She again lightly took hold of her necklace, cautiously moving her hands beneath her cloak.
“Careful if I were you, Lady Abellia,” Alathain said from behind her. He knew she assumed he’d somehow seen the faint glow emanating from her chest, but he’d paid close attention to the elbow wriggling beneath the cloak he’d draped over her. “She’s to bring the amulet herself,” he remembered Lord Daen telling him. He still hadn’t fully grasped why he couldn’t have merely stolen the necklace and left the girl, but he didn’t let his Dark Lord see. Instead, Alathain pretended he’d understood. Surely, the girl was only a hindrance.
“Odd time to sail,” Blundy said, his voice hoarse and cold like the dawn’s waves. “Yer master hasn’t informed me of our destination. Odd as it be.”
Alathain kept his voice quiet and said, “We’ll enlighten you as we sail. For now, west is all you need know.”
“West ye say?” The shipmaster grumbled to himself. “I’ve got a strong crew for ye. Small, but strong. We’ve sailed east and west. To most parts around this world.” He stopped his stammering and looked at Alathain. “Looks by yer face ye’ve seen a lot of this world too.”
The sound of their boots beat against the wooden docks, a sharp rapping compared to the grass they’d been walking on. Alathain stopped, letting Abellia make her way a few steps ahead of him and the shipmaster. “We sail west,” he whispered sharply.
“You mean…” Blundy lowered his voice when Alathain leaned in quickly, as if to strike him, “… the West Lands?”
Alathain nodded.
For a moment, Blundy eyed him suspiciously, if not threateningly. Then, with a brief humph, he shrugged his shoulders. “Heard they’re in a bit of a war,” he said casually. “What do yer nobles call it now,” he said, and rifled through his brain. “Ah, yes. Internal conflict.”
Alathain stared down the shipmaster. He’d never piloted a ship near the size of Bundy’s vessel, but he’d learn. He had no issue commandeering the man’s ship, if he were to give them trouble.
“Though,” Bundy continued, “yer Lord was gracious enough to give me and mine pay enough for ten tenday,” he smiled. “Seems nice of him, don’t ye think?”
Alathain nodded.
“So, Master Alathain,” he said. “That bein’ said, long as ye need no more than a swift drop off in the West Lands, I’m yer man.”
Alathain looked over Bundy’s shoulder at the ship behind them. It was indeed a large vessel, perhaps the largest ship Alathain would ever sail on. Though it wasn’t the most pleasing he’d ever seen. The wooden planks that rested in the dark waves were moldy and slippery. A tall mast jutted from the center of the deck like a misplaced scaffold, outfitted with a tattered sail.
Bundy caught the scarred man’s inspection. “It’s just for effect,” he laughed, swatting Alathain on his shoulder. “She’s magical, I tell ye.”
***
Before the sun rose, the ship was fast upon the waters.
Bundy had shown Alathain and Lady Abellia to their cabins below deck. They were cramped rooms, and they stunk of fresh fish and saltwater. Not that Abellia had come to expect much else. Thankfully, she hadn’t been close enough to the man to find out for herself, but she’d assumed Bundy had smelled the same. “Please, Captain Bundy in front of me crew,” he’d asked them politely. He’d said it kept them in line.
The sun had come up now, and the light reflecting off the ship’s wake stunned Abellia, as she looked out her porthole window. There was nothing but the vastness of the Grey Sea around her, Stalholm long behind them. Somehow, it comforted her. She wasn’t afraid, necessarily. She had been. Through her stay in Stalholm, less than a full tenday, she’d been afraid. Now, however, she didn’t fear for herself. The only things that truly scared her were her brother, young Elrich, alone in that miserable, traitorous city, and her father. What he would do when he found out, she thought to herself.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Safe Pass
The Black Knight’s oddly-shaped sword fell.
Kyrn’s eyes shot open as he heard the heavy thump in the wooden floor of King’s Justice in front of him. The knight’s sword had landed, sticking into the floor, and its handle angled towards Kyrn’s face.
The Black Knight was no longer in front of him.
