A Daughter of Kings, Part I

by Louis Piechota

  Chapter XVI

  “The Choice”

  Alirah could not have said how she knew the boy was dead, but she knew. Gerrick had hit him in exactly the same way that she herself had hit Caeryl’s captor in Verusa, but Gerrick was easily twice her size and strength. From the awful sound, and from the way the boy lay there, she knew. Either the impact had already killed him, or else his life would drain away slowly as they dragged him from the room.

  For drag him they did. Gerrick and Drennar immediately prodded the other prisoners onward. Still chained together, they had to haul the boy along after them. Slowly, with a horrid clatter, the whole group shuffled back out of the hall and disappeared into the bowels of the citadel.

  For many moments nobody spoke or moved. A few like Kelorn were visibly horrified. Others, like the King and Modrin, wore the faint smiles of righteous men seeing justice done. Most of the people in the room gazed at nothing with carefully blank expressions. Caeryl wore such a mask. She gripped the arms of her chair with white hands, but her face revealed neither satisfaction nor disgust.

  Alirah herself stared after the vanished prisoners. She felt as if she were about to throw up, or faint, or both. A ringing filled her ears and her hands were shaking. At length Archandir began to speak again, but it took her several seconds to realize he was talking to her.

  “What… what?” she croaked, interrupting him.

  The High King frowned, then peered at her more closely.

  “Are you quite alright, my Dear?”

  “I… No…” she gasped. “That boy… You’re going to kill them all?”

  For a moment Archandir frowned at her in genuine confusion. “By my own hand? Of course not! The royal executioners…” Then finally he understood. His eyebrows arched in disbelief. “You would have me spare them?”

  “Yes,” whispered Alirah.

  Her voice was so weak that few people could have heard it, despite the silence in the hall. Nonetheless, she heard shocked whispers erupt from some of the courtiers as if what she’d suggested was atrocious. She looked around wildly, bewildered. At last she glanced up at Caeryl, but the Princess of Arandia would not meet her eyes. She remained rigid in her chair, staring at an empty spot on the floor.

  Archandir followed Alirah’s gaze. While she could not read anything in Caeryl’s stony expression, he evidently could.

  “You too!” He cried, then he threw up his hands and laughed, bitterly. “Ah! Furious one moment, and ready to weep for traitors the next! The Light spare this Kingdom from the hearts of young girls! No! There will be no mercy. There must be no mercy. To attack you, dearest Caeryl, is to attack me personally. And that will not be borne!”

  He burst again into another long fit of coughs. By the time he finished and wiped his mouth, his fury had passed. He spoke on in a gravelly voice.

  “I see that I have upset you both. Forgive me. It is not always easy to see justice done, or to dole it out. But it is something you at least must learn, Caeryl, if you would ever be fit to rule this nation.”

  “Now I am weary of this audience, and I seem to have spoiled it. So I will conclude. In seven days time there shall be a fete. Princess Alirah of the Kwi’Kiri shall be the guest of honor, and there we will do justice to her heroism. But in fact it shall be a double fete. No expense will be spared, nor any effort restrained. For my daughter and I will have our own announcement to make, and our own reason for celebrating. But that is all I will say for now.”

  As he finished the High King sank back down upon his throne. At the same moment Darion stepped forward. He laid his hand softly upon Caeryl’s shoulder. She’d turned to look at her father in obvious confusion, and she now startled at her champion’s touch. Even as Alirah reeled in horror, she knew that whatever announcement Archandir had in mind was news to his daughter.

  The crowd of advisors and courtiers began to disperse. Singly, or in small groups, they hastened from the great hall. Before each person departed they approached the King a final time. Men bowed and women curtsied deeply to him, but Archandir seldom acknowledged them with so much as a glance. Alirah herself stood where she was, too stricken to understand what was happening, until she suddenly felt a touch upon her shoulder. She jumped, and barely stifled a scream, but it was only Irelle. Kelorn stood beside the handmaiden, looking grim.

  “It’s time to go now,” whispered Irelle. “Pay your respects to the King and I’ll take you back to your rooms.”

  Alirah stared at her blankly for a moment, then looked up at Kelorn.

  “Come on,” he murmured, putting out an arm to usher her along.

