“Hurry up, boy,” the king orders, walking on ahead. “Or you might find the palace doors closed to you when you finally arrive.”
“Wait!” I say, but he either doesn't hear or chooses to ignore me.
The burn on my hand begins to ache, and when I look down at it, it is again outlined in a red glow. My spirit sinks.
Not again...
I draw my sword and turn in a circle, searching for the immediate danger.
The king spins around. “So you're an assassin, are you?” he says, brandishing his own sword.
“No,” I say, stepping back. “Danger!”
He suddenly goes very still, his eyes widening. Raising a trembling finger, he points at something behind me.
I freeze, tightening my grip on the hilt of my sword. Breath bated, I whirl around, slashing wildly through the air with my sword. The tip grinds against the iron breastplate of an ezix that materializes out of nowhere, towering above me. Its mouth twists into a horrid grin, and it swings its spiked sword at me. I don’t have time to get out of the way, so my branded hand leaps up to block the blow. The sharp iron hits my palm. But instead of cutting into it, the blade stops as if my hand were protected by an iron gauntlet.
“What is this foul creature you have brought into my land?” the king demands.
“Ezixs,” I gasp, tearing my bewildered gaze from my hand. “Run!”
But as I turn, I see the others. We are surrounded by a ring of about a dozen of them. Their hideous faces jeer at us from behind heavy iron helmets.
“Never mind,” I say, backing toward the king. “We'll go back to back!”
There is no reply.
I glance over my shoulder, only to find that he’s backing away from me. He sheaths his sword and throws up his hands.
“Sorry, lad,” he says with a sudden grin, “but this is your fight.”
Fear twists my gut. “What?”
The king walks toward the ezixs. “Put in a good word for me to the Master when you return to Gaiztoak, won’t you?” he calls over his shoulder.
The ezixs part for him, and then snap together once he has passed through their ranks.
Of course! The king didn't detain me so that he could talk nonsense to me. He detained me so that the ezixs could trap me.
My veins are cold with energy that is waiting to explode, but I try to quiet it.
“Congratulations, Zeldek!” I say calmly, turning in a circle. “You really fooled me. I thought for a moment that you couldn't reach me here. I guess I was wrong.”
An unusually short ezix steps forward, holding up a hand as if in greeting. Its appearance differs to that of the others, not only in stature, but also in complexion. Its skin is a sickly brown colour instead of slimy grey, and its hair is a light chestnut instead of black.
“Hello,” it says in a broken form of the basic language of Theara. Its voice is rough, but feminine. “I am Tzaile, the translator. Are you the one we seek?”
“I- think so?”
I didn't know there was any such thing as a friendly ezix.
“We have come from the Master. He wishes that you return with us. If you refuse, we may take you by force.”
I blink. “He wishes?”
“Will you come?” Tzaile asks.
I step away, only to back into another ezix. It brings its fist down on my arm, wrenching the sword from my hand.
Tzaile looks impatient. “Will you resist?”
I try to answer, but the surging in my veins has rapidly grown into an ache that is filling me up to overflowing. Still, I keep it back. If I let it out, I may hurt them.
“We will take you then,” Tzaile says, and gestures for them to seize me.
The pressure intensifies and grows unbearable, and when I look, my veins are raised, glowing with blue light.
“No!” I gasp, confused and terrified. “Get away. Leave, quickly! I'm— ah!”
My palms are trying to open, the dragon brand a swirl of red and blue light. Shaking, my knees weaken, and I fall to them.
“Run!” I shout, my voice amplified in my own ears.
The freezing surge of energy overpowers me. My hands open and power unlike anything I have ever felt pours from me. Blue light, pale and pure, explodes around me with powerful force, throwing back the ezixs and engulfing everything until even I am blinded by it. Grunts and shrieks fill the air and I feel as if my breath is being sucked out and forced into me at the same time.
I look to the sky and a spiral of light shoots to the stars. Panicked, I open my mouth to call for help, struggling to make my frozen limbs move. My voice does not come.
Then, all at once, it’s over. My limbs free themselves, the light fades, and I fall forward into a clump of grass.
Grunts rise in a chorus, and a shout goes up to the boughs of the trees. Branches snap as heavy footsteps retreat, echoing to silence.
It takes me a few moments, but I am finally able to pull myself to my feet. My knees begin to buckle, but I grab onto a nearby branch to regain my balance.
Only one semi-coherent thought comes to mind, rooted from deep within: I need to get to the palace. Whether the king wants me there or not, I have a strong feeling that I need to be there, whether it is to confront him or to support Hamish. In such a state of mind as I am in now, it is hard to reason with myself.
Once I retrieve my sword, I continue my journey to the castle. I reach it in a manner of minutes, and stagger across the lawn toward the portal to the palace.
Jambeau and the king stand at the top of the stairs, conversing in hushed tones, staring at the sky above the trees from which I just came. I stop at the base of the steps, sticking the point of my sword in the ground, and rest my hands on the hilt so that I look steady.
“I trust you arrived safely, my king,” I say, not able to help but smirk up at him.
