The Golden Key Chronicles

by AJ Nuest

  Clods of dirt flew into the air as Denmar spurred his horse along the ranks of the guard. “Who shall ride out with me and usher in the wrath of Austiere fury against our enemies!”

  “Aye!” Shouts reverberated against the sky and armor clanged as the men extolled Denmar’s battle cry.

  Caedmon muttered a dark curse even as his heart iced in his chest. Denmar spoke true, and to leave things so grim between he and his lady, their last words issued in a fit of ardent despair, would deal her the cruelest blow of all.

  He wheeled Zephyrus around and the horse jigged to the side as several shouts rang out from his men. “Movement on the horizon! They come! They come! We ride to war!”

  Reigning his horse full circle, Caedmon skimmed the jagged line of the cliffs. A spattering of royal blue tunics crested the ridge and sprinted at full speed toward their waiting mounts. Behind them, a wave of black surged and spilled through the jutting boulders, unfurling like the tentacles of a giant kraken.

  He spun in the saddle and met the tearful gaze of his utmost love. She pressed three fingertips to her lips, her white steed dancing beneath the firm grip she held on his reins. The blue-white arc of a lightning strike seared her image in his mind for all eternity as she blew him a kiss of farewell. Her thighs tightened around the saddle as Belial reared then lunged for open ground.

  No! She mustn’t leave until he’d righted things between them. Until they’d shared a parting kiss and her silken cheek had warmed the hardened skin of his palm.

  “Hashishans to me!”

  Caedmon whirled back to the cliffs at his brother’s fierce command. A group of Braedric’s henchmen split from the group. The wind whipped their robes into a demonic blur as they rode muzzle to tail on Braedric’s heels. The ground shook as the hooves of their black steeds ate up the distance. The sky broke open and cold, heavy droplets pelted Caedmon’s face.

  His brother lifted his bloodied sword and aimed the tip straight at the rear of the guard. If Braedric reached the lower ranks, all would be lost. Caedmon’s depleted army would be trapped just as his love had predicted.

  Unsheathing his blade and thrusting it aloft, he let loose a guttural warrior cry. Several of the departing men reeled their horses around in answer to his summons. They spurred their mounts into action and charged headlong into the fray.

  With a final glance over his shoulder, the flick of a white braid and a flash of silver, Caedmon prayed the goddesses would shelter his love within the blessings of their eternal grace.

  Zephyrus whinnied and sprang forward as he kicked hard at his horse’s sides. Caedmon aimed his loyal steed to converge on his brother’s path, leaned over the horse’s neck and zeroed in on his target. “He is mine! The reigning prince is afforded only my blade this day!”

  Thunder cracked. Rain ricocheted off his armored chest plate and Caedmon shook the cold droplets from his face. The pumping of his pulse matched Zephyrus’ stride. The wind in his ears muffled the clash of metal as his brothers engaged steel to either side.

  Braedric hunched forward, his sword arm lowered. Evil danced in his eyes as a smirk twisted his lips into a cruel sneer. “Come to me, brother!”

  The distance shrank, and Caedmon’s stomach plummeted as his focus narrowed down to one inescapable truth. The sheeting rain had impeded his vision. His angle was slightly askew.

  A jarring impact as silver collided, and pain radiated up the bones of his arm. He was flung from the saddle. The gray clouds held him to their bloated bosom a moment before slamming him down to the unforgiving ground. He scrambled to his feet as Braedric jerked his horse around and whipped the tip of his blade in a wide arc.

  A desperate ache permeated the fabric of Caedmon’s soul. Unseating an armed rider, especially his deranged half-brother, hell bent on some ill-advised revenge, ranked high on the list of improbabilities. His jaw firmed and he affected his battle stance—one leg bent, the other extended, both hands fisting the hilt of his sword high and at the ready near his ear. Yet he would not yield. For his love, for his country, to ensure his people’s freedom and the future of the Austiere kingdom, he would fight until Braedric had pried the steel from his dead, lifeless hand.

  Braedric’s mount side-stepped before leaping into a full gallop. Caedmon braced for the incoming assault, a breath trapped in his lungs. An eerie shriek pierced the consistent pummel of the rain and a ball of fire streaked a trail of black smoke across the sky. The projectile exploded on impact and Caedmon dove for cover amid a patch of tall weeds.