  Numbly, Alirah shuffled forward to stand again before Archandir. While he had barely acknowledged the others, he gave her a fond, reassuring smile. She started to drop a deep, slow curtsey like she’d seen the other women in the hall do before her. But halfway through the gesture her reeling thoughts finally caught up with her actions. Just as she reached the low point, with her knees bent sharply, she shuddered in disgust. She had to step forward and stand up quickly to avoid falling flat on her face.

  For a second she stood there, staring up at the High King with wild eyes. He still smiled down at her. She knew she was supposed to smile back. She knew he expected her to be flattered by his attention. But she could not smile. A hatred far, far beyond anything she’d ever known surged up suddenly in her breast. Behind his grinning face she saw the needless dead in Caluran, the starving in Versua, and an innocent boy killed by an idle flick of the wrist.

  I will not smile for you! she thought furiously. I will not curtsey to you! I will not fear you!

  Her emotions must have shown upon her face. The High King’s smile melted into a frown. Meanwhile, Alirah felt Kelorn’s hand touch her back timidly. In the touch she read his thoughts. Keep moving! He can’t know! He can’t suspect!

  At last she shook herself, dropped a second and much faster curtsey, then turned and hastened away. Behind her Kelorn paid his own respects to the King, but Alirah felt Archandir staring after her. He was still staring at her when, trembling, she followed Irelle and Kelorn from the room.

  Alirah did not remember much of that evening. She vaguely recalled throwing up somewhere, and then feeling horribly guilty when servants came to clean up the mess. Someone had asked her if she was okay and she’d managed to say yes. Later that night she’d sat down to dinner with Kelorn. She’d hardly touched her food and could not remember afterwards what the meal consisted of, but as they’d eaten a fresh outrage had struck her.

  “A fete in seven days?” she’d exclaimed, suddenly. “I’m not waiting around here for seven days!”

  “We may have to,” muttered Kelorn.

  She threw down her fork with a clatter. “Why?”

  “The High King just said there would be a fete, and he said you would be at it. Do you really think, after what you saw today, it’d be a good idea to make him a liar?”

  “But we can’t stay here,” she cried, shaking.

  “Hey… It’ll be okay,” he said gently. With great care he reached out and grasped her hands to stop their trembling. The sudden touch startled her amidst her distress and she went still.

  “It’ll be okay,” he said again. “We’re safe for now. Archandir obviously thinks very highly of you. And he should. What you did for the Princess really was very brave. I’m glad that you’re going to be honored for it, even by him. Plus it’s not like we’ll be staying here just because he told us to. We were going to Arandinar all along. Lady Aila is here. I didn’t dare point her out to you, but she was there in the Throne Room today. She couldn’t take her eyes off of you.”

  “I saw her,” murmured Alirah. For the first time since the horrors which had come afterwards, she recalled the gray-robed woman and her piercing gaze. “That was Aila?”

  “Yeah. And she’ll know what to do. You’ll see. We just need to find a way to speak with her witho
ut Modrin or the King knowing about it.”

  Alirah had nodded. She’d even managed to smile weakly at his efforts to reassure her. But after he’d bid her good night and retired to his own room, she’d begun to cry. She’d barely shut the door behind him when the first sobs wracked her. Then in tears she’d stumbled over to her big bed and flung herself upon it.

  There she lay, crying, while the night deepened outside. At first her tears were silent and bitter. Sobs convulsed her until her muscles ached, but only the faintest, shuddering moans passed her lips. Again and again she heard the boy crying out. She saw the flick of Archandir’s wrist that had so carelessly condemned him to death. Her own words rang hideously in her ears: Yes, of course they should be punished…

  But they could have killed Pala! she’d screamed at herself. They could have killed me! Of course they ought to have been punished… somehow. But not killed! And that boy didn’t even do anything! Neither did that old man, I’m sure. Who knows if any of the others did. And now they’re all going to die…

  Slowly her cold, desolate weeping gave way to hot tears of hatred. For a while she bawled noisily. She hated Archandir and she hated herself for curtsying to him. She told herself that it would have done no good do to otherwise, but she hated herself anyway. To have bent her knee to that man, in that place, struck her as an unforgiveable betrayal.

  But why? Her thoughts protested, desperately. Who have I betrayed? It’s his place. It’s his hall and they’re his people!

  Then why have you come here? asked a cold voice inside her.

  “I came here to help them…” Alirah whispered aloud.

  So what are you going to do?

