The earthquakes were only minutes apart when the group finally reached the castle grounds. With every shake, stone fell from the castle walls as if it were shedding rocky tears. This was his home, his castle, and it made him furious. He looked around at the nervous wielders, a dozen men and women of all ages, uncomfortable in their new mage armor, each holding a different sort of fear in their eyes.
“They need to hear something,” Janda whispered over her shoulder, her red hair brushing his face. “From their leader...from you.”
“Right,” he said with a sigh.
Rook was too upset, too distracted to be an inspiration. He dismounted Janda’s lioness swifen and could almost feel all their eyes follow him. He made eye contact with each of them, looking for something. What he saw was death. It was that moment before battle he hated most, a rush of concern that some of his soldiers wouldn’t make it. One, several, maybe all of them, and there was nothing he could do about it. Their training had been almost nonexistent, and none had fought in armor. Rook already felt he’d failed them, and wished nothing more than to die in their places, or even better, for nobody to die. He met each gaze and hoped his worry didn’t show. None had the veteran reserve of old warriors, nor the fiery determination of young soldiers. They barely had hope, and were drawing it from him with a leech’s hunger.
He took a deep breath to speak when a quake knocked him off his feet. He scrambled from under a swifen, but couldn’t stand. His teeth rattled, his head hurt, and he wondered if the earth beneath him would ever stop its violent rocking. He called out for Janda, but couldn’t hear his own voice over the thundering crack. It sounded like a mountain splitting in two, a landslide that didn’t end until the shaking stopped. Rook wanted to vomit, lie still, and maybe vomit some more. Shakily, he looked at Janda, who’d remained on her lioness swifen.
“On it,” she said in reply to his look. She raced toward the noise, her mount charging down the empty street.
“That’s not what I wanted,” he called after her, too late. He’d just wanted to know that she was safe.
“I’ll back her up,” Jaden said and was soon on her tail.
Behind him, Rook heard whimpers and cries, but turned away. He didn’t know what to tell them, too distracted by his own concern. She returned at a breakneck pace, sliding to a stop on the snowy ground. Janda leaped from her mount and into his embrace. She was crying uncontrollably, her pale complexion sheet white. Jaden arrived, his face drawn and his eyes stunned.
“What is it?” Rook asked. “Are you okay?”
“It’s the castle,” she said with a loud sniff. She buried her face in his shoulder.
“The west side of the castle is completely gone,” Jaden said, his nasally voice quiet. “Everything has collapsed into a sinkhole.”
Rook took a moment to hold Janda close as she sniffed her composure back. She stood straight, squaring her shoulders and nodding toward the others. They were in far worse shape—those not crying were pale with fear, some visibly shaking. How could they move forward like this? He didn’t know what to say. Soldiers weren’t supposed to cry; this was the time to be cold, and distant. This was when a soldier dug deep for strength and bravery. He looked at the pale old man and Janda’s sister, Nikkola, who were fighting back tears, and that was when it struck him—they weren’t soldiers. They were people fighting to save their homes, fighting for a better future. A life they’d only, barely, tasted. In spite of years of repression by the Unsel bureaucracy, they were giving their lives for their nation. These wielders, these volunteers, weren’t soldiers, they were patriots. They thrived on hope, and there was no better hope than a hero.
Rook reached out, gripping shoulders, pulling some in for hugs, wiping tears away with his thumb. They needed to hurry, but they wouldn’t even be able to defend themselves in this state. After making a connection with each of them, he beckoned them closer. Jaden stood aside until Janda drew the young man in, and all the wielders huddled together around Rook. A human break from the cold and the chaos.
“A long time ago,” Rook began, “it wasn’t only legal to wield magic, it was encouraged. Wielders were the heroes, and they were called zyn’ights. They wore armor just like yours, just like Angst’s, and they protected Unsel from the monsters. The monsters left, the magic was hidden away, and foolishly, Unsel forgot. Zyn’ights became myths, legends, almost lost forever, until Angst.”
