Castle of Lies

by Kiersi Burkhart

  As much as I don’t want to fester in the dark, sneaking out under their noses may be our best shot.

  Bayled

  By morning, the Baron still hasn’t arrived. I emerge from my tent, and Sasel’s downcast face tells me her smoke message went unanswered.

  “Don’t send word back to Four Halls,” I tell Sasel. “Not yet.”

  Nobody needs this news now. Doubt already swirls around my ability to lead—and that’s not unfounded. I have no experience, like Nul said. The men don’t even respect me.

  So I need the one whose respect matters less than his loyalty, if I’m going to do something truly stupid.

  I have to kick Harged’s bedroll a few times before he rolls over and groans, “Just a little longer, Ma.”

  “I’m not your mother.” I kick once more and Harged lets out a grunt. Maybe this explains the name of his company—he seems to be made of actual stone.

  Once he’s conscious, he peers up at me. “What is it, boss? You look upset.”

  “Everything’s fine.” I hope I sound stoic but not angry.

  “Good.” Harged lumbers to his feet. “It’s far too soon for our general to show weakness. The men would get discouraged. They’re already skeptical of a ward from the Northern Republic leading us into battle.”

  I’m too stunned to even be annoyed.

  “So young to be leading so many. Some of the men are happy with the hillman becoming King. Everyone knows how they fight off trolls and wolves down in the Klissen.”

  I blink, not sure how to respond. “Trolls?”

  “Those mountains are riddled with all kinds of ’em. Swamp trolls. Mountain trolls. Sometimes ogres too.”

  He goes on about the other differences between swamp trolls, other low-altitude trolls, and ones from the higher places in the world.

  “Harged,” I interrupt. “Since you know so much about hunting elusive things, what would you think of going on a little mission with me?”

  While the contingent finishes saddling up, I approach Nul se Lan. “What is it, Northerner?” he snaps.

  “I’m leaving with Stone Company to find the Baron—and learn whether this was simply a mistake. If it’s not . . .” I leave it unsaid. We hold each other’s gazes. I will not let Lan see the thinness of my resolve.

  I station Sasel in one of the three functional watchtowers at the Crossing, so she’ll be ready to send a smoke message to the rest of the army when I find out what’s become of the Baron.

  Nul se Lan and the rest of the lords are clear on their orders: resume the march south. The senior officers give me strange looks as we part ways. I think of Thelia and Parsifal’s message, and hope I won’t regret letting Nul se Lan out of my sight. Not that I have a choice—a crime of this magnitude cannot go ignored.

  It will only take a few days. Such a small contingent of men should catch up with the rest of the army easily.

  And my mission will be more than worthwhile if it turns out the Baron has remained loyal after all, and this is all just a case of a missed smoke message.

  “Eyes open, feet firm,” I tell the men of Stone Company, hitting my chest with one closed fist. “Be prepared for anything at the Baron’s fortress.” The donkey with the keg pulls up the rear. One of Harged’s men hands him a full mug of beer.

  I gawk. “It’s first thing in the morning!”

  “The only cure for the liquor shivers, you know, is more liquor.” Harged takes a long sip and his face brightens like the sun. “There we go. Like new again.” He passes the mug back and each of the twenty men take a gulp. “Ready, fellows?”

  “Ready!” they sing back. Another mug is poured and we’re on our way.

  Thelia

  Hours pass before it’s finally quiet. Corene’s fallen asleep in a corner. I take out my hatchet. “You don’t have to go with me, Percy.”

  “As if I won’t.” The firmness in his voice, the stern resolve, takes me by surprise.

  I’m relieved. While I don’t trust Parsifal to do much with his saber, his quick mind is valuable. “Fine. We should leave Corene. She’s in no state to run.”

  I tap Corene’s shoulder to wake her. “We’re going.”

  She wobbles up to a sitting position. “What if you don’t come back?”

  “Don’t worry about that.” I can’t muster anything more comforting. I need my head facing forward if we’re going to survive.