The king jumps at the sound of my voice and he turns to face me. Prudence takes hold, and he straightens up before his shock displays itself.
“I did."
“Very good, sir. Shall I retire for the night?”
He stiffens, but smiles through his teeth. “You look faint. Perhaps a little medicine would do you some good.”
“Thank you,” I begin to ascend the stairs, “but I think I’ll manage without any ‘medicine’.”
The king flicks his hand and Jambeau retires indoors.
I stop in front of the king and sheathe my sword. “Next time you decide to attack me, be man enough to do it yourself!”
He seizes my arm, his eyes alight with rage. Yet beyond his anger, he seems afraid. “I had no choice.”
I try to jerk my arm from his grasp, but he holds on tight. “I know. You have to obey your master Zeldek's every wish, don't you?”
He clenches his jaw. “It was not wise to come here, boy.”
“Ah, but no one ever said that I was wise.”
There is a lethal glint in his eye as he releases me. “Have a nice rest, Ealdred. Beware that it isn’t your last!”
Chapter Thirty-One
I t was long after midnight when the cloaked figure passed through the dark forest. His steps were brisk, and he didn't take the necessary precautions to ensure that he was alone. His mind was too filled with confusion, too clouded with fear.
He reached his destination: a cracked stone basin brimming with water in the middle of a small glade in the thickest part of the woods. The sound of running water from the Tireth River accented the still night air as the figure stopped before the basin. He peered into the dark water for a moment, and then uttered the only magical word that he knew how to use.
“Ertain.”
The water in the basin began to swirl, and sparks of red, yellow, and orange filled it. The figure took a step back in anticipation. Flames exploded from the surface of the water, swelling outward, but quickly settling down to one flickering tongue.
The figure covered the distance between himself and the basin once more, and peered into the flame, waiting.
Leonel cleared his throat, bowing his head. “Sire, I would not have done so if it were not completely necessary.”
“Yes?” The Master's voice was impatient.
Leonel glanced around and then spoke hurriedly in a whisper, “This evening, a boy entered the courtyard of my palace seeking the help of my physician. My captain allowed him to leave with him, but accompanied them into the woods. Now, as you are aware, my son arrived from Lavylli only yesterday—”
“Leonel,” the Master interrupted impatiently. “If you have disturbed me for some petty family matter...”
“No, sire! Not at all!” Leonel's voice was urgent, and the Master paused to listen. “I don't know the details of what happened, but this boy—”
“Get to the point!”
“His name is Ealdred, sire.”
There was a long moment of silence, and Leonel took the opportunity to speak once more.
“He is a half-breed, from Zandelba, and I noticed that he wore a sword that bears the crest of the Crimson Shadow.”
“Bellator?” Zeldek's voice did not sound surprised. “Is she not with him?”
“No, sire. I believe that she is, in fact, dead.”
“Dead?” Zeldek echoed. “That's not possible!”
“That's what I have gathered. I saw the four of them – my son, the Lady Marianna, the Crimson Shadow, and this Ealdred – enter the ruined castle of Arnon, and some time later, only three of them emerged. That girl was not with them.”
“Arnon?” the Master repeated, incredulous. “So she thought that she could take the arrow for herself, did she?”
“It doesn't matter, sire. She is gone, and the arrow is as it was, waiting for you.”
“No! You don't understand. Without her, I will never regain my full strength! She is key to my plan!”
“Sire—”
“Silence! I want proof of her death! Get me proof!"
“I will. I shall not fail you.”
“See to it that you don't.”
Leonel hesitated. “In the meantime, what of the boy?”
The Master pondered this. “Watch him closely. I want a full report of his activities. Then, when the time comes, I will want him back.”
“Why not take him now, sire? It would be safer for all of us.”
“I have a feeling that his being there is not a coincidence. I want to see what his plan is, if there is one, and I want to know it as soon as you discover it.”
Leonel bowed. “Yes, sire. I must return before I am missed. Are there any last orders?”
“Do not fail me.”
“You know that I won't, sire.”
The flames in the water were put out. Leonel tucked his cloak around himself once more and began to retrace his steps through the woods.
He did not see the figure flattened against a nearby tree, nor did he realize that it had heard every word of the conversation.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I am still alive!
Light streams in through the window to my room, casting its rays on the wooden floorboards. A warm breeze blows through the lattice, brushing aside the white sheer curtains and filling the room with the sweet scent of summer air. I relax, putting my head back on my pillow, and sigh. My ribs still ache from last night's encounter with the snake, but at least they don't feel like they are broken anymore.
I am lying on the floor beneath the bed in one of the guest rooms in the palace. The king had specifically allotted me this room to stay in, causing me to assume the worst – that being a knife through the heart while I slept. Despite being exhausted, I was only able to fall asleep after I moved a pillow and a few blankets down under the bed. I slept with my sword ready on the floor beside me.
The door to my room creaks open, and footsteps halt at the door. After a moment, they enter the room. My hand finds the hilt of my sword in an instant, and I pull it quietly out of its sheath. Finely polished boots approach my bed, and I hold my breath.
“Where did he go?” mutters the familiar voice of Prince Hamish.
