Allegiance

by Cayla Kluver

  “But they’re my parents!” I cried, the inside of my throat feeling as though it were torn and bleeding. “London, please!”

  I turned to the man who had been my bodyguard for years, who understood the love I had for the people whose lives were in question, and pled my case with him.

  “The Overlord’s wrath should not fall on them—they’re no longer even Hytanica’s rulers! We need to save them. I need to save them. This is the Overlord’s way of making me pay for standing up to him. I beg you, don’t let this happen!”

  “We can save them,” London resignedly declared, and lost in the instantaneous rush of relief, I did not notice the strange blankness of his expression until Halias said his name. He looked up at his fellow Elite Guard as if he’d forgotten the rest of us were present, and the thanks that had been on my lips died away.

  “How?” I asked, wary.

  “We make an exchange, but not with the High Priestess,” London explained, complexion as pale as the patches of snow outside.

  My head was swirling. “Then what do we give him?”

  He crossed his arms upon his chest, hesitating for a moment before he answered.

  “Years ago, the Overlord and I forged a bond, born of mutual hatred. If I were offered to him, he would release your parents. He would derive much greater pleasure from having me in his hands.”

  “No,” I said at once, and the word was echoed by a few others.

  “You can’t do that,” Halias ardently asserted. “You’re the reason we’ve come this far. I can’t let you make that sacrifice.”

  “My brother would make the trade,” said the High Priestess unexpectedly, her gaze revealing awe and a deep-rooted respect as she examined London. “Have no doubt.”

  London nodded his head her way, appreciating her endorsement, though his eyes contained no warmth. Then he turned again to Halias.

  “You can and you will let me do this. It’s one life in place of two.”

  “But…but he’ll kill you.” I was stating the obvious, merely repeating what he had already made clear. “You’ll die.”

  “Eventually.”

  “No,” I whimpered, stepping closer to him. “No, I don’t want you to die, please. There must be some other way.”

  “I’m not giving you a choice, Alera. I’ve protected the royal family my entire life. This sacrifice is one I have long been willing to make.”

  It was London’s life or my parents’ lives. I knew this, but I didn’t want to accept it. How could I say goodbye to him? As my tears flowed, I walked forward into his arms, tucking my head against his shoulder. I clung to him, struggling to come to terms with the fact that this would be one of the last times I would feel his warmth, take in his familiar scent and be comforted by his strength. I loved him, fiercely. He had never in all the time I’d known him been one for displays of affection, but he returned my embrace, holding me as I wept like a child.

  When my sobs subsided, he led me over to Miranna, leaving me for once in her care, and she and I went to sit together on our beds. He returned to talk to Cannan for a few minutes, and Halias came to check on the stew.

  Eventually we all ate, then Galen took guard duty, sending Temerson inside to eat, as well. After that we dispersed, Halias to watch the High Priestess, Cannan to check on Steldor, the rest to find respite in sleep. For the second night in a row, I was not to be granted such release, afraid that if I closed my eyes I would wake to find that my last hours with London had disappeared.

  I dozed off at some point, only to jolt to awareness after a short while, haunted by nightmares. I got up to find that everyone else still slumbered, with the exception of Halias, who was seated not far from Nantilam with his back against the wall. I did not say anything to him, though I could feel his eyes upon me. Instead, I walked closer to where London had laid out his bed, but he was not there. He had wanted me to sleep, yet he himself apparently could not. I scanned the rest of the cave, but there was no sign of the deputy captain. Alarm twisted my gut for an instant. He had promised he would not leave until morning, so where had he gone?

  “He’s outside,” Halias informed me, as if reading my mind.

  I nodded, then slipped through the crevice and into the cold night, wishing immediately that I had grabbed a cloak. But as my eyes fell on London, I abandoned all notions of going back for one. He was sitting against the rock face to my left, head hung desolately forward, and even when I sank down beside him, he did not acknowledge my presence.

  “London?”

  He lifted his head to glance in my direction, then turned away, but not quickly enough to prevent me from seeing the tracks that only tears could have made. I was taken aback to have caught him crying, for it was his nature, like Cannan’s, to quietly endure. But the stress under which we lived was enough to wear down even the most resilient—Cannan himself had come close to losing his mind.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured, not sure for what I was apologizing but knowing that I meant it.

  “It’s not what you think,” he replied, still hidden in shadow, voice strange.

  “Then what is it?”

  I wanted him to talk to me, for once to tell someone what was wrong. He couldn’t go to his death tomorrow with the world bottled up inside him. He was silent for a long time, but I knew he wasn’t ignoring me.

  “Alera, I didn’t tell you everything,” he finally said.

  I let his words resonate, uncertain as to his meaning.

  “Do you want to tell me now?”

  “Don’t,” he said, but again I was uncertain as to his meaning. He began sentences without knowing where they would end. “It’s… You don’t… You can’t… It was my fault. If I’d known, I could have…”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked when I could stand it no more, still trying to be delicate though the pain in his voice was making my chest tighten. I wanted to help him but did not know how to do so, for he was making no sense.

  “I told you, I kept things…things that happened today, with your parents.”