  I gesture for Parsifal to follow me, and he pats the pommel of his saber. Ready. We pull the lever on the door and it creaks open. I peek through the crack.

  It’s a stairway—and not even a hidden side stairway. This door opens onto the main stairs that lead down to the banquet hall. Just great.

  “Theels,” Parsifal whispers. “If everything goes wrong, let them take me. Understand? If they get you, we’re bear food.” He looks me straight in the eyes, and there is something strange and fierce and fearless in them. “I’ve never done anything in my life that really mattered, Theels. This is the one thing I can do.”

  I want to say something, but I don’t know what. Parsifal’s never spoken to me like this. I want to hit him. I just nod, and we slip out together. Corene pulls the door shut behind us.

  Sapphire

  Melidia’s gaze burns into us as we stand in a circle in the temple atrium, our sleek cloaks knitting a ring around the Commander. It feels wrong, alien, to have our briefing here, among the priestesses’ brightly-colored plants.

  Ferah steps forward. “Commander, I will erect the shield immediately. But the Magic spillage here is far greater than we expected. Stripping it off so many living creatures will take time.”

  The Commander nods. “I understand. We must establish a location for the new settlement immediately so we may begin cleaning. Meanwhile, with this much Magic everywhere, we must guard our human charges closely. Report anything strange back to me.” He clears his throat. “Now, my Jaguars, we have encountered one minor complication.”

  Ellze is the first to break formation. “What is it, Commander?”

  “While I know little about the Holy Kingdom’s politics, the Chief of the Klissen informed me that the King has one child, a daughter. Once the King leaves this mortal plane, she will doubtless take command of the army that we lured southward with the Chief’s message.”

  “Our force should encounter them any day now,” Ellze says. He clenches his fists. “We will crush them.” The thrill in his eyes sends a shiver down my spine.

  Commander Valya tilts his head up, gazing into Melidia’s hateful face. “Humans are unpredictable, nephew. And thousands of them inhabit this kingdom. The only thing we can be sure of is that they hold their royalty above everything else. Should their King command it, they would surrender at once. But the King is a useless, drunken mess.”

  His gaze travels across our assembly. “However, under his instruction, his daughter could command the sworn lords to lay down their arms. Unfortunately, she is missing. And if she escapes our grasp, the sworn lords may choose instead to rise up against us. We must locate the Princess, or this operation could become bloodier than we wanted.”

  Bloodier. My Magic heart feels cold. This was supposed to be bloodless.

  “Perhaps she escaped already,” I suggest.

  “I do not believe she could have made it out undetected. I trust my Jaguars to capture her before daylight.”

  He says the word trust with an edge. I cannot help feeling like the Commander’s eyes are on me to make up for the priestess’s refusal to cooperate.

  So we must search for the Princess—not that we know what she looks like.

  We have scoured the entire wing meant for royalty, but she is gone like a ghost. One at a time, Ellze interrogates the nobles we have confined to their rooms. The Princess could be among them, pretending to be a mere courtier. When no one speaks up in response to his questions, he uses the Commander’s technique of threatening them with one bright finger.

  But after dozens of interviews, we learn little. Zyl
ion and the others begin inspecting the rest of the prisoners—looking for young women among them with smooth, clean skin and good teeth.

  The sun is coming up outside, turning the sky a subdued orange. I pause to rest, sitting at the top of the stairs and watching through the window as sunlight spills over the city’s high stone walls. Off in the distance I can make out the foggy shapes of green hills.

  Their country is beautiful. Not that Viteos isn’t, with trees that touch the sky and glass spires—shaped out of sand and Magic—that refract the sun. The giants have always been jealous of what we have made with the land, rather than quarrying and contorting it.

  But the landscape here is different: wide open and green, with more sky than I’ve ever seen. I am far from home.

  Outside, a dark figure strides across the castle wall. It is Ferah, arms in the air like she is attempting to raise the dead.

  A sheen of thin, blue light wafts up from the ground, like vapor rising off water. The glowing edges stitch themselves together, stretching upward one thread at a time through the conduit of her body. The glowing wall reaches toward the sky.

