by AJ Nuest
“Can you command him from here?” Caedmon placed a flat hand to his brow, shielding his eyes as the piercing arc of Helios’ bright face crested the horizon.
Unlikely, but before she had a chance to answer, Dart took wing and soared south, his body a dark pinprick against the flat misty clouds creasing the morning sky. Rowena sighed and shook her head. So much for Plan B.
Caedmon dropped his hand and his nostrils flared as he deep inhaled. “Do you detect an odd aroma?” He glanced around the room. “A fell odor is permeating this chamber.”
She spun toward the door and grabbed Caedmon’s arm. Faint gray vapors crept under the seam, blanketing the floor in a ghostly smog. Dammit. It was anyone’s guess what rank, noxious poison Gaelleod was pumping into the room. “They know we’re here.”
“Yes. And they also attack from above.”
“What?” She whirled a second time and followed Caedmon’s line of sight through the glass ceiling. In the distance, an inky cloud coalesced above the dark outline of the forest. But that didn’t make any sense. Seviere’s legions couldn’t attack from overhead. They didn’t have the capacity for flight. Unless…
Oh no… Her fingers whitened on Caedmon’s bicep as the strength left her knees. Reddeck had told them a band of rogue Dreggs had split from his clan. Somehow, Seviere had alerted them to her and Caedmon’s presence, and then ordered them to fly in and claim the coveted prize.
A sickly sweet film coated the inside of her mouth. Like a thick syrup, the putrid smog trickled down the back of her throat and invaded her lungs. Rowena coughed, pressing the back of her hand to her nose. No, no, this was all going horribly wrong. She frantically searched the room, hoping against hope she’d missed something they could use to smash the glass, any doorway or window through which they could escape.
Caedmon seized her shoulder, his finger aimed at the sky. “Look again! There, in the lead!”
The Dregg formation shifted and morphed, coalescing into a massive black arrow. And riding a draft before them, guiding them ever onward, her white and brown-spotted falcon championed their course.
A grin nearly split her face in two and she released a loud whoop! Those weren’t Braedric’s Dreggs. They were hers!
Her breath soured her tongue as she exhaled and she wavered unsteadily. Her stomach sank with the weight of a stone. Rhythmic pounding thrummed in her ears and she frowned, cupping a trembling hand over her brow. Her pulse. It came too fast. Reedy and weak.
A glance at Caedmon and her hope snuffed out like a flame in the wind. His skin was pasty. His cheeks white as a ghost. He reeled forward, and icy tendrils of fear encased her heart as he crumpled to his knees.
She clenched and released her hands. Her fingers tingled. The digits went numb.
A paralyzing agent. Like Snow White’s poisoned apple, Gaelleod’s vile fumes brought them eternal sleep.
Seismic gongs resonated overhead as the Dreggs bombarded the metal beams, landing one after the next. Their leathery wings remained extended, a sea of ridged umber umbrellas opened against a canvas of cornflower blue. The sound waves rattled her bones. Thick fists hailed against the ceiling. Glass shattered under the violent barrage. Needled barbs plunged from above like acid rain and she willed her hand to lift, protect her face, but the useless appendage dangled lifeless at her side.
Wait. Before she lost consciousness. Before it was too late. They mustn’t leave without the armoire. It couldn’t stay with Gaelleod. All would be lost.
Reddeck pounded to the chamber floor and the earth quaked beneath her feet. Her lips moved, but no words emerged. A reach for him with her dead arm and the ground tilted.
She fell.
Chapter Six
Caedmon filled his lungs to their full capacity and slowly exhaled. Crouched at his left, hidden amid the forest bordering the Austiere castle grounds, Rowena breathed deeply and mimicked his grateful sigh. They locked gazes and shared a smile of mutual understanding; he stole a sweet taste of her ruby lips. Never before had the simple drawing of air seemed such a blessing. If not for the Dreggs’ aptly timed arrival, he and his love would have assuredly fallen prey to the sedating qualities of Gaelleod’s malicious fog.