  A loud cheer rang out from atop the castle and he grinned beneath the protection of both arms clamped over his head. May the goddesses bless those damnable gypsies with an abundance of riches. They’d just swayed the odds of this battle in Austiere’s favor.

  He rolled to a low crouch and searched the terrain. Another fireball sang its deadly tune overhead, followed by a third. The ground surrendered under their violent assault, spraying dirt and bits of flaming sod into the air. Weak fires dotted the field, their wavering flames blanketing the grass in a bank of low fog. Braedric’s hashishans had been scattered to the four winds. Some fled back to the castle, where they would meet their fate with the gypsies, while others escaped on horseback toward the forest and higher ground. A few fell beneath the skillful blades of his brothers, yet where was Braedric?

  A glint of silver caught his eye through the haze of ash and smoke, and Caedmon tamped down hard on the urge to sprint to his brother’s aid.

  Footsteps unsteady, dragging the tip of his sword along the uneven ground, Braedric used the length of his forearm to clear a curtain of blood from his brow. He lurched several faltering steps to the side, his teeth starkly white as he grinned at Caedmon through a mask of red death.

  No. Not like this. Caedmon gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed. Of all the ways he had envisioned ending the hostilities between them, at the very least he had hoped to deliver his brother a warrior’s death. Not this…this senseless, wasteful fading into nonexistence.

  “I should have insisted Seviere kill you in his dungeons.” Braedric stumbled forward and collapsed to his knees. A thick laugh gurgled in his throat, and he slid his hand inside the arm hole of his chest plate. Caedmon’s stomach rebelled when Braedric’s leather glove re-emerged soaked black with his blood.

  A clench of his fist and a crimson stream dribbled from the crease edging Braedric’s palm. “Mayhap Gaelleod foresaw my demise and Seviere cared not for the ramblings of a dead man.” He lifted his gaze to Caedmon’s, for the first in all their seasons together glittering with an awareness that thrust the shards of anguish ever deeper into Caedmon’s bones. “I am cold, brother.”

  Caedmon seized Braedric’s arms as he toppled sideways, and lowered his brother gently to the ground. A hard mass built at the base of his throat. Braedric could not pass this way. There were too many unresolved injuries between them. Too many unsettled hurts. What of all the arduous years they’d shared? What of the hate? To what god did Caedmon pray his resentment would pass amid dreams of what their future may have wrought? Mayhap another chance would have been granted them. Another occasion to negate the wrongs and forgive.

  “Will you hear my confession, brother?” Agony seared a hot lash mark across Caedmon’s heart as Braedric searched his face. “Yet be warned. To the last, my life has been one of dishonor and disgrace.”

  Perchance therein lay their path to redemption. He would hear and consecrate his brother’s final plea. “Speak now, Your Highness,” Caedmon whispered, “and find peace.”

  A low chuckle spilled a rivulet of blood from Braedric’s lips and he seized Caedmon’s chest plate. Cynicism burned in the depths of his brother’s brown gaze. “Even now, you bestow absolution. An olive branch offered as blessing from the sanctimonious king.” He wrenched Caedmon’s ear to his lips. “Do not fool yourself, brother. No peace awaits my soul in the afterlife. I killed her, you know. With a poison that mimics the wet lung sickness. The lethal concoction worked so w
ell, I killed them both.”

  Shock struck him directly between the brows and Caedmon shoved his brother away, staggering to his feet. No, no, Braedric had been but a boy when Isadora took ill. A young man of thirteen seasons. Revulsion and shame blotted out his rationale and he fisted his hands in his hair. His anguished roar detonated against the clouds, answered by an ominous rumble from the weeping sky. How could a child harbor such murderous intent? What perverse taint had converted Braedric’s loyalty to treason?

  Lowering his chin to his chest, Caedmon expelled a harsh breath, the answer so clear.

  Gaelleod.

  Even then. Even twenty years hence, the evil wizard had whispered his forked lies in Braedric’s ear, using the malleability of a boy’s trust to bend his character to wickedness. Perchance the wizard had even planted the first seeds of jealousy, painting Caedmon as the king’s favored son, Isadora as the gypsy replacement for a pure blood’s forgotten mother.