  Her beautiful protective shield will keep the outside out, and everything within—humans, Magic, us—will stay in. It should prevent the spill from spreading any farther, but it also means the concentration of Magic inside the shield will accelerate. We are steeped in it like a thick coat of snow. The sour spicy smell of it floods everything, a tang on the back of your tongue that you can’t swallow.

  Voices. I stand up and look for the source. They are human, but they do not echo the way other voices echo here. Spirits, perhaps? Maybe Melidia is playing a trick on me.

  Footsteps on the stairs. I race down the hall. Whispers travel across the stone walls. Sun streams in the window, turning the marble staircase bloodred.

  Two humans race down the steps, casting shadows a hundred feet long.

  I follow, taking the stairs two at a time. At the faint sound of my footsteps, the one with hair down to her waist spins around and I glimpse a long, thin scar burning down her cheek. Her eyes grow wide and angry. The Princess!

  She shouts and charges back up the stairs toward me. I have to admit that it takes me by surprise—but I’m faster, stronger, and trained. With one leap, I cover the six steps between us. This will hurt both of us, but I need to disable her to bring her before the Commander and prove my promotion was not a mistake.

  Except the Princess takes two sideways steps, out of the path of my tackle, so I fly right past. Curl and roll. I’m grateful for my impenetrable skin as I hit the blunt edges of the steps.

  When I reach the bottom level and stop rolling, I leap back to my feet. Both humans stand five steps up, weapons drawn. Ready to fight. It’s almost cute.

  The Princess’s companion, a man with a flattened face, charges me first with his saber. I raise an arm to block his swing, but he ducks under it. I have to admire his fast feet. He returns with the blade pointed at my exposed chest and swings. It cuts through my clothes but bounces off the hard bronze skin underneath, leaving only a dent in the surface.

  His eyes turn into saucers. “Oh, gobble.” Taking a delicate backward hop up to the step behind him, he points the saber at me again. He thinks I do not notice the Princess charging me from the side, her scimitar drawn.

  I dodge by leaping up onto the same step as the boy—and swipe at him with one leg. My boot catches his ankle, sending him sprawling down the steps. He hits each one with a meaty thunk.

  “Parsifal!” the Princess shouts. I expect her to go after him, but she turns on me instead. The swing of her scimitar is much faster than I expected.

  I jump up one more step. She catches the toe of my boot on her blade, and the fabric tears open. She swipes again. And again. I am forced onto the defensive, backing up one step at a time to avoid the feverish slices of her scimitar, until I am almost to the second level. Someone has trained her well.

  Time to end this.

  On her next swipe, I seize the blade of the scimitar in my bare hand. The edge manages to slide under the skin of my palm so my purple blood oozes out. The Princess tries to yank her weapon back, but she is not strong enough. I squeeze and twist—and the blade snaps in half. The curved tip flies over the banister, crashing to the marble floor far below.

  The Princess’s lips tighten in fury. “I’ll kill you.”

  I do not even think to move out of the way before she hurls herself at me. Her body smashes into mine, the point of her shoulder jabbing between my ribs. It doesn’t hurt, but it sends me flying back against the banister, rattling it.

  I shove her off me and, finally, reach for my own sword. Do not damage her—just subdue her. At the bottom of the stairs, her companion is getting up off the steps, ready to provide support. I need to disable them, fast.

  “You better run,” she shouts at me, just before she reaches over her head and rips another sword off her back. This one is longer, wider, meaner. I will not be able to break it in half. She points the tip at my chest and springs forward.

  I deflect her sword with mine, the metal ringing. I reach for the sword pommel, trying to disarm her, but she spins around and hops up the steps so we are level. She holds the sword out to the side with one hand, like she’s about to take a wide, reckless swing at me—when her other hand comes up bearing a dagger.

  I hear it fly through the air before I see it. On instinct I twist my head away, but the blade catches my ear, and I feel a tiny piece of flesh come off. The knife flies on and sticks in the wall, a minuscule bit of me attached to it.

