by David Estes
“You’ve refused to see me. Why?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“With what?”
“Planning our attack on Phanea. They are scared. Our forces have amassed from the four cities. It is time.”
“You have bigger problems. The westerners and easterners will march through the Southron Gates in three days. Maybe less if they decided to change their plans. I can help stop them. But first you must release Ennis and Gaia. You have me; you don’t need them.”
Bane laughed, and Rhea felt a shiver run down her spine. “You think I want to stop the attack from your allies?”
Rhea froze. “What?”
“Foolish girl.” It felt like an insult coming from one as young as the murderer standing before her. Then again, Bane seemed older than his age. Ancient, in some ways. “The Four Kingdoms can rip itself to shreds if it wants. I will not stop it. So long as, at the end, I am standing on the pile of corpses.”
It struck her, the reason he was here, the reason he’d allied himself with a warmongering people such as the Phanecians. “You want to be High King,” she said.
A grim smile. “If that’s what it takes to unite the lands and bring about peace. Then yes.”
“But thousands will die.”
“They would’ve died anyway. ‘Sometimes there are those who must die in order for there to be peace.’”
Rhea remembered the quote from her research on the Western Oracle. A long-forgotten prophecy. “You want to start over.”
“As long as there are people like you, rulers like you, there will never be peace. Your arrogance and lust for power prevents it.”
“Then why haven’t you killed me?”
“Because first I want you to see what the Lorens have done, what you’ve caused. I want you to see your legacy of blood and death. Then, I expect, I won’t have to kill you. Because you will kill yourself, and that foul creature growing inside of you.”
Rhea’s hand moved protectively to her belly. “I will not.”
“We shall see. Yes, we shall see.”
He started to leave. “Wait. When do we begin our march?”
He half-turned. “Two days, when we are at full force.”
Fifty-Four
The Southern Empire, Hemptown
Ennis Loren
“Hit me,” Ennis said to his sister.
Gaia looked at him like he was mad. “En, I’m not going to—”
“Do it,” he said. “As hard as you can. In the face. Then hit me again. Kick me. Scream things like ‘I hate you!’ and worse. Curse if you feel like it.”
“En…”
“Do you trust me?”
She bit her lip. Nodded.
“Good. I have a plan. Now hit me.”
She drew back her fist. Ennis had never seen Gaia hit anyone in her life. As a girl, she’d been studious, more into books than games, more interested in court dealings than war councils.
She swung, her knuckles colliding solidly with his cheek, snapping his head back. “Oh Wrath, I’m sorry, En!”
He shushed her, flexing his jaw. “Keep your voice down. This must be believable. Now hit me again and scream like you hate my guts.”
She took a deep breath, and then hit him again, this time in the stomach. She’s stronger than she looks, he thought, doubling over. He groaned. “I’m sorry!” he howled.
Gaia shoved him back, shouting in a stiff voice, “Save your apologies for someone who believes you!”
“Say it like you mean it,” Ennis hissed.
She slapped him. Hard. “You bastard!” she growled. “You Wrathdamn, rutting, no-good bastard!” The venom in her tone took him by surprise. He’d never heard her swear before, but was glad she found it in herself now. He actually believed she hated him.
The next hit spun him around. He could’ve kept his feet, but collapsed instead, groaning again. Gaia fell on him with both fists working in tandem, beating on his shoulders and back. A few of the shots hurt and he no longer had to fake the groans. What have I unleashed? he wondered.
Finally, he heard fast-moving boots approaching. “Prisoner! Stop hitting him!”
Gaia didn’t stop. Her screams were less intelligible, an angry rant of curses and insults flowing in a steady stream. Good sister.
A clank as the cell door opened. These are masters of phen ru, Ennis reminded himself, gathering his energy. Do not underestimate them. Through the curtain of hair falling over his eyes, he glanced up. There were only two, a skeleton night crew.
Good. This is good.
One of them grabbed Gaia from behind, dragging her away while she continued to swing her fists and kick her legs, conjuring images of a wildcat. Ennis remained on hands and knees, his muscles tightening in preparation as the second guard approached. “Prisoner!” he barked. “On your feet.”
Ennis felt bruised and sore, but he’d taken far worse in training. He’d suffered even worse injuries in battle. And this was for his sister, a thought that sent adrenaline through his system.
Slowly, pretending to be beaten, his arms hanging awkwardly, his legs wobbling, he stood.
“Separate them,” the guard said. His wrists weren’t strapped with daggers, Ennis noted, though he held one in a tight grip and had another sheathed against his ankle. A whip dangled from his belt.
The other guard started to march Gaia out. The moment his back was to Ennis, he sprang into action, slamming his heel into the first guard’s knee, feeling the joint give as the bones moved in the wrong direction. Naturally, his fingers opened and he dropped the knife.
Ennis caught it on the way down, bringing it up in a single motion to slash the Phanecian’s throat.
Surprised, the other guard was already turning, bringing his own weapon to bear. Ennis raised the dagger, prepared for the knife fight of his life.
Gaia kicked the guard in the back of the legs and he fell forward. Ennis hit him in the jaw with an elbow, following through and slamming him back-first onto the unforgiving ground. The guard’s eyes widened and blood trickled from his lip.
