Spreading out around the tables, they took seats. Silence settled and all attention turned to Balen as he offered a prayer. If only the royalty of Arcacia had such faith! Tears prickled Kyrin’s eyes at such a thought. Life would be so different.
When the prayer ended, servants quickly served a mouthwatering meal. They set a large plate before Kyrin that almost overflowed with food. There were butter-glazed potatoes, juicy carrots, a thick slice of fresh bread, and succulent pieces of dark meat smothered in thick gravy. She took a bite. The meat was much like venison, yet more savory and tender.
All around her, the men seemed very appreciative of the fare, especially Kaden. He probably hadn’t enjoyed such a meal since dining at Auréa Palace. No one spoke for a good couple of minutes, enjoying it to the fullest. After five days of mostly cold trail food, they must have seemed a bit starved to their hosts.
Finally, Rayad looked up and asked, “What is the meat?”
“Black deer,” Balen answered.
“Brought in fresh by the king himself,” Thomas added, “right from Feldmor Forest just to the southwest of here.”
“It is quite good.”
The baron nodded. “It is a staple around these parts, and our cook knows just how to prepare it.”
“So Feldmor is good hunting then?” Trask joined in.
“Very,” Balen answered enthusiastically. “It may not be as large as the northern forests, but there’s plenty of game.”
“And he knows it as well as this castle,” Thomas said. “He could track a mouse in that forest.”
A charming grin rose to Balen’s face, his first since their arrival. Kyrin imagined it would be easy to fall quite in love with him were she a Samaran lady.
“Maybe not a mouse, but I am pretty familiar with it. I did spend much of my childhood there.”
Though not usually one to jump into a conversation, this piqued Kyrin’s curiosity. There was much to learn about this intriguing and unlikely king. “Did you grow up here in Westing?”
“I did. My parents died when I was small, and my aunt and uncle raised me on their farm. That’s where I was today, working one of my uncle’s fields.”
“If I may,” Kyrin ventured tentatively, “how did you become king?”
Balen’s eyes sparkled in response. “That’s a good question. It ties in with Feldmor, actually. I was fifteen and went out to hunt one of the wildcats that come down from the mountains sometimes. It had killed two villagers and quite a few livestock. I have to confess that it was against my uncle’s better judgment, but I went out to track it. When I finally caught up, I found it in a tree about to pounce on a group of hunters. I shot it just as it lunged. Only after that did I discover that the man it would have landed on was King Alton. He and his knights had come for a hunting trip.”
“He saved the king’s life,” Thomas said.
“Well, I don’t know about that, but he always believed so. In gratitude, he invited me to the palace at Amberin as his personal guest.” Balen paused, and his face took on a wistful expression. “After a couple of weeks there, he told me he wanted to adopt me as his son and heir since his wife, Queen Rhosin, was barren. He was so adamant, I couldn’t refuse.”
He paused for a moment as a sigh slipped out, his voice lowering with true sadness. “Two years ago, he became ill and died, and I was crowned king.”
It all made sense now, the king’s humble manner. He had grown up as a simple farm boy.
“Personally, I think it was one of the wisest decisions the king ever made,” Baron Thomas said after a momentary silence.
“Indeed,” Josef agreed.
Though she barely knew him, Kyrin felt inclined to agree as well. She had never known anyone like Balen who held as much power as he did. Of course, Trask and his father were humble and wonderful leaders, but Balen made such an unassuming and unusual king. She had a feeling that if he and Kaden were the same age and had lived in the same area, they would have been marvelous friends growing up.
Balen smiled kindly at Thomas and Josef. “Thank you. I’m not sure where I’d be without your confidence in me.”
For a time, they continued to speak of Westing and the surrounding area. Kyrin listened intently, interested to learn as much as she could about the country and its culture. This was the first time she had ever set foot outside of Arcacia. She used to dream of seeing more of Ilyon.
During a lull in the conversation, Timothy’s voice came from down the table. Kyrin had sensed his desire to speak, almost since arriving here.
