by Callie Kanno
Revelin pocketed the rod and used her weapon to swipe at the captain of the Royal Guard, her lips parted in a hateful grin. Cowan deflected her blow and then spun to divert the one from the other enemy soldier attacking him.
Idris watched the captain’s expert movements with awe.
What are you waiting for, farmer? Iona demanded.
Idris berated himself as he whipped around to face Piton. The man had just caught a jeweled halberd with a blade that was shaped like a flaming lizard. He fixed his gaze on Idris and bared his teeth.
“Do you wish you had accepted my offer now?” Piton asked spitefully.
Idris lifted his chin. “No.” The word carried all the weight of finality.
Piton growled and whipped the halberd outward toward Idris, sending an arc of blue-tinted fire. Idris held up his partisan and felt it warm as it absorbed the flames.
Iona hissed. That weapon is a dark creation. It was made for the purpose of channeling dark magic.
Idris could feel Iona’s hatred for the weapon, and her emotions overflowed into his own. He felt anger welling up in his chest when he thought about the sacrifice made by magical creatures to make weapons of power, only to have that sacrifice purposefully tainted.
He opened his heart and mind to Iona, sharing in her grief and fury. He could feel the difference between the flow of Iona’s power and the corrupt fire that had been thrown at him, and Idris knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Iona was free of darkness.
Shall we? Idris thought to her.
Iona spoke with resolve. Yes.
Like a dam bursting, power rushed from Iona to Idris and then back again. The flow between them was so effortless that Idris didn’t know what parts of it belonged to him and what was hers.
It didn’t matter anymore.
It was theirs.
The partisan exploded into golden flames that traveled up Idris’s arm. Idris didn’t flinch. He knew that the fire couldn’t hurt him.
He saw the fear flicker in Piton’s eyes, but Piton rushed forward to attack anyway. He held his halberd with two hands and thrust the point at Idris’s face.
Idris deflected the blow with the blade of his partisan and aimed a jab of his own. He wasn’t as skilled with weapons as Piton, but he had the advantage of Iona’s help.
“Where did you get that weapon?” Idris asked his former instructor. “I thought that only those who are worthy could wield magical items.”
Piton’s face flushed with anger. “You idiot boy,” he growled. “Anyone can use a weapon of power.”
At a price, Iona added.
As if to illustrate his point, Piton made a stabbing motion in the air and sent a fireball flying toward Idris.
Idris instinctively flung the point of his partisan outward, mirroring Piton’s action. His own fireball collided with the other, causing both to explode in a shower of embers.
Idris averted his face to protect it from the sparks that flew around them, and he momentarily caught sight of the battles going on around him.
King Nikolas had drawn his jeweled sword and he was fighting alongside Palti and Drusi, both of whom had found regular swords to use. Cowan looked as though he had been knocked to the ground, and Farah was struggling to get to his side.
“You Royal Guards think you are so special,” raged Piton, bringing Idris’s attention back, “when really you are just the random recipient of a weapon that anyone could use.”
Even as Piton spoke those words, Idris could see him falter. Piton’s left leg wobbled and he hurried to recover his footing. He looked momentarily surprised, but covered it with another attack. Piton swiped at Idris’s legs with the halberd and fire sizzled from the weapon’s head. Idris jumped back to avoid the blow, but the blue flames singed his clothing.
His body is already suffering from using that weapon, Iona said.
Then, without warning, the marble beneath Idris’s feet shifted and caused him to lose his balance. He fell backward, landing hard and feeling his breath leave him forcibly. Somewhere nearby Idris could hear Revelin laugh, and his mind spun with confusion.
How was she able to spare the attention to attack Idris? Had she defeated Cowan? How was that possible?
Idris struggled to regain his footing, but Piton lunged at him and the point of the halberd sliced into Idris’s chest.
Idris cried out in pain, only dimly aware that Piton was crying out as well. Idris staggered backward and pressed a hand to his chest to staunch the flow of blood. He looked down to see that the cut was deep, but not deep enough to immediately endanger his life.