He saw proud smiles, and heads nodding. Janda gripped his arm encouragingly.
“All his life, Angst wanted to be that hero, to be a knight for Unsel. The queen was not a fan, and I’m sure we’ve all heard the reasons.” There were several chuckles and shoulders relaxed. “Angst trained with soldiers when he was young, so Queen Isabelle hid him away in the cellar. He got old, like we all do. Too old to be a knight, too old to run off and be a hero. And when the monsters came back, he could’ve stayed in that cellar, but he didn’t. Angst wielded that giant sword, and he fought like it mattered.”
He pulled back from the group a little, his voice becoming louder.
“From Fulk’han to Unsel, he fought the monsters, even giving up his sword to save us,” he said, louder still. “And the queen tried to hide him away again, giving him land far away from the castle, where our homes are now. That still didn’t stop him! The monsters came again, destroying our coast. Not many know this, but Angst was dying. Giving up that sword almost killed him, but he knew the monsters were coming, and so he went to get another sword.”
The wielders looked at each other with surprise and wonder.
“He did this because he believes in Unsel, because he believes in your future, and because he is a hero,” Rook shouted. “And just like the last time monsters attacked Unsel, the last time you fought to defend your homes, Angst will race through this city to save the day! He’s coming. I swear to you, he’s coming!”
Several younger wielders muttered “yes” under their breaths. The old ones nodded firmly, their eyes wide with hope. Even Janda was caught up in the moment, her face beaming with pride.
“We’re going to be right there with him! Protecting this castle and protecting Unsel! You’re going to show Unsel what it means to be a zyn’ight again,” he said firmly. “And when we see Angst and our true queen coming, we’re going to clear a path!”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Maarja asked, her low voice panicked after the longest quake yet. “We told Heather we would protect her.”
“There is nobody left to protect her from,” Jintorich squeaked. “The castle is the last place a pregnant human should be, right?”
“Right,” Maarja said, not completely convinced. She struggled to keep up with her friend’s short legs; her own felt shaky and weak. “But shouldn’t we have at least seen her home?”
Jintorich jumped to one side as a stone fell from the ceiling. He bounced off a wall and rolled to one knee, his staff held out in front of him. She was amazed at his perceptiveness—he’d moved faster than she would’ve thought possible from a danger he couldn’t have seen. The little Meldusian led her to a wide hallway before stopping. She stood upright and stretched, breathing in deeply. He looked around, his hands held out as though sensing the air and the earth.
“The wife of Angst said she was safe, and that we were needed in battle,” he said with wide eyes. “And I believe her.”
“I was convinced too. But now that we’re away, I remember how she influenced Jaden,” Maarja said. “I don’t know if she encouraged us—”
“Maarja, Jintorich!” Rook called.
Eighteen men and women approached, all wearing armor similar to Angst’s, except theirs shone silver. Strong breastplates protected their chests, dangling with chainmail that covered lazy bellies. Much of their armor appeared pointless. Wide gaps behind arms and legs made it lighter and wide open to attack.
They looked more like a stew of random vegetables than a troupe of hardened warriors. Old men, young women, boys, and girls, filled with a rush of bravado hidi
ng a deeper fear. They couldn’t do this alone.
“Young Rook,” Jintorich said, sounding pleased. “How may we be at your service?”
“These wielders are going to clear a path for Angst,” Rook said. “They’ll fight the gargoyles so he can stop the sinkholes!”
Maarja could sense he wasn’t being completely honest. His mouth was tight, he swallowed hard, and looked away from his ‘soldiers.’
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I believe in Angst,” he said firmly, and that wasn’t a lie.
Jintorich faced her with his curious black eyes, whisking light eyebrow hairs over his bulging forehead as he nodded. She wanted more answers, but knew enough not to question a leader at the heady edge of battle with a following so tenuous. She couldn’t read her little friend’s mind, she barely understood him at times, but she did understand the smirk that rose up his cheek.
“That sounds fun,” Maarja said with a smile that made several step back. “We shall join you in battle!”