“Daican’s letters to Sir Rothas mentioned a man named Elon and rumors about him. Is there any truth to them?”
Josef, who did more listening than talking, turned his gaze to Timothy. “There has been word coming from the mountain villages northeast of here of a man who has been teaching and healing the people. And these aren’t traditional healings such as my work, but miraculous healings… instant healings of a large variety of ailments, including serious and lifelong afflictions.”
“How is that possible?” Trask asked.
“Well, if you’ve heard the rumors, then you know that many say he was sent by Elôm . . .” Josef paused. “Some even say he’s the Savior, Elôm’s Son.”
Just like when Kyrin had mentioned it in the meeting hall, silence settled around them. A thrilling chill raced along Kyrin’s skin. Even if it were not true, the possibility left her breathless and sent her thoughts soaring.
“Do you think… could it be?” Timothy asked, as if hardly daring to hope.
Josef’s eyes twinkled at his enthusiasm. “I do not know. We’ve had only secondhand accounts. Not enough to say for certain. We do know that the people hope he will bring an end to Daican’s rule and restore peace to Ilyon. That hope alone could lead to misinformation and exaggerated accounts of what’s happening. But . . .” the word hung over the table, “we do know Elôm promised a Savior, and if ever we were in need of one, it’s now.”
Deep, black darkness surrounded Jace, so thick it chilled his skin. It consumed him, suffocated him. He struggled to move as heavy weights dragged behind him. Despair saturated the murk, but then a pinprick of light appeared in the distance. It grew to a faint glow, beckoning him, tugging at his spirit. He reached and tried to run toward it, but his feet caught fast in an unseen mire. The light began to fade. No! He lunged for it, choking. He couldn’t seem to breathe. In spite of his desperate struggle, the light blinked out, engulfing him once more in total darkness. His heart stopped in utter hopelessness. He fell to his knees and gasped for breath, but his throat had closed, leaving him sinking toward death.
Jace bolted upright. His heart battered his ribs, as if trying to break past prison bars. Dryness scraped his throat. Frantic to break free of the dream’s cold grip, he pushed up from the couch and almost fell, his legs entangled in his blanket. He tugged it away and stumbled across the room to the table, where a pitcher sat. Pouring a glass of water, he gulped it down, nearly drowning himself to quench his thirst.
He set the empty glass aside and braced himself against the table. Coldness traveled along his skin, raising goose bumps underneath his dampened shirt. He shivered and spasms darted through his limbs. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, his legs barely had the strength to support him. He turned and sank back down onto the couch, resting his arms on his knees as he bowed his head. He struggled to breathe evenly, but his heart still pounded and filled the silence with its drumming.
As soon as everyone had fallen asleep in the bedroom he shared with Rayad, Holden, and Trask, he had slipped out to sleep in the sitting room instead. He’d known the dreams would come. He breathed a long, heavy breath, the last of his strength seeping away with it. Would it ever end? His eyes stung, and he rubbed the sensation away with his fingertips, but it only increased at the memories of the dream.
Tonight was the first time a light had appeared. The first time there had been any hope in the consuming darkness. But what good was hope he could not reach?
He shook his head. It was only a dream, yet it felt like so much more. Like the manifestation of the struggle raging inside him. A struggle he wasn’t sure he could win.
Dawn’s light grew around him and illuminated the room. Even then, he just sat and stared. He may be awake now, but the dream’s darkness still hung over him. Before long, the door opened and several of the men entered, including Rayad.
“There you are.” Rayad’s gaze settled on the blanket, and his forehead creased. “Did you sleep here?”
Jace said nothing. He wouldn’t discuss it now with everyone gathering. As more of the group joined them, Jace grabbed the blanket and headed alone to the bedroom to change. Just this simple chore seemed to require more energy than he possessed, but what choice did he have except to push on every day for however many were left? A cold sensation seized his gut. Why did he get the ominous feeling it wouldn’t be many?
