The Blind King

by Lana Axe

  Shock came over the faces of the assembled men. “Your Majesty, this is outrageous!” one of them declared. “A woman? On the council?”

  Efren held up a hand to silence them. “She is not a member of the council, but I would have her remain at my side. I value her opinion as I do yours.” He had no wish to shock his councilors so soon by officially making Ryshel part of the council. If they managed to save the kingdom from destruction, however, Efren had a few such changes in mind.

  The councilman was obviously insulted, but he managed to hold his tongue. Ryshel looked upon the men’s faces and smiled before taking a seat next to her husband.

  “What news of the war?” Efren asked.

  “Your Majesty,” General Willem began, “your brother was slain by mages. He had not encountered them before, and we were not prepared to face them. They threw fire at us, frightening our horses. Once we were dismounted and our formation in disarray, the Na’zoran cavalry charged us. King Gannon fell in the first wave, despite his valiant efforts.”

  A silence came over the council chambers out of respect for the fallen king. Finally, Efren asked, “By whose hand did he fall?”

  Willem shifted uneasily in his seat. “The king’s horse was struck by magefire. When he was dismounted, he was trampled. It is not the glorious death he deserved.”

  “Agreed,” a dark-haired council member said. “We should record that he died in hand-to-hand combat, surrounded by enemies. His valor must be clearly documented.”

  Efren considered it for a moment. “My brother fought bravely through many battles. The manner of his life matters more than the manner of his death. We shall record it honestly—all of it.”

  There was no argument from the assembled men. A few of them nodded, accepting Efren’s decision. Gannon had indeed been a brave leader.

  Resuming the conversation, Efren said, “We must find a way to combat their mages. Undoubtedly, there is a way to defeat them.”

  “You have said yourself that we do not have the time or resources to train our own mages,” Councilman Faril replied. “I see no way of fighting them other than what we’re already doing.”

  “That strategy seems to be inadequate,” Efren replied. “Were there archers among Gannon’s regiment?”

  “There were,” General Willem replied. “Unfortunately, they were not ordered to fire until the mages were almost upon us. Had they loosed their arrows sooner, we may have rid ourselves of a few. We had no idea whether mages were among them until they opened fire. They were dressed no differently than the other soldiers.”

  “It would be unwise of them to stand out,” the king stated. “They would be an easy target if they wore brightly colored robes.”

  “Then what do you suggest?” a bearded councilman asked.

  “We will have to infiltrate the Na’zoran army. We need someone on the inside to carry out a secret plan.”

  The councilmen looked at each other, each hoping he would not be chosen for the task. The king’s word was law, and none of them would be able to refuse the appointment should he be chosen.

  “Your Majesty,” General Willem said. “Let me find someone who is young and brave. Don’t send one of these old fools.”

  Ryshel pressed her hand to her lips to stop herself from laughing.

  “I wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” Efren replied. “We must send a brave soldier who would also pass as a noble. I have an idea that will require someone with quick wit, not someone with a quick sword. He must be tall as well. With luck, he will encounter no resistance.”

  General Willem wore a puzzled expression. Clearly, he did not understand what the king had planned. Whatever it was, he hoped it would work. “I will do as you request,” he said.

  “Once you’ve chosen someone, bring him here. The three of us will go over the details together.” He had no intention of telling the other council members about his plan. They would not approve, and they probably wouldn’t understand it. They preferred overt action to secrecy, but this was a delicate matter.

  Chapter 17

  Prince Ivor stood proudly, observing the village his troops had taken in the night. Most of the citizens had fled into the woods in terror, making the conquest an easy one. As a result, most of the buildings stood perfectly intact, meaning there was one less town to be repaired before Na’zoran citizens could occupy it. Of course, the war was far from over. There were still many other villages to be taken, and the major cities of Ra’jhou had yet to be touched.