Piton didn’t lunge at him again. He dropped his weapon as if it had burned him.
“Piton,” Revelin shouted. She rushed toward him.
Piton opened his clawed hands. Through the red rush of pain flooding through him, Idris could see blisters rising on the man’s palms. Piton spoke through clenched teeth as he picked the halberd up again.
“Let us finish off this mangy pup.”
Revelin turned her gaze to Idris, twirling the glittering scythe that she now held in her hand. She raked the blade across the ground, sending deadly shards of stone flying at Idris.
Idris moved on instinct again. He spun his partisan and a wave of fire burst from it, knocking the projectiles off course.
His mind was split between the pain of his injury and the energy required to fight of Revelin’s attack that he didn’t realize Piton had moved behind him until it was too late. Something sharp sank deep into Idris’s left shoulder.
Idris screamed in agony and dropped to his knees.
“Idris!”
Hildar. Through the haze of pain, Idris recognized her voice.
There was a sharp clash of metal, and Idris looked up to see that Hildar had knocked the scythe from Revelin’s hand and was preparing to face Piton with nothing more than a simple sword in her hand.
Idris’s heart leapt in fear. There was no way that Hildar could fight off two soldiers with magical weapons when she didn’t have one herself.
Farmer, Iona said urgently, Hildar must join her power with ours.
Idris barely registered Iona’s words. He struggled to get to his feet, knowing he had to help Hildar. She couldn’t fight against Piton and Revelin on her own. He tried to take a step forward, but he faltered, dizzy from the loss of blood.
Idris! Iona cried. Hildar must join her power with ours, she repeated. You must hold on to me together. I can see it now. She has a heart of fire, just like you.
Idris didn’t have time to make sense of Iona’s words. But he trusted her. He did as she said.
“Hildar,” he called weakly, hoping she could hear him over the clash of metal and cries of battle. He held to Iona as tightly as he could with his bloody hand and extended the shaft outward to her. “Take this.”
Hildar was close enough now that she could have done as he instructed, but she hesitated.
“Do it,” Idris gasped.
Piton and Revelin were closing in quickly, and their weapons were glowing as they prepared to attack.
Hildar placed her hand over his. Idris could immediately feel the rush of Hildar’s life force pulsing next to his own. In an instant, the pain faded by half. His mind cleared.
You must be the bridge between all of us, Iona said to him. You are the common bond.
Idris took Hildar’s free hand in his own and looked into her eyes. He could fear there, and knew that she could feel the same rush of power that he could, but she was fighting against it. He could see the terror and distrust that Savion had planted in her.
“Do you feel that,” Idris asked her. He gripped her hand tighter in a reassuring squeeze. “Hildar, we are stronger together.”
Hildar hesitated for another moment, then slowly nodded and closed her eyes. As she did so, Idris felt the flow of power expand. He could feel a flickering fire in his chest that was hotter and wilder than anything he had ever experienced before. His wounds burned from the heat of it.
As
the power rushed over him, a flash of insight passed through Idris’s mind—a memory that didn’t belong to him. It was Iona’s.
He heard the voice of the dragon that had sacrificed her life to give birth to the partisan in his hand.
It must be done, Marlais. Every dark creation must be destroyed. You must not rest until this work is finished.
He opened his eyes and saw that flames had risen from Iona again, but this time they didn’t just travel up his arm. The fire had spread into a torrent of golden flame that swirled around both Idris and Hildar.
He understood what he had to do. He understood why Iona was created.
He lifted the partisan and pointed it at Piton and Revelin, who were standing dumbstruck.
No, he did not point it at them. He pointed it at their weapons.
“Purify them,” Idris commanded in a voice that was not entirely his own. The words held all the power of Marlais Dragonspear.