  Braedric had become Gaelleod’s instrument of corruption, reeking of immorality and sin, splattering his depravity on all those within range.

  Caedmon locked onto his brother’s tortured gaze. His mother and father were not the only souls to suffer Gaelleod’s vile poison, and the venom ran so deep, it had become the totality of Braedric’s existence.

  Tears burned as Caedmon snatched his sword off the ground, the hilt cold and wet in his hand. As long as Braedric remained alive, Gaelleod retained a foothold in the Austiere kingdom. He strode toward his brother and poised the blade high over his shoulder. Braedric had been offered the adoration of a younger brother and, in return, had killed that boy’s mother. He’d been granted a wealth of love and yet had murdered their father and king. Caedmon trapped a breath in his lungs and his muscles tensed for the killing blow. If given half the chance, Braedric would have seated himself upon the throne and ruled their people with malevolence and fear.

  Death would be the recompense for his crimes. He would die today exactly as his evil heart deserved.

  The blade spliced through the rain and Caedmon pulled up short, pressing the sharp edge to the underside of his brother’s chin.

  “Do it!” Braedric’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Release your rage and become the mighty victor!”

  No. Caedmon’s shoulders slowly relaxed and he lowered his sword from Braedric’s neck. He would not allow his anger to twist him into Gaelleod’s pawn. He would not become the manifestation of everything he despised.

  He withdrew a step. His first act as king would not be filled with murderous hate.

  And, this time, he would not offer his brother forgiveness, nor the unearned prize of an honorable release.

  A hand landed on his shoulder and Caedmon turned toward Eibel. Several of his brothers stood back a pace, their faces bloodied and covered with grime. “Allow me the honor, Sire?”

  Caedmon shook his head. To the north, a war raged. His lady wife rode for her death. He spun from his brother for the final time and strode toward his horse. “Leave him to the vultures. We have more pressing tasks at hand.”

  * * *

  Forward. Forward. Forward.

  The steady thrum of Belial’s hoof beats matched her one thought, forging a hard rhythm in the center of her chest. The jangle of silver and the wind in her ears kept the time. As long as she kept moving forward, there was hope.

  She could not falter. Forward. Forward. She could not fail.

  Rowena squinted through the rain toward the line of Seviere’s red army, waiting before the notched backdrop of the leafless fall trees. Shit. The rain had messed with her depth perception. She’d cut the distance too short.

  Belial snorted and tossed his head as she yanked the reins and veered him sharply left. To her right, the peal of a brass horn sliced through the downpour. Seviere’s men hoisted their swords skyward and a roar of conquest mingled with the rumble of hooves as they charged. “Run like the wind, my friend. I didn’t leave us much room.”

  Pressing her heels into the stirrups, she rose from the saddle and leaned over Belial’s neck. She must be lighter than air, dodge and weave through the stampeding ranks like one of Dart’s downy feathers.

  Ahead, the front line of both armies converged. The aisle of grass between them stretched and narrowed like a carpeted green hall. Gritting her teeth, she held a breath and gave Belial his free rein. Without the aid of a miracle, she and Fandorn were about to be smashed like two pawns on a chessboard.

  Blue clashed against red. Armor rattled and horses screamed. Belial reared, his white feet thrashing the gray sky. A flaming blue streak crackled over her shoulder and the red soldiers ahead of her were thrown from their mounts. They shrieked and flailed, batting at the wizard’s fire engulfing their armor.

  The pathway cleared, and Rowena tossed a grin over her shoulder. Fandorn and his gray steed rode fast on her heels, a wisp of white smoke trailing from the gnarled head of his crooked staff. If they made it through this, she’d kiss that stinky wizard full on the mouth.

  A kick to Belial’s sides, and he leapt forward, bursting through the downed men onto open ground. She steered him north and skirted the battle, racing straight for the trees. A second glance over her shoulder and her heart soared. Fandorn remained seated on his saddle, robes flapping and the strands of his gray beard streaming over his shoulder. Dart zoomed overhead and his screech of outrage goaded her on.