  The prince’s troops gathered near him in the center of town, awaiting further orders. A single rider approached, his horse running with all speed. Ivor regarded it carefully, wondering if it bore a message from his father. No doubt, the king had some new plan and would demand he return home at once to hear it.

  The messenger slowed as he approached the prince. Dismounting and bowing, he presented a sealed letter. “For your eyes only, Your Highness,” he said.

  Ivor took the paper, rolling his eyes. It bore the king’s seal, so he knew what it would say. As he began to read, he realized this was not at all what he had expected. This was not a command to return home. Instead, this message contained fantastic news.

  With a laugh, the prince announced. “King Gannon of Ra’jhou has been killed. The kingdom now lies in the hands of a useless blind man with no education or experience in war!”

  The soldiers cheered, raising their arms high in the air. The war was sure to come to a swift end, thanks to the death of Gannon. All that remained was for Na’zora to march to the castle and dispose of the new king. There was a good chance that many of Ra’jhou’s nobles would reject a blind man as their sovereign, and others would step forward to claim the throne. This division among the upper class would provide even more of an advantage to the Na’zorans.

  “Ra’jhou’s citizens will be in mourning, and the government will be in disarray,” Ivor announced. Once he gained control of the kingdom’s lands, his father would surely place him in charge of Ra’jhou. Tyrol would never consider leaving his comfortable palace in Na’zora for a cold, drafty castle at the base of a mountain. Ivor, on the other hand, would be more than happy to take charge of the land. He would be far enough from his father to make decisions of his own. Perhaps, in time, he would lead forces into the mountains to conquer the dwarves. There were great riches to be found in those mountains, and Ivor was looking forward to obtaining them. A peaceful life without fighting was not something he desired. This war had only heightened his desire to fight, and he intended to do it for the rest of his life.

  The men continued to celebrate, some of them dancing and singing. One man held a hand over his eyes, stumbling blindly around to mock the new king of Ra’jhou. While most of the soldiers laughed, one of them approached the “blind” man from behind, grabbing his leg. As the blind soldier toppled to the ground, he shouted, “Mercy for the blind!” His words were followed by thunderous applause and laughter.

  Ivor shook his head, a grin on his face. “The blind king shall find no mercy from Na’zora! Let us make sure the citizens of Ra’jhou don’t expect the war to end with the death of their king. We wouldn’t want them becoming complacent. We shall take the large city to the north!”

  The men shouted their approval and hurried to their mounts. The prince hopped onto his horse, raising his sword high in the air. “We ride!” he shouted, pointing his sword to the north.

  For several hours, the company rode north until they came within sight of Ra’jhou’s central market district. If it fell, this would be the biggest loss for Ra’jhou so far. Hundreds of men, women, and children lived in this city, which was also home to the majority of the kingdom’s olive trees.

  Prince Ivor commanded, “Form the line!”

  His troops readied themselves for the charge. They would ride into the city, trampling all citizens in their path. Mages took their places in the center, which gave them protection from most attacks, though it was unlikely anyone would fight back. There were a few ci
ty guards to contend with, but no standing militia was present in this area.

  “Charge!” Ivor screamed as they spurred their horses forward into the city

  As the thunder of hooves bore down on their city, the citizens began to scream and panic. Women grabbed at their children, husbands reached for their wives. In the chaos, dozens of people were trampled, while others managed to flee to the safety of a large storehouse.

  Prince Ivor shouted, “Hold!” The riders came to a stop, gathering near the edge of town. “Mages,” he commanded, “burn the storehouse!”

  The mages rode forward, approaching the building with caution. It was a simple wooden structure that would burn easily under their fire spells. Together, they began conjuring the flames, focusing their energy into their hands. One after the other, they unleashed fire upon the building, which quickly became engulfed in flames.

  With a smirk, Ivor rode forward, followed by his troops. “Nowhere to hide now,” he said. “There shall be no survivors to carry word.”