  I felt myself pulling back from the conversation, though my mouth formed the words I wasn’t sure I wanted to utter.

  “What things?”

  “I never spoke to the Overlord. I went to our vantage point above the clearing, where Galen waited yesterday, and I saw him arrive, bringing your parents, but…not just your parents. He knew I would be there, that I’d be watching, so he seized the opportunity to make a demonstration, to express his intention of killing your parents if we didn’t cooperate.”

  The agony behind his words was scaring me; I had never seen him like this before.

  “He…he tortured and murdered Destari, in front of me, and I didn’t do a thing to stop him. I’d thought Destari was already dead. If I’d known he was still alive…I should have done something, anything. I should have saved him, long before the Overlord had the chance to do this. All that time, he was suffering, and I know what it means to suffer at the Overlord’s hands.”

  “London,” I breathed, unsure what else to say, shocked and sorrowed myself by Destari’s death. How could he have harbored this knowledge alone, even for these few hours? Destari had been one of my trusted bodyguards, but he had been London’s best friend since before their graduation from military school—they had climbed the ranks side by side. To have witnessed him die in such a horrible manner…I couldn’t comprehend it. The thought made me sick, and without thinking, I reached out to touch him, yearning to comfort him, but he brushed my hand away.

  “I protect everyone,” he stated simply. “It’s what I do, what I have always done. But I failed him.”

  “You didn’t kill Destari,” I said, incredulity fighting its way into my speech. How could he hold himself accountable? “It was better you didn’t know he yet lived, because you could not have gone back for him. He knew that, London. Destari knew it when you parted ways at the palace—he knew it when he surrendered himself to the enemy for interrogation. You didn’t fail him or bet
ray him, and don’t you dare take responsibility for what the Overlord has done. It was his hand that ended Destari’s life, not yours. His brutality is the reason for all of this, and your compassion would compel you to shoulder the blame that is his. Where is the justice in that?”

  I wanted so much for him to recognize the truth in my words, to find some relief from his torment. Once more, hatred for the Overlord overwhelmed me—he was tearing all of us apart. Soon, I would never see London again, and the Overlord was even preventing us from finding peace in our final hours together.

  “He left the body behind,” London said after a time. “I buried it after he departed.”

  It didn’t matter that London had already rejected my touch; I lifted his arm and crawled beneath it, knowing he needed me near, perhaps as much as I needed to be near him.

  Early the next morning, we left to meet the Overlord. I accompanied London, both because I was Hytanica’s Queen and because I did not wish to lose a second with him. I wanted him to know I loved him, and that I admired and appreciated his courage. Cannan left his son in Galen’s capable hands to travel with us, another gesture of respect for the man who was voluntarily giving up his life in the name of our cause.

  When we arrived, after again taking a circuitous route, we stepped into the clearing, relying on London’s knowledge of how the enemy would act. The deputy captain was certain that the Cokyrians would have the clearing under observation. He also was confident that no one would try to harm us, that the Overlord would let us walk freely until his sister was safe.

  “Tell your master to bring the former King and Queen,” London loudly called to the invisible Cokyrian soldiers who surrounded us. “We have come to secure their release.”

  There was no response, but none had been expected, and we waited in silence for about an hour, cold and wary. Then we heard our enemy’s approach. He had brought others with him, but only he came into the open, on foot, to address us. I scanned the trees behind him for Narian, anticipating his appearance, but he did not emerge.

  “What is this?” the Overlord demanded as he took in the three of us, realizing that we had not brought his sister.

  “Have you brought King Adrik and Lady Elissia?” London asked, ignoring the Overlord’s question.

  The warlord looked behind him, motioning to someone in the trees, and two Cokyrians, a man and a woman, pushed my parents before them into the clearing.

  “Alera!” my father blubbered as he caught sight of me, then he stilled as a knife was pressed against his throat, drawing a small amount of blood. My mother did not speak, and I was not certain she could, for her head hung forward, her hair dirty and matted, obscuring her face.

  I wanted so much to rush to them, to pull them away from the Cokyrians, but I did not move, knowing that in order for authority to be retained, emotions had to be held in check. I kept my gaze on the Overlord as London moved forward, indigo eyes icy. Our adversary spoke first, voice low and dangerous.

  “Be careful what you say, London, for if your words are not what I want to hear, I will kill them both where they stand.”

  “You will entrust the former King and Queen to my companions and take me in their place,” London replied.

  Silence ensued as the two men stared at each other, the Overlord searching for weakness, indecision, and London daring him to find it.

  “You always were the martyr, weren’t you?” The Overlord snickered, and I closed my eyes briefly, relieved and devastated that he was accepting the trade. “So loyal, so brave, so foolishly self-sacrificing. I will see you regret it all before you die.”

  “You failed the last time you tried,” London shot back. “I’m quite eager to see if you’ve improved.”

  The warlord’s lips twitched at this cavalier statement, then he raised his voice to address Cannan and me.

  “And you! You would allow your greatest asset to simply walk away? How will you live with yourselves, knowing the torment he will be enduring? And the torment will be great, I assure you. More important—how will you manage without him? The genius behind your plot, this perpetual thorn in my side.”