“This is not your fight,” Rook said. “You should seek safety.”
“We are allies,” Jintorich said, squeaking with conviction. “Your fight is ours.”
Maarja nodded once.
Rook’s eyebrows rose and his eyes widened, but he nodded in appreciation. “The west side of the castle has been destroyed by sinkholes, we are headed there now.”
“Then lead us,” Maarja said. “We will fight together.”
The shaking had stopped, and with an unceremonious grunt, Heather crawled out from under Princess Victoria’s vanity. Jagged splinters from a toppled bookshelf spread across the floor, mingling with glass from a broken mirror. She walked across the room, careful to avoid the rubble left behind by the quake. The air was filled with a haze of dust. She coughed and wiped it from her face, only to feel the dampness of tears. Heather feared what the violence of that earthquake had done to her baby. She waited, her lip trembling, until she felt movement, a lot of it.
“I’m sorry,” she said to her belly, rubbing it in relief. “Were you napping?”
Heather laughed at herself as she wiped tears away. What a mess she must be, with frazzled graying hair, pregnant belly, dusty clothes, and tear-streaked face. She brushed off her forest green dress and tried pushing her hair back into something more manageable. The vanity mirror had split in half, making an ugly gap in her reflection, right across her oversized belly. She sighed at the image and assured herself the princess’s mirror must be cursed to make Heather appear so much older.
She made her way to the entrance of the room. The frame pinched the door, which could only be shoved wide enough to let a thin man through. She peeked out into the hallway to see that the corridor was abandoned and wondered if that nap had really been worth it. Especially since she hadn’t finished sleeping—earthquakes were the least fun alarm ever. She jumped with a start as a nearby tapestry tore in its listing frame, ripping noisily until it fell into a mottled heap. Dusty stones crumbled from a spot in the ceiling like a tiny fountain, as if the castle were barely able to keep together.
There was no ‘sucking in your gut’ when pregnant, and she gasped for breath, lifting her belly protectively as she broached the doorway. It hurt, doorframe splinters scratching her stomach deep enough to draw blood. She cursed loudly as her bellybutton caught on something sharp, forcing her to jerk past the obstruction. With a whimper and a wheeze, Heather squeezed through. There should’ve been cheering at the miracle—she had just saved herself. Instead, the empty hallway echoed with the distant sounds of battle, and something else. A faint voice, a muffled whisper nearby. She peered up and down the wide hall to find that the only open door led to the queen’s chamber.
Heather marched to it, not caring about the noise since she’d practically made birthing cries getting out of Victoria’s room.
“What was that?” said a dusty voice.
“Nothing,” Alloria said. “It’s a mess out there, and you’re wasting my time!”
“Don’t speak to me that way, mortal,” the other voice hissed and crackled. “Or I will burn you.”
“You can’t kill me,” she said. “Not as long as he has my ring.”
There was a loud roar like wind through a bonfire and light blazed through the doorway.
“Are you done?” Alloria snapped. “What do you want? I’m in a hurry.”
“He is not what you think,” the high voice said irritably.
“Angst?” she asked.
“Not the Al’eyrn,” he said. “The one who calls himself Vivek. He tricks you.”
“He saved me,” Alloria replied, her words rushed. “That’s all that matters.”
“He will be your death,” the voice hissed.
“I died long ago,” she said sadly. “You only have one more chance to make your offer.”
“Kill Angst,” he commanded. “Kill the wielder, and I will be your ally.”
“You will be my ally?” Alloria scoffed. “That’s it?”
“Your ally with an army of dragons,” he replied.
“And all I have to do is kill Angst?” she asked.
Heather pushed into the room. “This entire time, I just may have been hating the wrong princess.”
53
Hector helped Faeoris, pulling her out of the murky depths by her hand. Light glistened off her scale-armored top and bare midriff; she was the only one who didn’t look like a drowned rat. She gasped for air, but jerked her hand free to turn around and wade back in to her waist.