  Abruptly her crying ceased. With a final sniffle she sat up on her bed. By then her rooms were very dark. A breeze moaned softly outside the windows. The air wafting through them was chillier than any she had known since springtime, and bore a scent of falling leaves. Autumn came early to the Imperial Mountains.

  “What do I do?” she whispered again.

  No answer came, but for the first time Alirah could sense it trembling deep inside of her. She felt a rush of mingled excitement and dread. Restless energy surged in her veins. Her eyes hurt, and her nose was stuffed up from crying, but she did not feel at all tired.

  She climbed out of bed and began to pace back and forth within her room. She felt caged. She wanted suddenly and desperately to be outside, to see the moon and to feel the wind blowing. After a moment, hardly aware of what she was doing, she dug into her saddlebags and pulled out a homespun cloak she hadn’t worn for months. She flung it over her shoulders, belted on her sword, and strode from her room.

  The hallway outside was dim and silent. A little torchlight reached around a bend and danced upon the stone walls, but nothing else moved. Alirah shut the door behind her with a quiet click. Then she tiptoed past Kelorn’s room, found a narrow stairway which spiraled upward, and began to climb.

  The upper halls of the citadel were almost completely deserted. Alirah saw nobody but a few Royal Guards. They stood watch in pairs, or else paced slowly down the long hallways upon their rounds. None of the guards challenged her, or even spoke to her, but the further she went the more she began to shrink from their stares. Some of them smiled and nodded politely, but others glared at her with obvious suspicion. At least once she heard a pair of them whispering together after she’d passed. Nevertheless she did not think of turning back. She felt ever more compelled to get outside, and ever more certain that to do so she must head upwards rather than down towards the gates. She had no idea where she was going, but she did not once hesitate in her steps.

  At last she climbed up a short flight of worn stairs and emerged onto an open terrace. Five ancient oak trees grew in a line upon the terrace, rising up through circular gaps left in a flagstone patio. The twisting boughs of the oaks spread far and wide overhead, forming a soft green roof that left most of the terrace shrouded in deep gloom. Only the outer perimeter of the terrace was open to the sky. A low stone wall which guarded the edge there gleamed in the moonlight.

  Alirah flung herself to the edge of the terrace as if the shadows were suffocating her. She planted her hands upon the cold stones and leaned out over the wall, breathing deeply.

  A huge, windy void spread out before her eyes. The next highest level of the citadel was at least two stories beneath her, and the terrace opened in a wide arc from southwest to east. The city of Arandinar stretched out far below. In two spots large, ruddy glows still spoke of fires that burned unchecked, although they were smaller than they’d been the night before. The golden domes and roofs of the upper city gleamed red, and a faint scent of smoke still wafted on the air.

  The chilly wind made Alirah’s eyes water, but it felt wonderfully fresh after the long day indoors. She trembled, but not from cold. Vividly she recalled the breezy night upon which her father had given her his sword. ‘I do not give it to you to start any fights, and still less to start a war…’

  “Quite a view, isn’t it?” asked a voice.

  Alirah gasped and whirled around. Her hand flew to the hilt of her sword, but her eyes sought the speaker in vain. Then, blinking in amazement, she saw a woman step out of the darkness.

  It was the woman from the Throne Room: the Priestess Aila. The deep shadows under the trees rippled like smoke in a breeze, and then suddenly she was there. She stepped forward, holding up her hand in a cautioning gesture. Before Alirah knew what she was doing she’d let go of her sword and dropped her hands to her sides.

  Aila slowly walked out from under the trees. In the night her gray robe looked like a mantle of soft shadows, but the moon shone brightly upon her golden hair and fair skin. A small, silver dagger glinted at her side. She stood a few inches taller than Alirah herself. Her body was lean but her features were soft, as if training and austerity had slimmed a figure that would otherwise have been curvy. Lines of both care and laughter creased her face.

  “You…” stammered Alirah at last. “Where did you come from?”

  “I was out here already,” said Aila. “I come here sometimes. But what brings you to this place, Alirah of the Kwi’Kiri?”

  “I was just… I wanted to be outside.” All at once Alirah could not have said why she’d come. The fresh air felt wonderful, but the overriding need to get up and go out, to keep going even though the guards made her nervous, had vanished. In hindsight the compulsion seemed bizarre. Suddenly her eyes widened in shock.

  “You called me here,” she whispered.

  “Of course not,” said Aila, but she grinned wryly. “We’ve never spoken before, have we? I sent you no messages. But I’m quite pleased that you’ve just happened to come up here on your own. I very much wanted to talk to you, privately.”