Cleaned up and dressed, but still burdened, he returned to the sitting room. The rest of their company had gathered, except for Talas and Kaden who had chosen to stay with the dragons. Jace caught Kyrin’s eyes as he entered, but wouldn’t hold them. It was torture to face her these days. He couldn’t bear for her to see him like this. He must be such a disappointment to her. She always tried so hard to help him.
When he chanced another glance, sadness weighed down her expression. Pain stabbed his heart. He would do anything for her, yet he was the one who always caused her the most grief. How could he ever claim to love her knowing that?
Kyrin picked at her breakfast, not really tasting any of it. Though she tried to be attentive to the conversation at the table, her thoughts and gaze kept straying to Jace. He hardly ate anything either. Something had happened when they’d left Landale. He was struggling before that, but now he seemed to be on a downward spiral. His life seemed to be falling apart right in front of her. Had he just completely forgotten anything that she, Rayad, or his mother had ever told him? Sometimes she just wanted to grab him and force him to understand. She bit back a sigh.
When the others had finished their breakfast, the entire group left the dining room and trooped outside. King Balen and General Mason were eager to show them around Stonehelm and begin war preparations. Under normal circumstances, Kyrin would have enjoyed a chance to explore the magnificent fortress, but she had no interest for it today. Her thoughts and heart were too heavy.
On the edge of the dragon field, Kyrin slipped over next to Rayad. “Can we talk?”
He stopped, and they let the others pass by them. When everyone else was busy saddling their dragons, she turned to face him.
“Jace is having nightmares again, isn’t he?”
Rayad nodded, his face grim. “Yes, since the second night of our journey. Maybe even before that, I’m not sure.”
Kyrin bit her lip. How could anyone cope with having their sleep disrupted so terribly every night? No wonder he looked more exhausted each day. “Why now? What caused it?”
“After what happened in Ashwood with his family, I think he is in a very confused and fragile state. The enemy is taking advantage of it and attacking him with everything he’s got.”
“Is there any way we can help him? I mean, I’ve tried, but he just won’t respond.”
“We can fight for him in prayer, but only Elôm can help him truly conquer this.”
Kyrin looked over at Jace. He moved and went through the motions as if he were not truly there. Rayad was right. A battle raged over Jace. It was suddenly so clear to her that she almost cried. The enemy fought to destroy him, to tear away his faith and hold him captive until he gave up entirely. Blinking back the burn of tears, Kyrin drew a deep breath. She would pray harder—much harder—and fight for Jace even if he was too weak to do it himself.
“It’s not like last time, is it?” She looked up at Rayad again. “Last time he was just giving up under his grief and depression. This time, he’s afraid. I see it when he doesn’t realize I’m watching. He looks so scared sometimes.”
Rayad sighed. “Yes, that is the problem. He is running scared, trying to escape what he can’t and too afraid to seek the only One who can allay his fears. Too afraid to seek help and be rejected. I believe that is at the root of it all. He’s not yet willing to take that chance.”
Kyrin bowed her head, a huge weight pressing down on her heart. “He’s too young to suffer so much. He can’t go on like this. I’m afraid . . .” She hesitated to speak the words aloud. “I’m afraid if something doesn’t change, he won’t survive it.”
With the admission of this horrible fear, a couple of tears rolled down her cheeks. She brushed them away, but the fear remained.
“I know,” Rayad murmured, his voice weary with the burden of the same fear. He reached out and hugged her gently. “But don’t forget that Jace has a powerful force on his side. You and I aren’t the only ones who see his struggle, and Elôm isn’t deaf to all the prayers we offer on his behalf. The battle may be long and painful, but I believe in victory if we don’t give up. Jace isn’t as alone in this as he thinks.”
Never had Jace seen such an imposing structure up close. Stonehelm had looked impressive enough from the air, but from the ground it was even grander. Leaving the dragons outside the wall, they followed Balen and his general to the towering gate. The archway loomed a good twenty-five feet above them. Jace gazed upward as they passed under the points of the raised portcullis. The reinforced iron and wood gates stood open, but could close as a second layer of protection in the event of a siege.