Once removed from the debilitating fumes infecting Seviere’s domed chamber, Caedmon’s faculties had gradually returned, aided by the clear high winds buffeting his cheeks as the Dregg legions arrowed them through the sky toward the Black Forest. Rowena’s eyes had sparked aware and alert as well by the time they’d landed and, after a small sip of the sacred water she’d procured from the Pool of Tears, the last of the poison’s fatal symptoms departed their systems. Without haste, they’d secured their mounts and steered them south for the realm of Austiere.
Yet confusion ensued and the horses danced a nervous jig when the Dregg refused to stand clear of their path, and the flap of ridged wings grew increasingly agitated at the concept of Rowena’s departure. Due the trouble he and his lady had previously encountered, it seemed Reddick and his small clutch of faithful followers were displeased that their white-haired goddess should vacate the protection of their watchful eye.
After hearing out their concerns, she deferred to their wishes, and agreed to Caedmon’s suggestion that the Dreggs follow on foot through the forest. Though their travel by ground was more cumbersome than flight, an air approach would have alerted anyone within direct line of sight to their presence, and such a risk he was ill afford to take.
Chains jangled and the pointed spikes of the Austiere portcullis grated against stone as the drawbridge gaped a toothless yawn from its upright position. Adrenaline surged through his veins and Caedmon squinted at the black robes and high-spirited steeds of the emerging riders.
At last. The exact circumstance they’d been hoping for. A squadron of Braedric’s hashishans departed the castle grounds and rode straight toward the trees.
Given the grim undertone of Violet’s prophecy, Caedmon had dismissed an unmasked approach toward the castle. Three days he and his lady had been missing and, if history spoke true, Braedric had undoubtedly used their absence to his advantage, declaring Sorceress Rowena a traitor in league with Seviere. If he and his lady hoped to avoid arrest, they must sneak inside undetected, hasten to the king’s bedside and plead their case, detailing everything they’d learned during their stay in her realm.
Rowena had concurred, and suggested mayhap their safe entry could be gained by delaying a patrol of palace guards. Without any untoward influences to sway their beliefs, perchance the men would grant a fair audience. She and Caedmon could explain their disappearance and swear their steadfast allegiance to King Austiere. Whence accomplished, she was certain their brothers-in-arms could be easily convinced to ferret the two of them through the castle walls.
Yet, in the hours since he and his lady-wife had skulked along the forest edge, the rustle of leathery Dregg wings a continuous murmur against the trees, not once had a garrison of Austiere guards rode out for their regular patrols. And the archers whom usually stood watch on the high bastions of the crenellated walls were suspiciously absent. Apprehension had twisted his stomach, his dread continuously building like boulders stacked upon his shoulders.
The only activity which occurred with any regularity? The periodic dispatching of Braedric’s venomous black-robed assassins.
Their determined comings and goings prickled the hairs on Caedmon’s neck. Somewhat more than the dire illness of a failing king was remiss inside Castle Austiere, and the only way to determine the certainty behind such an ominous portend was to follow their original plan and gain a much-needed audience with the king.
Following a brief discussion, he and Rowena had determined to lie in wait, subdue the first hashishans whence came within range and then use their black robes to cloak themselves in the guise of the enemy. Employing the aid of the Dreggs, hopefully their strategy could be accomplished with little to no fuss.
The thunder of approaching hoof beats vibrated the center of his chest and Caed
mon drew his sword, fisting the hilt in his hand. “Stand at the ready,” he whispered.
“And remember, we don’t want them dead.” Rowena flicked her wrists and her silver blades sprang forth to the centers of her palms. “We just need their clothes.”
The first of five hashishans crashed into the forest and branches snapped as the Dreggs lunged in on all sides, veined wings extended to form a shadowy prison. A volley of chittering shrieks rent the air as their sharp talons scored the ground. The horses reared in a frenzied panic, screaming and dislodging their riders.
Caedmon shoved through the snarling Dreggs and swept the edge of his blade to within a breath of the lead rider’s neck. “Afternoon, gentlemen. Care to loan us your attire?”
With nary a word between them, the five men scrambled to their feet and hastily disrobed.
Caedmon and his lady donned the voluminous uniforms of their hostages. A quick rustle through their supplies and they rimmed their eyes with the kohl from his pack, mounted their steeds and rode at full speed for the castle gates.