  Alirah did not respond. She was certain that Aila had somehow drawn her to that place, and the thought disturbed her. Where else could she be drawn? What else could this Priestess do? Aila regarded her intently for another moment, then spoke in a softer voice.

  “Are you who I think you are?”

  “Who do you think I am?” Alirah asked warily.

  Aila smirked. “Come now, girl. We may not have much time. If you aren’t going to trust me, then you shouldn’t have come to Arandinar to find me. For that is why you’ve come, is it not? Surely Kelorn told you it was I who sent him on his mission. I think you must be the daughter of a boy I once knew. I think that I’ve seen that sword you wear before, though it was long ago. Have I?”

  Alirah wished Kelorn were beside her. She did not fully trust this strange, intense woman, though she knew he did. But she also knew that Aila was right; the time for second-guessing had long passed. At last she took a deep breath and spoke slowly.

  “I am Alirah, daughter of Nuara. My father is Ethyrin, son of Elidan. He is the rightful High King of Arandia, and I am the heir to his throne.”

  Now for a moment
Aila was silent. Though she claimed to have expected such an answer, her eyes widened a little as if with surprise. Tears glimmered suddenly within them, though none fell upon her cheeks.

  “Is he still alive then?” she asked in a whisper.

  “He is,” said Alirah. She grinned faintly. “He says hi, actually. I’m supposed to tell you that.”

  “Hi,” whispered Aila, almost to herself. A wide, trembling smile slowly brightened her face. She sobbed once, quietly, then gathered herself and spoke in a stronger voice.

  “I knew it. Even when they first came back and said he was dead, I knew it wasn’t true. But then, why hasn’t he come himself? Why has he sent you? The boy I knew would not have done that.”

  “The boy you knew grew up,” said Alirah, defensively. “Our people were in danger. They still are in danger as far as I know, and my father would not abandon them. And he didn’t want to come back here and start a war.”

  “So he sent you to start one instead?”

  “He did not send me. I came on my own. And I… I promised him that I wouldn’t start a war either.”

  Alirah faltered. Her promise to her father rang loud in her ears, but she also saw herself again as she had in her vision when Kelorn had told his story in the Council Tent. She stood royally dressed, and crowned, and she raised her sword while armies rallied behind her. Now, just as she had in Caluran, she could hear voices on the wind and in the rustling of the oak leaves. She knew now what they wanted, and she was afraid.

  “Why have you come here, then?” asked Aila, frowning.

  “I don’t know,” Alirah whispered, but now the words felt like a lie. A blush reddened her cheeks and she lowered her eyes.

  “You don’t know,’ said the Priestess. Her frown deepened. “You came all the way from Rusukhor and beyond, they say, and you don’t know why?”

  “I came to help. I know I’m supposed to help!”

  “There is only one way that you can help! There was only one reason for you to come here. Archandir and Modrin and their ilk must not rule our nation any longer. Surely you’ve seen what kind of men they are. You saw it in the Throne Room today if nowhere else. Or did you really think that was justice being done?”

  “Of course not!” cried Alirah. The burning fury within her suddenly flared, driving away her fear. Her eyes flashed. Her voice rang with passion one moment and was choked by it the next. “He killed that boy! And those others… Marching them out there like that…. And he’s going to kill them! For nothing! For throwing rocks! It’s just murder!”

  “Yes it is.”

  “And nobody did anything. Nobody even said anything! I didn’t say anything! I just stood there! I… I curtsied to him!”

  “Shh…” hissed Aila.

  Alirah stopped short. Her voice had risen almost to a shout. The sudden silence now that she stopped was deafening. She imagined dozens of ears in the great citadel pricking up, dozens of eyes looking out their windows to see what the fuss was about.

  “It is not easy for people to overhear my conversations, if I do not wish them to,” murmured Aila. “But it’s not impossible either. You must keep your voice down.”

  Alirah blushed but shut her mouth, fuming. She felt suddenly exhausted, as if that final fit of rage had taken the last of her strength. Tears of frustration started again in her eyes. She wiped them away furiously, but she could not stop a fresh sob from tearing out of her.

  For a long moment Aila gazed down at her in silence. When she spoke again at last, her voice was much gentler than it had been.