Voices drew his attention to the path ahead as they entered the inner courtyard. He expected to see soldiers, but groups of weary-eyed villagers, many with bandages and soot-smeared clothing, outnumbered the armed men. Their bleak faces appeared hopeless until they spotted their king. As he approached, their expressions lifted, and they bowed their heads in respectful greeting.
One of the first they met was an ancient old woman, who sat on an overturned basket. Balen stopped and took the hand that wasn’t heavily bandaged.
“How are you today, Marta?” he asked gently.
Did he know all their names? Jace couldn’t imagine it. He couldn’t even remember the names of every person in camp.
The woman’s wrinkled face lifted to Balen, creasing even more in a smile so bright and cheerful it seemed entirely out of place amid the obvious suffering. “Still alive, by Elôm’s grace. That is more than I can say for many.”
Balen smiled in return. “Indeed.”
Josef came to the old woman’s side and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s take a look at your arm this morning and see how it’s healing.”
While the physician tended her, Balen led the group on toward the entrance of the keep.
Trask gestured to the people. “Are they all refugees from the Arcacian villages?”
Balen nodded. “Yes, those fortunate to have made it. This is the best shelter we have for them right now.”
They entered the cool, dim interior of the keep and found even more people, many laid out on stretchers. The scent of blood and strong medicinal herbs hung heavy in the air. Jace’s stomach churned.
“The seriously wounded are tended here. Severe burn wounds, mostly.” Balen shook his head. “We’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It shouldn’t be this way,” Talas replied, his voice hard and lacking any of his usual humor. “We use our dragons in combat when we must, but never on the innocent. Daican has done a great evil by breeding his firedrakes and using them for such destruction. I’m ashamed that some of my people are involved.”
Balen offered him a look of understanding. “It is also your people who can help us defeat them. We are incredibly grateful for that.”
They continued through the fortress as Balen explained how they had a fully stocked storeroom, armory, and infirmary, and two inside wells with fresh water. Jace only half listened to the details. The keep was solid stone with almost no windows; good for defense, but such a closed space suffocated him
. The dark halls brought back snatches of his dreams, and his heart rate rose. After a while, beads of sweat trickled down his back despite the cool air. The urge to escape clawed deeper and deeper into his chest. But what would he say to the others if he had to leave? How could he explain his fear?
At last Balen opened a door, and they stepped out into the courtyard once more. Jace released a heavy breath, his tense muscles easing. Somehow he had to get a grip on this, and quickly. He couldn’t avoid the fortress with war coming.
Across the courtyard, they reached a set of stairs at the border wall. The others immediately followed Balen as he climbed them, but Jace paused to peer up at the towering structure. This gave him no more comfort than the fortress, but at least he wasn’t closed in. Keeping as close to the wall as he could, Jace took each of the steps without letting himself look towards the increasing drop into the courtyard just to his right. Fifty feet up, they reached the top of the wall, which spanned an impressive twenty-feet wide. Plenty of room for defenders. The parapet rose to about chest height and, at one-hundred-fifty-foot intervals, rounded bastions jutted out, each equipped with a trebuchet. Daican’s army would be hard-pressed to scale these defenses. How long must it have taken to build such a giant structure?
Cautiously, Jace stepped to the parapet with the others to take in the vast view of the Arcacian plains. No army could come upon the fortress by surprise. The wall itself may have risen only fifty feet, but the land sloped away to the river another twenty feet below, preventing any siege engines or towers from getting too close. In fact, to even attempt to storm Stonehelm would be a disaster.
“It’s incredible,” Trask said for all of them.
General Mason smiled. “When the giants build something, they build it strong. This wall has long discouraged any invaders. If only we had one along our sea border.”
Samara's Peril (Ilyon Chronicles Book 3) Page 24