I let my breath out in relief and roll out from under the bed on the opposite side that he's on.
“I'm right here,” I say, standing up.
He blinks, glancing down at the floor, and then back at me. “Why—”
“You wanted to speak with me?” I interrupt, sheathing my sword.
He glances at my weapon, raising his eyebrows. “I came to wake you. It is almost noon. Father wants you to join us for dinner.”
“Is it noon?” I ask, uninterested.
Oh yes, the thought of spending a meal with the man who threatened to kill me last night is very agreeable. Especially the poison that will certainly accompany the sweet cakes.
The prince nods. “You did earn the extra sleep, what with everything that you went through yesterday.”
I am very glad to hear someone say it.
“That is kind of you to say,” I reply more humbly. “But it does make me feel sluggish.”
"I am sure you will feel even more so after a few days here with us," he says with a grin. “But I should leave you to get cleaned up. I had the servants put some of my old clothing in your wardrobe. It should be around your size.”
I hesitate. “I don't want to sound disrespectful, but wouldn’t it be better if I wore something more... well, suited to my status? It wouldn't feel right to go about as royalty when I'm not.”
“Nonsense! You have earned it, Ealdred. You saved me and – more importantly – Lady Marianna. My family owes you a great debt.”
I bow my head. “Thank you. How is she, by the way? Lady Marianna. Is she well?”
“Actually, she’s in perfect health.” He beams. “She does not remember a thing from yesterday, though. It is for the best, I suppose. Father really would hate me if he knew that I had allowed myself to be captured, and by a girl no less.” He seems to notice the tense look on my face because he adds quickly, “Not that I see anything wrong with it. She was an excellent fighter. Better than I could ever be. And she turned out to be noble in the end, despite everything she put us through.”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
It all still feels too unreal. I keep expecting to hear her voice at any moment, shouting at me to get downstairs and probably shooting a few uncomplimentary names my way while she's at it.
“Well,” Hamish says after a moment, “I had best leave you to it.”
He turns toward the door.
“Hamish,” I call after him.
He turns back. “Yes?”
“You were going to ask why I sleep under my bed,” I begin, and we both chuckle. “It's because I'm afraid.”
He looks surprised. “Of what?”
I realize too late that I don't actually want to tell him. But I force myself to continue. “I've never lived in a place where there wasn't constant danger around me, and people who wanted to hurt me. I have a hard time trusting anyone; actually, to rephrase that, I never trust anyone. Even the people that I find out too late that I should have trusted.” I pause. “Even here, I feel unsafe. Your father... well, he doesn't seem to like me, does he?”
Hamish puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You will be safe here. My father can be... rough at times – sometimes even hostile – but I firmly believe that inside, he is good at heart. He will not harm you.”
I wish that I could believe that, but the king’s actions last night proved otherwise. I decide to drop the subject for the present. I see no reason his trust in his father should be destroyed on my account.
“And just so that you know,” he adds, “you can trust me. We are friends now, right? I won't let anything happen to you.”
It isn't that I don't believe him, but I know that if his father was to take any action against me, Hamish would have no say in the matter.
“Thanks,” I say.
He smiles. “Now, get yourself cleaned up.”
Then he turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
Once he is gone, I peel off my dirty tunic, and assess my aching ribs. My whole right side is badly bruised, and there is a clotted cut across it. My ribs show just as much as ever and my skin sticks to their shape like glue.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, sinking into the soft mattress. Something clinks against my skin, and I look down to find my amulet resting on my chest. I’ve gotten used to its weight over the past few weeks, so much as to not notice it anymore. I pick it up in my grimy fingers to examine it. After all of the trials I’ve been through, it remains unharmed. I am glad. It is precious to me. It and my family seem to be one and the same in my mind. By wearing it, I keep the only link that I have to them close to my heart.
Letting it fall again, I cross to the basin of water on my nightstand, rinsing the dirt from my hands and face, and splashing water on my bruised side. As I turn, I catch sight of the ugly S-shaped scar that was singed into my shoulder many years before. The mark is raised and streaked with the long scars that also cut across my back, induced by the steel barbs at the ends of my masters' whips. I feel sick to the stomach and turn away. Taking the towel, I begin to pat myself dry, glancing into a pane of glass that hangs on the wall before me.
A boy looks back at me. The same scrawny boy with the wide, unnaturally blue eyes, sunken cheeks, deathly pale skin, and a shock of tousled black hair that always reflects back at me. His face is touched with sadness and hardened by fear. He really isn't anything to look at, and would probably be considered ugly by most. But I feel comfort when I see him. I reach out and press my hand to the glass, putting my forehead to his.
“We'll make it," I whisper to myself. “I promise.”
A knock sounds on the door and I start, dropping the towel on the stand beside the basin.
“Who is it?” I call, preparing to draw my sword.
“It's Lesley, lad. The palace physician,” croaks the voice of the old man. “We met last night.”
I run to the wardrobe and pull on the first tunic that I see. “Come in!” I call.
Broken Arrow (Darkened Destiny Saga Book 1) Page 23