  “Do you know what I think? I think you’ve been crying a long time tonight. Now you’re ready to cry again, or else slay someone with that sword of yours. And all for a stranger. For injustice. For a people you’ve never known. Not just anyone would feel that way. I think deep down you know exactly why you’ve come here, your Highness.”

  Alirah shook her head desperately. She felt as if the cords of a net were closing in around her.

  “I can’t be your Queen,” she whispered.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t stay here! I have to go home one day! I have to see my mom and dad again, and my brother and my sister and my friends!”

  “And what makes you think you’ll be allowed to go home, unless you first take back the throne?”

  Alirah looked up sharply. She felt a cold thrill like ice water shooting through her veins. Unconsciously her hand strayed to the hilt of her sword.

  “What do you mean? Are you saying you won’t let me go home?”

  Aila sighed, heavily. “No. Though others might say and do such a thing in my place. No, it is…”

  Suddenly she stopped. Her body tensed and she looked towards the stairwell which led up to the terrace. By reflex Alirah followed her gaze for an instant, but nothing was there. She glared back at the Priestess.

  “It is what?”

  “Quiet,” murmured Aila. “Someone is coming.”

  “I don’t care! What do you mean I won’t be allowed…”

  “Be silent!”

  Aila’s voice was a ferocious hiss. Alirah finally stopped, startled.

  “You want to go home someday?” asked the Priestess. “You want to keep your freedom and your life? Then you must not be seen with me here. Come!”

  Without waiting for a reply she sprang forward and seized Alirah’s wrist in a grip of iron. Before Alirah could react, she was half led, half dragged to the far end of the terrace where the shadows were deepest. There Aila planted her behind the oak tree that was furthest from the stairwell.

  “Stay here,” whispered the Priestess. “I will keep you hidden, but you must trust me. No matter what happens, do not make a sound. Do not make any sudden moves, and do not draw your sword!”

  Alirah was too startled to argue. She stood still while Aila drew herself up, took a deep breath, and murmured softly to herself in a strange language. Alirah thought she felt a tingling sensation, but then it was gone. Before she could ask what had happened, Aila turned away and strode back toward the outer wall of the terrace. There she stood, staring out at the view as if lost in thought.

  Alirah waited breathlessly, peeping around the edge of the tree to keep an eye on the stairwell. She listened intently, but for several moments she could hear nothing above the susurrus of the oak leaves in the wind. Then, finally, she heard heavy footfalls echoing upon the steps. A voice rang out, soft but clear. Alirah gasped with fright. She’d only heard that voice once before, but she would never forget it as long as she lived.

  Suddenly Gerrick emerged onto the terrace. Drennar came up behind him. They’d exchanged clinking mailshirts for silent jerkins of stiff, dark leather. Likewise, they’d put away their weapons of war, but now each bore a long, hefty dagger in a dark sheath at his belt. They came up the steps grinning at some joke between themselves, but as they emerged onto the terrace and saw Aila standing there alone, they scowled.

  “You?” Gerrick snarled the word as if it was an accusation.

  Aila jumped as if startled, and whirled around. She swept a haughty gaze over each of them.

  “Yes, me,” she snapped, sounding irritated. “I’m so sorry to disappoint you. Were you expecting someone else?”

  Neither of the men answered her. They quickly spread out onto the terrace. Alirah tried to keep the trunk of the oak tree between them, but as the two men spread apart it became impossible to stay hidden from both of them. With her heart hammering she waited for their eyes to adjust and spot her in the shadows, but that did not happen. Even when Gerrick strode up quite close to her, he obviously saw nothing. Holding her breath, with her fingers white upon the hilt of her sword, Alirah watched as the man stared straight through her.

  “What are you doing?” called Aila. “Are you looking for someone?”

  Gerrick let out a curse, then turned and hastened back towards the
Priestess. Drennar joined him. Alirah began to breathe again in big gulps, but she felt little less afraid. As the two men converged upon Aila they looked like two big, ferocious wolves closing in upon a sleek deer.

  “Don’t play coy, woman,” said Drennar. He had a very deep, growling voice. “Where is she?”

  “Where is who?”

  “You know who! Our dear Caeryl’s new best friend. The so called Princess Alirah. She came this way, probably to meet you and hatch some wretched plot. Where did she go?”

  “I have seen no one but you gentlemen,” said Aila. “But even if I had, what makes you think I’d tell you about it? I’d like to know what business the two of you could have with a teenage girl in the middle of the night.”