  As he approached the storehouse, he could hear the frightened cries of the people inside. He found it strange that they were not running out to escape the smoke and flame inside. Coming down from his horse, he approached the door. As he pushed it open, he beheld a grim sight. The people inside were already burning, their shrieks piercing the air. The extreme heat of the magefire had ignited vast stores of olive oil within the storehouse.

  Glass containers burst, spraying oil onto the dozens of wooden crates as well as onto the burning citizens. The flames continued to spread more rapidly, ascending the oil-soaked walls to the roof. The weakened structure could no longer stand. In an instant, it crumpled, crushing the people inside.

  As Ivor stood enjoying the grim spectacle before him, a heavy beam crashed down from aloft. It tumbled heavily to the ground, crushing him beneath it. His eyes stared up at the sky as his men rushed to his aid. It was too late. His eyes no longer beheld any sight.

  Chapter 18

  Word of the prince’s death reached King Tyrol four days later. As Ivor’s troops returned, they were not hailed as the victors they had hoped to be. They were greeted with silence and uncertainty.

  Lieutenant Jak, who had served as right hand to the prince, stepped forward to command the troops and lead them back home. He stood before the king to deliver the grim news, his dark eyes full of sadness. “It was the magefire, Your Majesty, which brought down the storehouse. The flames were simply too hot.” He held his head low as he spoke, refusing to make eye contact with the king.

  Tyrol sighed and looked off into the distance at no particular spot. He clasped his hands behind his back and tapped a finger. “I cannot hold the mages responsible,” he said. “They are far too valuable to condemn over this.” How would he achieve glory without the mages? Dismissing them was out of the question, nor could he punish any of them. He had spent a fortune to have them trained, and they were the key to his victory. There was no other choice than to forgive the mages this error and move on. His son was gone, and he needed the mages if he was to succeed. “Young Prince Rayne is all that remains of my bloodline now,” he announced. “You are dismissed until I am ready to make my next move.”

  Jak bowed low and backed away before turning to leave. Tyrol sat heavily upon his throne, contemplating the future. His takeover of Ra’jhou was going as planned, and soon he would control both kingdoms. Without Ivor, he would name his grandson as sovereign over the new territory. Ivor would have met with far more opposition from the nobles. Rayne was sure to be accepted more readily since his mother was a Ra’jhouan princess. Though Tyrol would be the one in true control, the citizens he planned to rule would accept and come to love the young prince. He was certain of it.

  The question now remained of what to do with Aubriana. She had served her purpose as the “damsel in distress” and brought her brother riding to her aid. Now that he was out of the picture and Ivor was gone, there was no need to keep her.

  Tyrol motioned a servant to his side. “Take a message to Princess Aubriana. Tell her she is forthwith banished from the kingdom of Na’zora. She has until nightfall to vacate the premises or she shall be executed.”

  “Right away, Your Majesty,” the servant said before hurrying away.

  Arriving at Aubriana’s chambers, he shoved open the door without knocking. Startled by the servant’s sudden appearance, Aubriana jumped to her feet. Shala approached the servant impatiently, her eyes scolding.

  “How dare you come in here without asking permission? The princess is not accepting visitors.”

  “The princess has been banished. She is to leave by nightfall on pain of execution. The king has issued this command and expects her to follow it.”

  “My son,” Aubriana said, her eyes pleading. “Did he give me leave to take my son?”

  The servant shifted uneasily. “He made no mention of the child.” With those words, he quickly exited the room.

  “I can’t leave without Rayne, Shala,” she said, reaching for the maid’s arms.

  Shala looked to each side, searching for the right words to comfort her mistress. Finding none, she hugged the shaking princess close to her heart.

  “I must speak to the king,” Aubriana said, pulling away from Shala. Quickly, she turned and ran down the corridor to the throne room. Two guards stood at the ready, barring her entrance.

  “Please,” she said. “I must speak with King Tyrol.”

  Glancing at each other, the men slowly stepped aside. Aubriana swallowed hard as she opened the door and stepped inside. Shala followed a few steps behind.

