered.

  Hadrian struck out instantly and buried his blade in the man’s shoulder. The man was clearly startled as he looked down at the blade. He stumbled backwards. Hadrian started forward, but the woman appeared between them. Her eyes burned and there was some strange coldness in her that he had never seen in anyone before.

  She held the blade aloft like a skilled fighter and faced him. “I am Ashira, princess of Roanoak and Queen of Vargos. You have assassinated the royal family and you shall be punished for your crimes.”

  Her blade matched his, and he knew she was a daughter of Rohan. She thrust forward with such speed that he reacted too late and the tip sliced across his face. Blood welled on his cheek and part of his nose as she sliced again. This time he parried and she went into another stance. She had him on his toes; it had been so long since he had fought a water dancer and she was flawless. He didn’t want to kill her, but she was out for blood.

  She danced him around the room, further and faster than the man had. He remembered, vaguely, someone calling her name as he passed the two boys with their blood on the throne floor. She sliced across his leg, just enough to make his leg hesitate to hold all his weight. He deflected down and she stumbled back, the first sign of slowing.

  Down the hall he heard yelling; his men were calling for him. He backed up to the door and shouted for them. When Hadrian turned back the girl was gone, and only the bodies of Rodrick and his sons remained. He heard the soft grind of the statue and knew she had gone out the way he had come in. He considered going after her; the daughter of Vivia was tempting.

  His men entered and informed him that the castle was taken. Even then he wanted to go after her, in an irrational sense of nostalgia. Yet, he knew there were other matters to attend to, so instead he did the only thing that made sense.

  “Lock the city down,” he commanded.

  Chapter 43

  Celia

  The city was in chaos as their people assaulted the eastern section and Hadrian was securing the palace. People were crying in the streets calling to their god, something called an Eye of Sadar. They wanted the light to shine down on them and free them from this nightmare. Narana was astride a horse they had found and Rauf walked next to it with an uncomfortable glare.

  Apparently, her mountain wasn’t fond of horses and he sure was not going to ride one. He said they were hostile at both ends and wily in the middle. She tried not to smile at the thought of a mountain riding a horse. Celia couldn’t blame him; these citizens of Roanoak seemed to love their horses and they were everywhere. Yet, in the north there were many other means of transportation.

  “What is that smell?” Narana asked as she turned her head away from the smoke.

  “That is the smell of burning houses and burning bodies,” Rauf said harshly as he looked around the city.

  They were nearly to the palace when a woman, half carrying a man, came around the corner. There was blood all over her teal dress and splattered across her face. When she saw them she brought the bloodied sword up and pointed it at them. Her eyes were wild, but within them Celia saw desperation and pain.

  “I will have your horse,” the woman said to Narana, but her sword was pointed at Rauf.

  “No,” Rauf said menacingly, but the woman didn’t even flinch.

  Celia put an arm on Rauf to stop him and said, “Narana, give her the horse.”

  The woman was clearly surprised as she continued to hold the sword between them, “Why?”

  “I understand the bitterness of life,” Celia said searching her face. “I see that fresh pain on you now. With the fall of Roanoak you can start anew.”

  A tear rolled down the woman’s cheek as though it did so of its own choice. The woman’s face was covered in tear tracks and her eyes were a little red. Despite her disheveled state she was the most beautiful woman Celia had ever seen. Her eyes were both green and blue at the same time and were somehow familiar.

  Narana dismounted and marched the horse around Rauf as the woman’s eyes darted between them. When she turned her head towards the horse Celia could see flowers braided into her hair, though some had been crushed by the man’s arm.

  “Narana help her,” Celia said as she held her hands up. “We won’t hurt you.”

  The woman glanced suspiciously between them, but finally said, “Help me with him.”

  The woman sheathed her sword on the man’s waist and sent them a weary stare as she did. Narana helped the woman get him into the saddle. There was a bit of a struggle, but they got him in. He was able to help some, but he was clearly still losing blood. Celia reached into her cleavage and pulled a ha
ndkerchief.

  Celia held it out. “Take this.”

  “I have already staunched the wound,” the woman said as she mounted in front of him.

  “It is for you,” Celia said taking a step forward.

  “You’re with him,” she said as though a realization had just come over her.

  “He is making a new home,” Celia said holding it out.

  “You will need it to wipe the blood off your new leader’s hands,” the woman said bitterly. “The new Roanoak is soaked in the blood of its leader. Your new king will bring you nothing but blood and misery and one day I will return to see that he pays.”

  The woman kicked her horse forward and rode it hard through the streets. Celia watched her go with uneasiness in her heart. For the first time Celia questioned their decision to come here. They could have made their new world anywhere. Yet, Hadrian had led them here.

  “Why did you let her go?” Rauf asked.

  “My instincts told me I should,” Celia said looking up at him. “I saw myself in her that first day at the Satin Pillow.”

  “I’ll miss the horse,” Narana said mournfully as she stared down the now empty street.

  “We will have many new horses and you can ride them like you did in Qundor,” Celia said as she threw an arm around Narana. “Let’s go and meet the new king.”

  Chapter 44

  Otto Deckard

  From the deck of the ship at the Maiden’s Gate he watched as the city of Guildafrey burned. One of the greatest cities in the entire world was ablaze because of him. He watched, helplessly, as another round of explosives were dropped onto the city. Men and women were burning in the fire. Children were dying or becoming orphans.

  What had he done?

  Deckard focused on his daughter and realized that this is not the world he wanted for her. He didn’t want her to remember his invention as a machine for death and destruction. He was suddenly stricken with an overwhelming sadness and he bowed his head—he should never have helped Hadrian build those other machines.