  “Our business is our own,” said Gerrick.

  Aila snorted. “I’ll bet it is.”

  “Oh spare us your wit, Priestess” snarled Drennar. “Do you think we’re stupid? Do you think we don’t know that you’re the one behind all of this?”

  Aila crossed her arms and glared at him. “Behind all of what?”

  “A strange girl is brought here from halfway around the world by a milksop Druid. She turns up just in time to rescue Caeryl from a convenient attack, worm her way into the Princess’ confidence, and then get invited into this citadel as a royal guest. Well, I’ll tell you something: that tramp is no princess, and just for masquerading as one she’s going to be punished severely. But this whole thing stinks of you Witches of Illmaryn. Maybe you’re hoping to interfere with the succession, now that the King is sick. Or maybe you just want to keep poisoning Caeryl’s mind against her own country, like that traitor Vidun used to do.”

  “Maybe,” said Aila, smirking. “Now tell me, did you come up with all that by yourself, or did Modrin help you? It sounds like Modrin. He’s getting paranoid in his old age; he ought to retire, turn over his post to one of sounder mind.”

  “You should refer to him as Lord Modrin,” snapped Gerrick.

  “And you should refer to me as Lady Aila!” cried the Priestess. “You disrespect me to my face and expect politeness in return? You’re dumber than you look!”

  Drennar shook his head, scowling. “Laugh if you want. But we’re going to find out who that girl really is, and what she’s really doing here. If we have to we’ll arrest her and put her on the rack, or just beat the information out of that little Druid of yours. By the Light, if it comes to it, we’ll send our own messengers out to Rusukhor and find out where she came from!”

  Alirah felt as if she’d been struck. A cold, sick terror bloomed in her heart. She had no idea what a rack was, and those words meant nothing to her. It was not even a sudden vision of those two thugs pummeling a bloodied Kelorn that made her knees go weak. Instead she saw Gerrick and Drennar striding through the grasslands of the Swaia’Ee, grinning as Kaya looked up at them with innocent curiosity. She saw them bursting into her parents’ tent at night.

  And I have Dad’s sword, she thought, horrified.

  Until that moment it had never occurred to her that by coming to Arandia she would put her family in danger. Now in hindsight it was obvious. Had her parents known? She was suddenly certain that they had, and the realization made her feel even more sick.

  They knew, she thought. Mom and Dad knew and they let me go anyway; they didn’t say anything. And I was so ready to run off! So sure I had to go to Arandia and risk all of our lives…

  “Even if it takes a year we’re going to find out what you’re up to,” said Gerrick, still haranguing Aila. “And if it’s treason, as I’m sure it is, then I’m very much going to enjoy punishing you.”

  “I’m sure you will,” said Aila, lightly. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for another night. As you can see there is no girl here. If you’re determined to harass one you’ll have to look elsewhere. I hope you look in vain. Good night.”

  With that Aila turned her back on the two men and looked out into the windy night. For a moment Gerrick and Drennar stared at her, blinking at their sudden dismissal. Still reeling with her own distress, Alirah hoped desperately that they would just go and leave her and Aila alone. But it was not to be. With a viscous snarl Gerrick lunged forward, seized the Priestess’ shoulder, and pulled her back around.

  “Don’t you turn your back on me, woman!” he spat. “Do you think I’m finished with you yet?”

  For an instant Alirah saw fear and shock written plainly upon Aila’s face, but then her expression blackened in wrath. Quicker than a coiled snake she tore her dagger from its sheath. The silver blade flashed in the moonlight. Gerrick recoiled, but he was not fast enough to avoid a slice across his forearm. He let out a yelp of pain as he staggered backwards with Drennar. For a moment it was the two men’s turn to look astounded. Then fury and scorn surged within them. With murder in their eyes, they drew their own blades.

  “So you want to play with knives, do you?” cried Gerrick, stepping forward again.

  “No!” gasped Alirah.

  It was only fear and strangling hate that kept her from screaming the word. All too vividly she imagined two men overpowering Aila and killing her, or at least brutalizing her in a rage. No warning would have kept Alirah silent and still. With a furious jerk she drew her sword. The blade rang a little as it came free of its sheath, and flashed in the darkness.

  Neither Gerrick nor Drennar noticed her; their attention was focused completely upon Aila. But Alirah had abandoned all thoughts of concealment. In another second she’d have leapt screaming to the attack. Just before she could do so, Aila’s voice rang out like a thunderclap.