  “I did not request an audience with you,” Tyrol declared upon seeing her.

  “Your Majesty, I beg you to reconsider this banishment. Do not separate me from my son!” Aubriana fell to her knees at the king’s feet. “I beg you,” she repeated.

  “Your husband is dead!” he screamed. “Rayne is my heir, and you have no purpose here. Now get out of here before I reconsider banishment and have you burned!” He kicked with his boot, shoving the princess roughly to the side. “If I suspect for a moment you have betrayed me to Ra’jhou, I will not hesitate to execute your son. Remember that when you are considering giving away any secrets you might know. I can always produce another heir.”

  Shala rushed to help the princess back to her feet. “Please, come with me,” she whispered. “You mustn’t provoke the king.”

  Aubriana sobbed. The king turned his head, refusing to look upon the grieving mother. Barely able to walk, Shala supported the princess’s weight as they walked together back to her chambers. Gently helping her onto the bed, Shala busied herself packing the princess’s belongings as quickly as she could.

  A second girl arrived to help, but Shala said, “I need you to see that a carriage is prepared to take us back to Ra’jhou.” With a curtsy, the girl hurried away.

  “My son,” Aubriana whispered. “My son.” She wept into her pillows, her body quaking slightly.

  Lady Bartin, who had become a close friend to Aubriana over the years, quietly entered the princess’s chambers. She sat on the bed and leaned in toward the grieving mother. “I will do whatever I can to help you. I’ll keep an eye on Rayne and write to you when I can.” Rubbing Aubriana’s shoulder, she added, “He will be safe. I swear it.”

  Aubriana sat up slowly and looked upon her friend. “Thank you,” she said. Wrapping her arms around her, she squeezed her tightly. “I wish I could say goodbye to him,” she said.

  Shala paused in her packing to look at Lady Bartin, who shook her head. It would be impossible to bring Rayne here. The king would interpret it as an attempted kidnapping and have them all hanged.

  “I shall give him your love,” Lady Bartin promised. “If your brother proves victorious in this war, then you will be able to return and collect little Rayne.”

  “Gannon is a brave man, but there are no mages in Ra’jhou. There is no hope of victory.”

  Lady Bartin’s heart sank. Aubriana had not been
informed of Gannon’s death. The grim news would have to come from her. “My dear Aubriana,” she began, “your brother King Gannon was killed in battle about a week ago.”

  Aubriana pulled away from her, staring into her gray eyes. “Gannon is dead? Why has no one told me?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you knew.”

  Covering her face with her hands, Aubriana cried softly. Not only had she lost her son this day, but she had also lost her brother. She wept not for her fallen husband, whom she had grown to despise. His passing meant nothing. With a heavy sigh, she tried to focus her thoughts toward home, where Efren and Ryshel would welcome her. Efren had always been a clever boy, but even he wouldn’t be capable of ending this war. Ra’jhou was far too weak. She would have to find her own way. Whatever the price, she would find a way to reunite with her child.

  Chapter 19

  It was early afternoon, and the sun was shining high overhead. In a rare moment of leisure, Efren and Ryshel walked arm in arm throughout the castle grounds. The air smelled of smoke as they passed by the smithy, where weapons of war were being prepared. The scent of ash and the sound of hammers served as constant reminders that the kingdom’s fate was still uncertain.

  As the pair approached the front courtyard, the wheels of a carriage echoed against the stone. Ryshel peered curiously ahead, wondering if her father had finally arrived to act as advisor to Efren. To her surprise, Aubriana stepped out of the carriage and quickly ascended the castle steps.

  “Aubriana is here,” she said to her husband. “She’s returned from Na’zora.”

  “This can’t be a good sign,” Efren replied. “Take me to her.”

  They headed for the entrance, their hurried footsteps echoing on the stone path. When they reached the top of the stairs, Aubriana stood before them, her eyes full of sadness. Her appearance was disheveled, and she was plainly exhausted.