Piton and Revelin both dropped their weapons and leapt backward with cries of fear. The flames surrounding Idris and Hildar gathered into a narrow beam so bright that Idris had to narrow his eyes against the brilliance. The beam divided, the two halves rushing to consume the halberd and the scythe that lay abandoned on the floor.
When the light faded, there was nothing but ash behind.
Piton and Revelin stood shaking, pale with shock. They turned and fled from the council room.
The remaining enemy soldiers looked bewildered by the flash of light, but didn’t seem to know where it had come from. When they saw that their leaders were gone, they started to panic and tried to escape as well.
Palti moved to intercept them at the doorway, and he was joined by Cowan. Idris felt a rush of relief when he saw the captain with only minor injuries.
Palti made a circular motion with his sword, and the ground rumbled. It buckled and cracked around the enemies’ feet, and in a moment they were up to their ankles in rubble and unable to move.
Cowan sent out bolts of lightning, and one by one the enemy soldiers collapsed, unconscious. Soon the only people standing were the king and his Royal Guards.
Silence settled over the room.
Idris’s breathing was ragged. He realized the fire had cauterized wounds, but the pain caught up to him now that he wasn’t filled with the rush of power. Beside him, Hildar lowered herself to a knee, looking exhausted.
“Hildar, what are you doing here?” Idris asked faintly.
“Queen Arminell insisted that I come join you in protecting the king,” she explained simply.
It is a good thing that she did, Iona said. She saved your life.
“Thank you,” Idris said to Hildar sincerely.
She gave him a rare smile and nodded.
Idris looked around, surveying the damage. Farah’s leg was bleeding profusely, and she was using a strip of cloth to try and tie it off. King Nikolas’s crimson uniform was tattered, and Idris could see that the king had several scrapes and burns. His sword was covered in the blood of one of the soldiers. Idris was honestly surprised to see it. He’d forgotten that Nikolas wasn’t play-acting—that he really had won wars.
“What was that light?” asked King Nikolas the Bold. “If they had not been trying to escape, we would not have been able to overcome them.”
Cowan nodded towards Hildar and Idris. “The light came from these two defeating the enemy leaders.”
“It was really just Idris,” Hildar corrected.
The king’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “The farmer?”
“Yes, your majesty,” Cowan said with a small smile. “The farmer.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Honor
Idris tugged on his scarlet uniform nervously, even though it was already straight and tidy, then he adjusted the partisan on his back. Hildar looked over at him with an amused expression.
“You know it does not mean much,” she reminded him. “It is really just a token of gratitude.”
“I know,” Idris replied, “but it means a lot to the citizens of Rest Stone Valley.”
“If only my family cared half as much as your distant neighbors,” Hildar muttered.
Idris was surprised to hear envy in her voice. “Your reward will mean more than mine,” he pointed out.
She gave a careless shrug. “Nothing will remove the embarrassment of me choosing to be a Royal Guard instead of marrying the future Duke of Wherever.”
Idris was about to respond when the doors in front of them were flung open and the roar of cheering crowds crashed over them.
A temporary platform had been built in the front courtyard of the Water Palace. The royal family stood waiting for them.
Idris and Hildar stepped out into the bright winter sunlight. It took Idris’s eyes a moment to adjust, but as soon as they did Idris saw that the courtyard was crammed full of people despite the cold. There were even people perched on top of the wall surrounding the palace.
King Nikolas stood on a miniature dais, wearing a fur-trimmed cloak and the Sun Crown. Queen Arminell stood off to the side with all three of her children, wearing a genuine smile on her lovely face.
Princess Zorina made eye contact with Idris and she bounced on the balls of her feet in excitement. The two princes looked more interested in the roaring crowd than in Idris or Hildar.
King Nikolas held up a hand, and slowly a hush fell over the mass of people.
“Many weeks ago,” the king said in a ringing voice, “our beautiful city came under attack, and it was suspected that there were traitors among us.”
There was a murmur of dismay from the audience.