Ennis slammed the knife into his chest, retracting it quickly and cleaning it on the man’s leather armor.
Gaia stared.
“We had no other choi—” Before he could finish the statement, she threw herself onto the dead man, punching and scratching at him.
“Whoa,” Ennis said, pulling her off from behind, subduing her arms.
She spat on the guard and said, “Let’s go.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
They stole into the night on flutter-soft feet.
The streets were mostly empty, though Ennis could make out the shadows of soldiers patrolling the city. There would be watchmen, too, so they would need to stick to the shadows.
Suddenly, he grabbed Gaia and dragged her into a narrow side street. It was not a moment too soon, as a guard emerged from the prison, swinging his gaze back and forth. “Sound the alarm!” he shouted. “The prisoners have escaped!”
Shite, Ennis thought, backing away into the alley. Escaping the city would take a miracle now.
“We have to go back for Rhea,” Gaia whispered in his ear.
What? “No. We are here because of her. She has done nothing for our family. She killed Jove, banished me. Her sea monster killed her own sister.”
“It’s not that simple. And she is pregnant.”
As if that helps her case. “No. We’re leaving. Now.”
Heavy feet closed in from the main street. Soldiers. Dozens of them. Fighting was not an option. Gaia set her feet and shook her head. “Leave without me then.”
Who is this woman? “Gaia. Please. Look, we are alone and outnumbered. We have no chance of rescuing Rhea now. But if we can make it through the Gates. If we can get back to Sai and Wheaton…”
“An organized rescue?”
Ennis nodded, hating that he was forced to lie to his sister.
“All right. I’ll go.”
Thank Wrath. They hurried in
the opposite direction, down the alley, pausing at the end as soldiers rushed past. Ennis’s mind was buzzing. The odds were stacked against them. Recapture was inevitable.
But then the unthinkable happened.
The bells ceased to ring. Shouts filled the unexpected silence: “Return to the prison!” Surprised soldiers stopped running, shrugged their shoulders, and marched back from where they’d come. At the far end of the alley, Ennis could see a large group of them milling about, awaiting orders.
“Hurry,” Ennis said.
Together, he and his sister fled through the city unmolested. After a long while, they escaped its bounds, fleeing into the night, toward the massive wall rising in the distance.
No alarms sounded.
No shouts chased them.
They were like ghosts haunting the night.
Fifty-Five
The Southern Empire, Hemptown
Bane Gäric
“The prisoners can’t have gotten far, we can still ride them down.” The captain of the guard was a strong-looking man, was probably a mighty warrior, but he wasn’t a thinker. All action and no brains.
“No,” Bane said.
“No?”
“Let them go.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“I don’t expect you to. Focus on Rhea Loren. Inform her of her cousins’ escape. Give her plenty of food and water. Let her rest and think. We leave in two days.”
“How many men?”
“All of them.”
“But that will leave our rear unprotected. The Gates…”
“The Gates are broken. Let our enemies come. We will crush them all.” He waved his hand and dismissed the captain, who didn’t question him further. That was the great thing about Phanecians, and one of the many reasons he’d chosen them for his army. They were obedient to a fault, used to a strict chain of command. The moment they allowed him to lead them it was over, their fates sealed.
Bane wiped the sweat from his brow. He could feel the plague worming inside him. His mark flared in response, fighting an inner battle and trying to extend his life. If I can only survive long enough to defeat my enemies on all sides and show Roan the truth…
Surely Roan would use his own power to heal him. After all, his lifemarked counterpart despised death almost as much as he seemed to hate war. Bane had no problem with death—not if it was for the greater good—but at least they had the hatred of war in common.
This will be the last war, he thought. A necessary evil to achieve peace.
And after the Peacemaker healed him…he would rule the Four Kingdoms alone. Any who refused to make peace would be crushed.
But before all of that, Bane knew he had another ruler to kill, one who should’ve died at the same time as his brothers.
The last of an endangered breed. The last Hoza.
Falcon.
Bane’s deathmark flared with heat and he vanished.
Fifty-Six
The Western Kingdom, Cleo
Gareth Ironclad
Gareth was tired of waiting. Every day, there was another delay, from a disruption in the western supply train, to a bad case of a fever-inducing rash amongst the troops, to some sort of crisis in Bethany that needed to be dealt with.
And on and on.
Did he want to march into battle? Not particularly. But if Ennis Loren was somewhere south of the border…he wanted to try to find him. The man deserved it, even if the rescue attempt only resulted in recovering his body.
Gareth had sent another request for an audience with King Regent Sai Loren, but had received no response. Twice he marched to the castle gates and twice the furia blocked his entry. Storming the castle would be folly and risk the lives of his legionnaires. So he waited. And waited, until the sun fell beneath the city walls and the sky darkened from purple to black. He knew he should eat something, but he wasn’t hungry. Sleeping would help pass the time, but he wasn’t tired either.
Slowly, he climbed the steps to the top of the wall, hoping to see something other than the stone, armor and flesh of a city packed with two armies.
A western sentinel atop the wall stiffened when he saw Gareth, his grip on his bow a little tighter. “At ease, soldier,” Gareth said.