  He had stepped forward to grasp London’s jaw, making his powerful size all the more apparent. London’s build was that of a scout, muscular but lean, ideal for quick movement and passing unnoticed in the shadows, but the Overlord was pure warrior. He easily had four inches on the deputy captain, and the gloved hand with which he gripped his prey seemed larger than it should have been. Still, London did not blanch or break eye contact.

  I looked to Cannan and understood that there was no point in responding to the Overlord’s taunts. It would change nothing, and our nemesis was merely enjoying the game, what he viewed as a small victory.

  “Hand them over,” the warlord said to his soldiers, who shared a glance before obeying. They clearly had loyalty to the High Priestess and appeared dubious about this decision, but they did not dare question it. The Cokyrians pulled my parents forward and thrust them in our direction, my mother stumbling toward the captain and my father into my arms.

  “Alera,” he said again, taking me in a swift hug. “Thank God you’re all right.”

  Over my father’s shoulder I could see enemy soldiers tying London’s hands behind his back. The moment he was bound, the Cokyrians hauled him out of sight without a chance for goodbyes. Casting a nasty smile my way, the Overlord likewise disappeared into the dense trees.

  In the couple of hours Miranna had been in the palace following her escape with London, no one had told our parents she was alive. Around the lump in my throat, I tried to talk reassuringly with them as we returned to the cave on horseback, Cannan leading the way, supporting my mother in the saddle in front of him. When I mentioned how it would help Miranna to see them again, my mother looked at me in shock, for the first time allowing a glimpse of her heavily bruised face.

  “Mother…” I exclaimed, aghast at what she must have endured. My father seemed free of injury, but apparently she had not been so fortunate. I could only suppose that her perfect, unblemished features had been too much temptation for the Overlord to resist.

  “Miranna is with us?” she asked, swollen lip trembling as she cut off any remark I might have uttered about her condition.

  “Yes, she’s safe. London…” I trailed off, unable to continue. I closed my eyes for a moment, gathering my resolve, then tried again. “London brought her with him when he escaped from Cokyri.”

  “At least there’s one reason to thank God,” she whispered.

  The reunion of my parents and their youngest child was long overdue, and after my father had embraced her, Miranna spent most of that day and evening in my mother’s arms. As time passed, she motioned me over as well, and I curled up on her other side by the fire, feeling some measure of peace, even though my thoughts continually drifted to London. I tried not to dwell on what he might be going through, whether he was even still alive or if he might be better off dead.

  Cannan talked with my father, explaining how the High Priestess had come to be in our custody, as well as our plan to use her to secure the release of our people. As they conferred, I examined the two of them, noticing that my father’s hair was grayer and his face more lined, etched by worry rather than laughter. He had also lost weight, which made him look almost insignificant standing next to the tall, broad-shouldered, powerfully built Captain of the Guard.

  My father and Cannan crossed to the left side of the cave, and the woman about whom they had been speaking rose to her feet to give the King she had twice confronted a cold glare. My father was equally inhospitable in greeting her, but his real attention was captured by Steldor, who was sleeping peacefully, though obviously still weak. Galen had dozed off as well, slumped sideways while still propped against the wall near his friend, but Cannan did not rouse him.

  “What is wrong with Steldor?” my father asked, probably thinking illness since a shirt now covered his torso, concealing the last of his bandages.

  “He
was wounded,” Cannan said, leaving out any hint of the strife we had experienced. “He’s on the mend now.” He cast a glance toward Nantilam, who still stood stiffly in the background, hands bound, Halias on alert next to her. “We have the High Priestess to thank for that.”

  “Not that she would have assisted willingly,” Halias muttered, but she bowed her head toward the captain in appreciation of his acknowledgment.

  Sleep that night came more easily than I would have anticipated, likely because I was so deprived of rest by this point that my body craved it. But with sleep came dreams—dreams filled with tortured screams, and visions of pain reflected in a pair of familiar indigo eyes, which always blurred into cold emerald green. When I snapped awake, it was morning, and shafts of sunlight chased away some of the gloom in the chilly cave—still the screams continued.

  Only Temerson, my mother and my sister remained asleep, and it wasn’t until I staggered to my feet that I realized the cries were real. They were a mere echo, so faint I had thought them to be inside my head, but as I took in the grim expressions and sympathetic eyes that had fallen on me, I bolted for the opening.

  I moved too quickly for anyone to stop me, but Cannan followed, taking me by the arm to try to lead me back inside. It was too late. The screams were louder once I was free of the cavern’s enclosed walls, the suffering within them magnifying their effect.

  “What is that?” I asked, even though I was certain of the answer.

  I stared at Cannan, my eyes watering, waiting for him to say the words, to confirm what I already knew. He was as frank as ever.

  “We sent Galen earlier this morning to investigate. It is London. The Overlord has brought him higher into the mountains so the sound will reach us wherever we are. Go back inside, Alera, it’s better if you try to ignore it.”

  “Ignore it?” I shrieked, not caring about my volume. I jerked away from him, feeling as though I might go mad. “How can you say that? How can you s…? How can you…?”