Faeoris put her head into the water and looked around. “Angst,” she called, noisy bubbles forming around her face. She pulled her head out.
“He’s coming,” Tori said, her voice filled with worry. “I know it. I see it.”
Faeoris shot her a look that would’ve knocked a grown man onto his back.
“I promise, he’s coming,” Tori said quietly. “Just be ready to help them.”
As a group, they stepped back to keep above the rising water. One step, two steps, and then three. The cave stretched up, far beyond the dim glow from Dallow’s staff. The distant sounds of havoc came from the darkness above. Angry thunder, crashing, screams, and unnatural crackling noises. Between each attack, there was silence and the sound of close breaths and echoing drips that counted down the moments Angst was gone.
“I’m going back in,” Faeoris announced.
“All that’s left is ocean,” Dallow said, his eyes glowing white. “The waterfall has completely collapsed.”
“You’d be going to your death,” Victoria said.
“And if you really loved him,” she said, “you’d be going with me.”
Faeoris took a deep breath and bent over, only to jerk upright. A distant, silvery reflection swam up the cave toward them. She stepped back with her sword at the ready.
“Make room,” they all heard Moyra say in their minds. “Help me!”
“I’ll kill her!” Faeoris cried.
“No, don’t,” Tori said. “She just saved him, and she’s keeping him alive.”
Tarness shoved Faeoris aside to reach them, splashing with each step. Just as he had on the pirate ship, Tarness lifted them both with a grunt and pulled them from the waters. Angst’s arms hung lifeless, one dragging Dulgirgraut listlessly. His eyes were shut, but his chest moved as Moyra continued breathing for him. Angry cuts bled freely along her sides and back.
“I do not know if he is breathing on his own,” Moyra said, her voice quivering.
“Dallow,” Hector urged. “She’s pretty cut up. Can you heal them?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Dallow said, a white aura shining brightly around his hands.
Angst woke, coughing out water and taking in desperate gulps of air. His eyes opened to blurry spots of dim light, the familiar sounds of his friends, and the beautiful face of Moyra. He lay in her arms, exhausted, hurting, and helpless as a babe. His own breathing became easier as he watched ugly wounds on her face and neck close. Together, the
y become whole, healed, and he looked over his shoulder to see Dallow’s proud face. His old friend clapped his hands together, pleased with his accomplishment. Angst would have to remember to thank him later, and ask what he’d learned about healing at the library. It must’ve been a lot, and he was sure to get an earful. Dallow deserved at least that.
Mermen had gotten him at the last second, the clawed hands dragging him down, his mouth filling with water instead of air. Through the panic, he’d known they would go after Faeoris next, and then the others. His lungs were already lost, half-filled with ocean. He’d been too scared and too weak to wield, so he’d flailed as best he could. He’d swung wildly with the sword as the mermen jerked back, staying out of reach, playing with their food. But, as he began to fade, she had come. Moyra rushed in, a fury of teeth and claws. She struck, fast as a barracuda, rending flesh and muscle with her shark-like teeth. She killed every merman waiting for Angst to die, and he’d passed out in a cloud of their blood.
“I should kill her,” Faeoris said.
Moyra faced Faeoris with a look that said, do what you must. She bowed her head submissively, her shoulders drooping, and Angst could feel her heart race like a hummingbird. He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger. She stared at him, her eyes dark as the ocean at midnight, and filled with sadness and guilt. Moyra still held him protectively, reluctant to let go, and he knew he’d been right. She did love him.
“No,” Angst replied gently, his voice low and scratchy. He felt like his heart was being ripped out, but maybe it helped, just a little, knowing he wasn’t alone. “She risked everything to save me.”
“But, she used you. She lied,” Tori said. “This was all her fault. You said so!”
“No. No, it wasn’t.” He continued staring into Moyra’s eyes until she rested a webbed hand on his cheek and his eyes shut. “We may never know everything that went into play to make this happen. I won’t judge, I don’t want that job. Do you?” He looked back at them. “Do any of you?”
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