The man grunted a reply, and went back to scanning the horizon for threats. Gareth walked past him, selecting a spot to sit that was in between two of the watchmen. Secluded. He dangled his feet over the edge, thinking about friends. Gwendolyn. Roan. From up here, he pretended like he’d be able to see them if only he looked hard enough. Gwen somewhere to the southeast, seeking revenge. Roan somewhere else, seeking knowledge.
He wondered if either of them had found what they were looking for yet. He wondered if they ever would.
At least they have goals. Desires. What am I searching for?
That was a question he knew he didn’t have an answer to, which was why he was here. To keep moving was the only way to escape from the question. Now, however, he was stuck in place, his thoughts surrounding him like so many enemies.
Once he’d been a boy—then a man—with a purpose, one he’d been born into. He was the Shield, born to save the life of his brother. Gwen said you’re the Sword now. But what did that even mean? That he was alive only to end the lives of others? Or did she mean it more metaphorically, like he was supposed to use his blade to protect the realm?
He spied something the moment before the cry arose from one of the silent watchers. His gaze had just happened to be on the exact spot where the movement occurred, a gap in the great Southron Gates.
A shadow shifting, gray to black to gray, moving quickly. It was still a great distance away, but the sentinels were now on high alert, passing the alarm from man to man until a loud bell clangored from within the city.
More shouts followed, and then the stomping of feet as soldiers were called to arms. He knew he should make his way down the steps to command his own men, but he had generals for that, and anyway, this was the best vantage point to watch the events unfold.
He pushed to his feet. Commanded by several red-clad furia, archers streamed past and around him, training dozens of arrows on the shadow moving toward the city.
No, he thought. Not shadow. Shadows. He could now make out at least two separate forms racing over the flat terrain, as if hunted by a vicious predator. Closer and closer they came, only slowing slightly as they reached the main city gate.
Gareth leaned over to try to make out their faces, but they were blots of ink on a dark background. One of them pounded on the door. “I demand entry!” the voice said, and something about it struck Gareth as familiar.
He frowned, puzzling over the fact.
“Do we shoot them?” one of the archers asked.
A tall furia stood between them, her hand raised in the air. If it fell, Gareth knew they would loose their arrows without delay. “On my signal,” she said with a low growl.
“Wait!” Gareth said. “You don’t even know who they are.”
“They came from Phanes. They are the enemy.”
“They are alone, you fool. They seek asylum.”
The woman didn’t take kindly to the insult, but still, she commanded her men to throw torches to the ground. Flaming arcs soon lit up the night, bouncing and juddering as they hit far below. Several guttered out on impact, but enough remained ablaze to create a circle of light.
“Step into the light!” Gareth shouted. The furia glared at him, her thunder stolen. Gareth held back a victorious grin, barely.
First one form shifted forward, and Gareth was surprised to find a woman, her hair long and brown. She wore a dirty, tattered dress. She looked up at them, her expression weary. Clearly, the voice hadn’t been hers.
The second form moved next. His clothes hung in shredded ribbons around his gaunt form. His beard was as thick as the tangled mess of hair atop his head. It wasn’t until he looked up and Gareth met his eyes that he recognized him. Even then, it was like looking at a stranger wearing someone
else’s eyes.
“Don’t shoot!” Gareth said. “I know him! Open the gates!”
His mind buzzing, Gareth reached the bottom of the steps before the gate had even started moving. Soldiers and furia lined the city entrance. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, chains clanked, the heavy metal doors groaned, and they began to part in the center. They only opened wide enough for a single person to enter.
As before, the woman was first, followed by the man. As soon as they were clear, the doors shuddered closed once more.
The man stepped forward, then fell to his knees.
No, not the man, for this was no stranger.
“Hello Ennis. What brings you to Cleo?” Gareth said.
“I could ask you the same.” Though his voice was familiar, there was something rougher in it now. Harsher. He’s been through a lot in a short time. I know the feeling.
“Get them water and food. Prepare beds.” He said it to no one in particular, but men scurried off all the same, eager to obey orders from a king. Perks of the job. Surprisingly, the furia didn’t interrupt.
Something struck him about the woman. Now that she was closer, the light of a dozen torches shining on her face, he could see the resemblance, even if her hair was several shades darker than her other relations. She escaped on the Forbidden Plains, the man had told him, when he’d inquired as to Rhea’s whereabouts. He’d asked the man how, and he’d said, Her cousin helped her escape. Gaia.
But if this was Gaia, and she’d come from Phanes, then…
“Where is Rhea Loren?” Gareth asked.
Gaia closed her eyes and bit her lip.
Ennis spat in the dirt. “In Hemptown,” he said. “Right where we left her. She’s Bane’s new pet.”
Fifty-Seven
The Western Kingdom, Cleo
Ennis Loren
Everything happened quickly after that.
In truth, Ennis had never expected to set foot on western soil ever again, but he’d had little time to enjoy it. Now he was placed on a cart with Gaia and driven through the city streets, escorted by a dozen dark-eyed furia. Gareth Ironclad walked beside them, as if afraid they’d disappear if he let them out of his sight.