Not one glance was spared in their direction as he and Rowena dismounted inside the courtyard. Indeed, even as they ascended the stairs and entered the castle proper, the threat of discovery vacated his list of worries in favor of other, more vexing, concerns.
None among the royal guard attended their stations and, in their place, Braedric’s shrouded heathens teemed throughout the halls. Caedmon cursed under his breath. Their numbers far exceeded his earlier estimation. His father’s castle had been overrun. How and, more importantly, in what dark corner had Braedric been secreting these men?
His gut knotted and he gritted his teeth over the way such an unwelcome transformation had occurred within a mere span of days. Such a circumstance was unheard of, unless… He glanced toward his love and the smoldering fury in her gaze confirmed his suspicions. The wheels to Braedric’s treasonous plot had been set in motion seasons in advance.
Most of the hashishans milled about in loosely knit groups, as if awaiting orders or mayhap the announcement of some important decree. And not the least of them bore the anxious mannerisms which oft accompanied the defenders of a kingdom teetering upon the brink of war.
Great tits of the nine, where was Denmar? He would have never willingly allowed such an incursion of his domain.
Rowena cleared her throat, her footfalls even and measured as they climbed the grand staircase. “Some of them seem familiar. Look at their eyes. I could swear several of these hashishans are recruits from the royal guard.”
Caedmon scanned a passing garrison before jerking his focus back to the landing. He turned at Rowena’s side and they mounted the remaining steps to the second floor. His lady’s assessment was frightfully accurate. Half, if not more, of the brows above the veiled faces bore the lighter skin of his father’s lineage, the hue of their kohl-rimmed eyes glinting either green or blue.
A conversion, then. The lesser ranks of the royal guard had joined with Braedric’s henchmen. Yet had the lads voluntarily converted, or had enlistment been forced by their newly appointed king?
“My God, Caedmon.” Rowena side-stepped three scimitar laden hashishans walking shoulder to shoulder along the corridor. “Has Braedric already claimed the throne? Are we too late?”
Anxious sweat beaded on Caedmon’s brow and he increased his pace. “Let us pray not.”
His lady had honed in on his worst apprehensions…and yet her inquiry contained the only credible explanation. Of course the guard would take up arms in a way which best served their king. Moreover, their nonchalance was a direct reflection of their sovereign’s apathetic demeanor. Why should they suffer preparation for battle when the king had not yet ordered them to war?
A brown-eyed viper approached and Caedmon fisted his hands against the urge to seize the man and choke some answers from his throat. What contract had Braedric signed with Seviere? Why were the walls left undefended? And what of his kinsmen, those loyal to King Austiere? Where and how had Braedric disposed of the elder, more-seasoned guard?
He leapt the steps two at a time to the level housing the king’s chambers. The moment he’d seen to his father’s health and relayed the details of their errand, Caedmon would search out Denmar and make his return known. Though Braedric may be willing to surrender the realm based on nothing more than a backhanded promise from their sworn enemy, Caedmon would roust his comrades and chase his half-brother straight into hell before he permitted the viperous Seviere a seat on the Austiere throne.
His steps slowed as he approached his father’s suite of rooms. Only one hashishan awaited outside, slouched against the door, using the pointed tip of a dagger to clear the grime from under his nails. The man’s blatant disregard for the respect due his post banked the embers of rage seething in Caedmon’s chest.
His fist shot out before he’d given the command and the hashishan’s head snapped back. A dull thud echoed against the stone walls as his skull bounced against the door. The man blinked, wavered unsteadily and slumped in a heap to the floor. “Alrighty then.” Rowena nudged the unconscious infidel with the toe of her boot. “I don’t suppose the words ‘anger management’ mean anything to you?”
Caedmon glanced up and down the vacant corridor before tossing the man’s limp form over his shoulder. “This delinquent holds no more esteem for the king’s welfare than he does loyalty for the crown. If Denmar ever spied a guard being so lax, he would have him drawn and quartered for treason.”
He grabbed the handle of the chamber door and shouldered through, dumped the hashishan in the corner and turned to survey the king’s receiving room. Empty, though a fire crackled in the hearth and the candles were lit. A tray of untouched food occupied the table beside his father’s favorite chair and a crumpled blanket lay discarded atop the padded footstool.