“Not long after that,” Nikolas continued, “a second attempt was made on my life. The king of Roshum swears he knows nothing of these attacks.”
Shouts of disapproval rose up from the crowd.
The king raised a finger. “But my Royal Guards witnessed proof that the king lies. And it is thanks to my Royal Guards that his sinister plot failed.”
The masses cheered again.
“I am grateful for the dedication and loyalty of my Royal Guards,” King Nikolas declared. “Especially to these two, for preserving my life against the evils of our neighboring nation.”
Idris felt his cheeks flush and his chest puffed out with pride.
You remind me of Marlais, Iona commented, after our first successful mission.
Idris knew that Iona could give him no higher praise, and his face split into a grin.
“Lady Hildar,” called the king, “daughter of Lord Wythe, Duke of the Hazelwood Province.”
Hildar moved forward and knelt before King Nikolas. The monarch reached over to his personal secretary, who handed him a small gold medal attached to a black ribbon.
“I give you the medal of King’s Honor for your self-sacrifice on behalf of the ruler of Calaris and the royal family.”
Idris joined the crowd in clapping and shouting for Hildar. The king pinned the medal to the front of Hildar’s uniform, and she bowed to King Nikolas in humble appreciation. Then she stood and turned to acknowledge the audience, who continued to cheer loudly.
The king drew his jeweled sword, which caused the noise to die down once more.
“Idris, son of Cadell, son of Garan.”
Idris felt a little wobbly as he moved to stand before the king. He sank to his knees as he had been instructed to do and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself.
“For your continued efforts in protecting Queen Arminell and Princess Zorina, and for your essential role in defeating the enemies of your king, I name you Lord of Rest Stone Valley and give you stewardship over all who live and work there.”
King Nikolas touched Idris on each shoulder with the blade of his sword, then returned it to its sheath.
Idris hadn’t thought it possible for the audience to be any louder, but they proved him wrong with their shouts and stomps. He stood and waved at the crowd, noticing the beaming faces of his family and friends near the edge of the platform.
Cad
ell and Prydwen’s eyes were filled with tears, and Idris’s brothers and sisters were jumping up and down with joy.
In that moment, Idris could see only his family—only the faces of the people he loved most. He could see that they were proud of him, and that mattered more than any title the king could give.
Well done, farmer, Iona said warmly.
Idris couldn’t help but chuckle. I am not technically a farmer anymore.
You will always be a farmer to me, she maintained.
Her statement made Idris feel immeasurably happy.
Idris wanted to go to his family, but Cowan was waiting for him and Hildar when they exited the platform. He gestured for them to follow him and led them to the meeting room of the Royal Guards. Drusi and Jerin were absent, since they were keeping watch over the king, but everyone else was seated around the table.
Idris took his place next to Demas, who jovially slapped him on the shoulder. Unfortunately, it was Idris’s injured shoulder, and he winced in pain.
Hildar sat down next to Aherin, who eyed her medal with envy, though his congratulations were sincere.
Cowan took his place at the head of the table, but did not sit. Instead, he leaned with his fists on the table’s surface.
“It appears that war with Roshum is inevitable,” he growled. “We must prepare for its coming.”
“Has the king formally declared war?” Roth asked.
Their captain shook his head. “The king of Roshum insists that he had nothing to do with the attacks, and his ambassadors are trying to preserve the peace between our kingdoms.”
“That will not last if King Nikolas is convinced that Roshum is to blame,” Farah observed.
“The king spent the first five years of his rule continuing the war that his father began,” Cowan said. “The Royal Guard was reduced to half its number during that war, and we cannot afford for that to happen again.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Palti inquired.
“We must increase our strength as individuals, so that we also increase the strength of us as a group,” Cowan answered. “The king of Roshum gives weapons of power to the soldiers he trusts, even if they are not meant to be paired. That makes them weaker than they would be if they were compatible. There may be more Roshumin soldiers with magical items, but we have more skill and more power.”