  She refocused on the forest and their ultimate goal. The bare branches would no doubt impede their progress, but hopefully she and Fandorn wouldn’t have to fight them for long. Those white arm bands weren’t the only things she’d delivered to the Dregg legions, and if Reddeck had followed her instructions, he and a few of his clan would be waiting not too far inside.

  Lightning sizzled and she flinched when the sky cracked as though fractured by an iron hammer. The jagged spike remained imprinted on her vision, and in the iridescent shadows which followed, Caedmon’s adoring smile flooded the forefront of her mind.

  He would never forgive her. Not once he learned how she’d purposely ignored his request, and then used a lie of omission to cover her tracks. But during that horrible argument in his bedchamber, it became clear he would never understand. She, alone, held the secret to saving the kingdom. She was the only one who could make this decision. The answer to ending years of tension and lives continuously lost had become nothing more than a ball and chain slung around her neck. She was the only one who could face Gaelleod and destroy his chance at success. And, if she got incredibly lucky, maybe she could hurl him into the bowels of hell in the process.

  Belial’s stride slowed as they reached the tree line. Fandorn reined in his horse beside her and pointed left. “There. Make toward the Black Forest.”

  A few meticulously chosen feet in, and Reddeck and a number of his cohorts stepped from behind the camouflage of several thick trunks. Her and Fandorn’s horses started at the Dreggs’ sudden appearance, but calmed quickly enough as she and Fandorn slipped from their saddles and secured the reins on a low-hanging branch.

  “You ready?” She peeked askance at the wizard, and then lowered her chin to hide a smile. Fandorn had gone quite pale, and couldn’t seem to get the folds of his robes adjusted to suit his needs. She had to give him credit, though. For never having been this close to the Dreggs’ formidable presence, not to mention trusting they would deliver both of them safely to Castle Seviere, the gangly wizard was holding his own.

  He jerked on the tie at his waist and nodded once firmly. “That will have to do.” His knuckles whitened around his staff as a large Dregg stepped behind him, clutched his waist in the considerable span of its fingers and the down stroke of its wings stirred the air.

  Fandorn’s brows shot up as his feet left the ground. “Are you quite sure about this, my la-a-d-y-y!”

  Rowena chuckled as his yelp of surprise trailed him into the sky. She nodded at Reddeck, held tightly to his wrists, and jumped as the Dregg leader vaulted them aloft.

  Ice cold ra
in spattered her face as they ascended. She shook the stinging droplets from her eyes, placing a flat hand to her brow to shelter her view. The aerial scene of the battle made her stomach plummet. Panic compressed the air in her lungs. A wide arc of red nearly surrounded an internal sea of blue. Seviere’s army almost had their forces surrounded. And riding up from the south, Caedmon and a small garrison of fifty guards raced straight toward those insurmountable odds.

  She turned her head from the whipping rain to gasp a breath, and beat her palms against the tight band of Reddeck’s fingers. “Give the signal! Give the signal!”

  An undulating wail careened through the sky and Rowena slapped both hands over her ears. The Dregg legions shot up from the Black Forest, some carrying the twisted branches of their homeland, others large boulders still coated with dense moss.

  They dove for the open field and released their bombs, scattering Seviere’s forces and wreaking havoc as they landed. Rowena grinned, but the harsh growl gathering to an ear-splitting roar in Reddeck’s chest told her to reel in the celebration.

  She lifted her chin just as he swooped to the right. Her belly pitched as he pin-wheeled. The sharp tip of a winged talon scored her chest plate. Her legs swung right then left as he folded his wings to his sides and plunged, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with another Dregg’s outstretched claws. No white armband adorned this creature bent on tearing them from the sky, which meant her Dreggs weren’t the only ones who’d answered the call to war.

  An open stretch of Seviere’s kingdom zoomed past on her left, and she internally cursed. Braedric’s Dreggs swarmed up from the earth and infested the air like some biblical plague.

  Hairy bodies collided in front of her. Wings were slashed and flapped useless in the air as Dreggs careened to the ground. Rowena shielded her face with both arms and tucked her knees to her chest, condensing her body into the smallest target possible. May the goddesses grant them safe passage without being sliced or filleted.