  “Stand where you are!”

  Alirah lurched to a halt. She felt as if many strong hands had seized her. The sensation of restraint lasted only for a second, but when it passed it left her feeling dazed and tingly. Her sword arm fell lifeless to her side. Gerrick and Drennar faltered as well, but not so dramatically. Aila still glared at the two men, but her command had been meant for Alirah.

  “Do you think I am some chambermaid for you to bully?” cried the Priestess.

  Her voice grew deeper and more powerful with every word. As she spoke she seemed to grow, somewhat in size, but vastly in power and presence. All at once the slim woman who had stood there was gone. In her place stood a goddess, a being who did not need muscles to rend flesh and bone, or stone and steel. She shone with a perilous light while all around her the world grew dark. The moon seemed to pass behind a cloud and the stars grew fainter. Even Alirah staggered backwards, astounded and frightened by the change. Gerrick and Drennar recoiled once more.

  “You’re not done with me?” cried Aila, laughing horribly. “Well I’m done with you. And I’m done with words! Harm me, if you dare! If you think you can! Or get out of my sight!”

  Gerrick and Drennar stood quivering like taut bow strings, visibly torn between rage and terror. At last Gerrick thrust his dagger out towards Aila in a threatening gesture. He spoke in a shaky voice that belied his words.

  “You cannot frighten us! We are loyal servants of Arandia, and of His Majesty…”

  Aila raised her own weapon. Silver-white flames kindled upon its blade and streamed down her arm. At the same time she swept her free hand through the air. The daggers flew out of Gerrick and Drennar’s hands and streaked across the terrace. They hit the stone wall of the citadel with twin clangs and then fell clattering to the flagstones.

  As they struck the wall, the daggers flashed red with their own light. Strange runes, which had been invisible before, shone out suddenly upon the weapons as if written in fire. Alirah saw many symbols that she did not recognize, but at the base of each blade where it met the hilt was one that she recognized at once: a four pointed Black Star.

  Aila either didn’t notice the fiery runes or she ignored them. Her gaze remained fixed upon Gerrick and Drennar, and they could not endure it. As she took a threatening step towards them the two men
fled. They did not quite run, but they backpedalled quickly to the edge of the stairs. Gerrick flung himself down the steps at once and disappeared, but Drennar lingered for one moment on the landing.

  “Cast your spells while you may!” he cried. “But your time is over. One day soon all of you Witches will be put in your place!”

  Aila sprang towards the stairwell with a cry, but Drennar leapt down and out of sight.

  For several seconds Aila stood tall and terrible before the stairs. Then slowly her light dimmed and she shrank back to mortal proportions. Overhead the moon seemed to come out from behind its cloud. The stars shone again with their usual brightness. Aila drew a deep breath and bowed her head. Suddenly she looked very weary.

  Alirah rushed to her side, then hesitated. Her heart raced in her chest. She wanted to run after the two men, or else to run and hide, but Aila just kept standing there, listening. Finally after a minute or so the Priestess sighed and spoke softly.

  “They’ve gone. They won’t be coming back right away.” She sheathed her blade and turned back to face Alirah, eyes glinting. “You don’t follow instructions very well, do you?”

  “I thought they were going to kill you!” cried Alirah, stung.

  “Then you should have let them! The whole point was to keep you hidden. If you’d attacked them here your life would have been forfeit. You heard them. They’re loyal servants of the King. Even if you’d managed to kill them both, you’d have been hunted down afterwards as a murderer.”

  Alirah glared at her but said nothing. She guessed that the Priestess was right, but she was too angry to feel sorry. A great part of her wished she’d been able to set steel to those men, no matter what might have happened afterwards. At last she shook her head, wonder returning as her adrenaline wore off.

  “How did you do all of that, anyway?” she asked. “Are you really a witch?”

  “No,” said Aila, shaking her head. “Or yes, if you like. I don’t care what I’m called. I am a Priestess of Illana. All of us have at least a little magic, and I have more than a little.”

  Aila paused, and her gaze flickered over to where Gerrick and Drennar’s daggers lay upon the flagstones. By then the markings on the blades had faded, like red hot iron left to cool in the night air, but they could still be seen. Without a word she strode past Alirah and crouched down beside them, frowning.