  I turn back as the Princess’s lips curl up in a feral smile. “Got you.” She looks so proud of herself. My ear will restore itself in a week or two, but she doesn’t know that.

  She swings the sword again and I parry. Another swing, a step back. A swing and a step and she has me backed up against the banister. How did she manage to corner me? The only way out from here is up.

  Being made for humans, the banister’s not high—it’s easy to jump straight up and land on top. Once I have my footing, I crouch and spring again.

  The Princess’s mouth falls open as I sail through the air. I land on the flat edge of her outstretched sword, and my immense weight forces her arms to collapse. Using the blade’s slight buouancy as a lift, I jump again. The sword skitters down the steps and she lets out a curse.

  I land on the other side of her, so we stand back to back, and drop to my knees. I swipe one foot backward and my leg connects with hers. With a spin, I catch her as she falls and deliver three small taps to her temple. Light fizzes around my finger, and she crumples into my arms.

  “No!” The boy has managed to get to his feet. He races up the steps toward me, saber in his hand again.

  I duck out of the way. “Sorry,” I say in his language, hoisting the Princess with one arm. I grab him in my other and headbutt him.

  He falls unconscious. The day has barely begun, and all my hopelessness has been swept away. Commander Valya will be thrilled.

  Chapter 9

  Bayled

  The road through the thick, scarlet trees is narrow and winding, and disappears often only to pick back up a hundred feet away. Saplings and bushy ferns grow over the path, as if no one has maintained it in many cycles. I don’t know if it’s autumn turning the leaves red or if they always look this way, but framing the dark tree bark, it makes me think of charred bones and flesh.

  “This all seems like a bad idea,” Harged mumbles as our horses push thorugh the dense brush. “Deserters ain’t good people.”

  I sigh. “Nobody asked you, did they? You’re the muscle here, not the brains.” It popped out—I regret it right away.

  Harged doesn’t look offended. He nods thoughtfully and says, “Guess that’s true.”

  “Sir!” one of the men calls in a whisper-shout. “There’s noise out in the woods.”

  “What kind of noise?” I bring Halrendar to a halt while a soldier trots up on his horse.

  “Rust
ling. I think someone’s following us.”

  “Have you seen anything?” I drop my voice. It couldn’t be Nul se Lan way out here—he’s back on the Low Road with the army.

  The man shakes his head. “Whoever it is, they’re hiding themselves good.”

  “What do you think it is, boss?” asks Harged in a whisper.

  “Could be the Baron’s soldiers.” Though we’re still another day’s journey from the Durnhal fortress.

  Harged stiffens. “What if they attack?”

  “That’s why I brought you.” If we have to fight for our lives, having Harged Halen on my side seemed like my best chance for survival.

  We move on in silence, ears trained on the woods. Still, nothing. Whoever was tailing us must know they’ve been found out, and won’t return until they’re ready to make a move.

  As the sun dips behind the tree canopy, I call a halt. “We’re pitching camp for the night. Let’s take the time to hunt dinner and prepare for tomorrow.” I dismount and let Halrendar go sniffing around for greens to eat.

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” asks Harged as the men start unloading their horses. “We’re squatting squorks here. Someone—such as a deserter—could storm us in the middle of the night.”

  I pull one of my bags off my horse and rifle through it. “That could happen anywhere we stopped.”

  “I don’t think we should take any chances in these woods. If we keep moving, we can keep watching.” Fear doesn’t come naturally to his coarse face.

  “I said we’re stopping. We need rest.”

  Harged’s eyes drop to his saddle. “ ’Course, boss.”

  The last few days have caught up to me, and my abdomen gives a little lurch. “Finish setting up camp,” I tell the men. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Harged frowns. “You shouldn’t go off alone, boss.”

  I spin on him. “Stop telling your superior officer what to do. The King put me in charge of all of this, even that cratertooth Nul se Lan. If I want to go have some privacy, that’s what I’ll do.” Ignoring his shocked face, I head out into the trees.