The murmur of mingled voices drifted in from behind the closed bedroom door and Caedmon raked the black shroud from his head, his determined stride quickly commandeering the distance. A twist of the handle and he burst inside his father’s bedchamber.
A festooned chancellor held the royal crown over Braedric’s bowed head, his robed vestments befitting a coronation of noble blood. His half-brother knelt at their father’s bedside, wrists crossed over his decorated chest, hands clasping the orb and scepter bequeathed their sovereign’s rule. A chronicler occupied the large table before the fire, his quill scratching across parchment, fulfilling his sworn oath to the archives by recording the last moments of a dying king.
Helios wept. The passing of the crown.
“Halt!” The word leapt from Caedmon’s throat and the chronicler’s quill paused.
Silence descended. Braedric lifted his head, turned to face Caedmon. Fandorn stepped from a draped alcove, the light in his gray gaze altering from surprise, to relief, to sorrow in the blink of an eye.
A death cough rattled the king’s chest and Rowena rushed past Caedmon to where his father lay propped on his sleeping pallet, his head resting on a mound of downy pillows. Smoothing a long strand of thinning hair back from the king’s brow, she placed a tender kiss on his pale forehead. “We’ve returned, my king. Caedmon and I are home.”
“Traitors in our midst!” Braedric rose to his feet, his motions unhurried, almost as if he cared neither the outcome of Caedmon’s arrival nor the ensuing panic he’d raised with his call.
The chronicler’s scratching resumed.
A small smile darted across Braedric’s face, there and gone so quickly Caedmon was hard pressed to determine if he’d merely imagined it. Something more untoward than a preemptive passing of power transpired within the draped windows of this room.
Not a moment later, two hashishans charged through the door. The wide blades of their unsheathed scimitars reflected the orange candlelight, glowing as if the metal were heated to raze and score. A shiver etched Caedmon’s skin, enhanced by the hum of silver along his spine as he withdrew his sword and aimed the sharp tip at his brother. Though he may taint these
proceedings with his foul lies, the crown did not yet sit upon Braedric’s head, and the blade of Caedmon’s sword would run red with his blood before Braederic dared threaten all Caedmon held dear.
Braedric crossed to the sideboard, the end of his fur-trimmed cape trailing along the floor, and decanted a measure of wine into a silver goblet. He swung the bottom of the cup toward Rowena. “Get that vile conspirator away from the king.”
Caedmon spun and affected his battle stance, placing himself in direct line of the hashishans’ path. “Touch her and you shall never touch another so long as you draw air.”
“Tomas?”
The confusion in his love’s voice bade him pause and Caedmon risked a glimpse over his shoulder. Rowena stood back from his father, frowning at the shorter of the two men. “Tomas, it’s me.” She tugged the black covering from her head and shrugged the remaining hashishan’s attire off her leather fighting ensemble, tossing the garments aside. “What are you doing? You know I would never hurt the king.”
The hashishans traded a glance and hesitantly lowered their weapons.
Braedric slammed his goblet to the sideboard, strode across the room and wrenched the scimitar from the taller hashishan’s hand. Alarm sizzled along Caedmon’s nerve-endings. His heart stuttered. A thrust of blade and a grunt widened Tomas’ blue eyes. The young man seized Braedric’s shoulder, bending slightly at the waist. His skin paled and, as Braedric withdrew, Tomas’ gaze fell to the leather wrapped handle protruding from his gut.
“You shall never defy me again.” Braedric’s low warning soured the air the like the sulfurous breath of a dragon. He returned to the sideboard and shook out a linen towel to clean the scarlet evidence of Tomas’ murder from his hands.
The acidic bite of fear curdled Caedmon’s tongue as Tomas toppled forward. The notched end of the blade wobbled, pointing straight up from his spine, mottled gore and bits of bone slipping down the sides. Rowena stepped in the boy’s direction, but Caedmon stayed her with a subtle shake of his head. Not the threat of a dozen hashishans’ outweighed the dangers they faced in this room. Braedric’s quest for the throne, his double-sided mongering with Seviere, to have everything he’d ever desired so close and yet still outside his reach, had driven the reigning prince quite mad.