  Alirah followed her timidly. When she looked at the written blades she could feel herself lying again in the dry grass near her home. She could see the Taragi priest wounding the boys of his own tribe, and then burning the Black Star into the earth with their blood. She cowered again as the huge something reached for her in the dark.

  It’s reaching for me here too, she thought, shuddering. A thousand miles away or more, and the same evil is here. The same threat.

  Aila stared at the weapons intently for a moment. She began to reach for one, but then pulled back her hand. She hesitated, then drew out a white handkerchief from a hidden pocket of her robes. Carefully she picked up the two blades and wrapped them in the handkerchief, making sure that the dark metal did not touch her skin. Then she tucked the wrapped blades away beneath her robe. When she rose again she caught Alirah staring at her, wide-eyed and fearful.

  “You’ve seen these markings before?” she asked. “You know what they mean?”

  Alirah nodded.

  “Dare I ask when, or how?” said Aila, but then before Alirah could answer she shook her head. “Never mind, it’s not important right now. What is important is that those two brutes are Modrin’s creatures; they would not both possess such blades without his knowledge. And that means Lord Modrin is a Darksoul, or at least that he is in league with one.”

  Alirah smirked. “I could have guessed that. He might as well wear a mask and carry a sign that says ‘villain.’”

  “I have known he was evil since before you were born, girl,” snapped Aila. “But one need not serve the Deceiver to be evil. It just makes things that much worse. Worse for us here in Arandia, and worse for you.”

  Her voice rang with a grim note as she finished, and Alirah felt a chill. The deadly blades were now hidden from view, but they still gleamed hungrily in her mind.

  “Had they come here to kill me, then?” she asked, softly.

  Aila shook her head. “I doubt it. Not yet. If they had meant to kill you they probably would have meant to kill me as well, and they would have attacked me without so much talk. I think they were hoping to catch you up to something, or just corner you somewhere and frighten you into revealing your secrets.”

  “You rescued the King’s daughter, and so for the time being you have his favor. Even Modrin will not strike at you without some kind of evidence. But like many of us, he will not have forgotten that your father’s body was never found. It will occur to him, if it hasn’t already, that you are just about the right age to be Ethyrin’s daughter. He’ll wonder if you’ve come back to claim the throne. It will seem unlikely. Rusukhor is a long way from Calimshaan. And if he had survived, why wouldn’t Ethyrin have come back himself? But the idea will gnaw at his mind. He will not rest until he finds out your secret.”

  “Do you understand now, daughter of Nuara?” she asked, looking deep into Alirah’s eyes. “It’s too late to just go home. You must fight, or you must run. But if you run, you must not stop running at Rusukhor, or wherever it was that Kelorn found you. If he could find your family there, Modrin’s servants will too, and they’ll come ready to kill.”

  “You say Ethyrin doesn’t want to fight; he doesn’t want to start a war. Those are just Lady Sedura’s fears echoing out of his childhood. She did not want to see Arandia torn apart. She still doesn’t. But Arandia is already torn apart! War is coming, whether you start it or not. Archandir is sick, and Caeryl has been raised to be a puppet. Soon it will be Modrin and his cronies who rule this nation. And with a Sa’Hadran in power, we won’t just have senseless wars, and greed, and injustice. We’ll have wars of extermination and enslavement, and we’ll have blood sacrifices as under the Dark Lord of old. I will not stand for that, and I will not be put in my place. Neither will many others like me.”

  “I will not keep you here by force,” Aila concluded. “If you just want to run back home, I will help you to do so. But…”

  “I’m not going to run,” said Alirah. Her words were soft, but they rang in her heart like a stroke of doom.

  “No?”

  “No,” Alirah said more firmly. The long war inside of her between fury and fear had come to an end. Her fear bowed in defeat. It did not vanish, deep down she felt cold and sick; but despite her promise to her father and no matter the consequences, she knew now what she had to do. Her eyes burned with a clear fire as they looked up into Aila’s.

  “I’m not going to run away. I’m not going to hide. I won’t let them hurt my family. I won’t let them hurt Kelorn! And I won’t let that awful man… That murderer!... I won’t let him rule any longer! I don’t think he wants it, and he may not accept it, but I’m going to take back my father’s throne.”

  End of Part I

  ###

  Thank you for reading A Daughter of Kings, Part I. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, I’d be thrilled if you would post a review of the book with the retailer where you purchased it. Also, you can find me on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/BooksByLouisPiechota

  Sincerely,

  Louis Piechota