Syonne had watched it unfold. She’d nearly dropped the Stone of Ezroch, watching the Black Knight as he raised his blade high above his head. Like a brilliant blur of gold, she’d seen Brailen surge from his place, knelt before Hairen’s lifeless body. With a charging blow, the nimble elf plunged into the side of the Black Knight, toppling him before he could bring his sword down upon the surrendered Kyrn.
“Brailen!” Kyrn shot. Though the elf had tackled the large suit of armor, the Black Knight was now atop the elf, raising his metal gauntlets for their fatal blow. Kyrn soared to his feet, searching this way and that for the king’s glaive.
It lay on the floor behind him, slowly pulsing its royal blue.
He scooped it up, already moving towards the knight atop the pinned elf.
It must have sensed young Kyrn’s approach. The Black Knight didn’t take its deprived stare off the elf beneath it, but extended one of its gauntlets towards Kyrn, palm facing him.
An imperceptible surge of energy came from the metal glove, stopping Kyrn in his tracks, and sending him flying the opposite direction. His back smashed into the wall of King’s Justice, and he curled to the ground. His spine felt as if he had been scrunched like an accordion, each fragile vertebra grinding against the next. His vision went hazy. The knight before him, grey as a winter wolf, doubled, tripled with his swaying eyesight.
Somehow, he hadn’t dropped the king’s glaive. He felt the cool, metallic staff in his hand, each finely-etched swirl grazing against his skin, his eyes fixated on the long spear at its tip, curved like a branch gently blowing with the wind. The strangely-formed key lit bright, as the blue lights coursed down the veins of the handle and flowed into it.
Kyrn thought of the stone. It was safe, as safe as safe could be considered, in the hands of Syonne, watching in awe. But for how long, the mirror-like portal still stood in the center of King’s Justice, and no one within the room could even hope to perceive what would come through next. Perhaps the Dark Lords themselves. He felt the weight of the scarab amulet pull upon his neck as he tilted it, with the pain shooting through his back. His left hand brushed over it through his shirt, stained with drops of blood that fell from his mouth.
Abellia, he thought to himself. That was what he was fighting for. His family: Abellia, Elrich, his father. Grimmrich.
Two pieces of this puzzle that Magmi had told him of, crafted by the fallen king of old Castreeth, Kyrn’s great ancestor, lay within this very room. They were not safe, he realized. And, too, he knew that his true goal was not to find the elves of Castreeth. Not to enlighten them of the return of the Black Order. It was not to pass the torch and return comfortably to his home. To his family. This was his burden.
Kyrn dug the tip of his glaive into the wooden floor and pulled himself from the ground. He spun it before him, until it twirled behind his back—like the energies that flowed through it taught him how to wield it, the fallen King Mayhlan himself—holding it only with his main hand. “May the forest of Castrolyl be born anew,” he whispered. He pulled the glaive high over his head and brought the sword-like tip down hard upon the Black Knight’s back.
The metal chimed with a jarring clank and bounced off the knight’s back.
The Black Knight released its grip from around the blond elf’s neck, and sent a forceful blow directly into Kyrn’s chest, sending him back into the wall. It rose, armor clinking together, and tugged its oblong sword from the wooden floor. It approached Kyrn, quicker than it’d moved through King’s Justice, and brought the metal weapon down, blocked only as Kyrn held the metal handle of the king’s glaive before his face.
Kyrn let the forces of the glaive flow through him, as if the
blue lights found their way through his own veins. He shoved with a force he’d not known he was capable of, and the Black Knight stumbled backwards. Kyrn seized the moment and rose to his feet.
“Dive, my bird!” Magmi shouted from where he stood, closer to Syonne.
Kyrn watched Skoval rise to the ceiling and dive with blinding speed before the Black Knight. As it did, it let its sharp beak slide across the knight’s scarab helm, sparking a bright light before its face.
When Kyrn saw the knight raise its hand to shield its absent face, he came in low with a swing of the king’s glaive. The elven lights lagged slightly behind the blade as it cut clean through the knee of the Black Knight, and it stopped only when it collided with the second leg of armor.
The Black Knight fell to its seemingly cauterized stump. It hissed and shrieked, and a faint mist rolled from the blackness inside its helm.
Kyrn pulled the king’s glaive far behind him, as he stood, and thrust it deep through the Black Knight’s heart, if ever it had such a thing.
When the king’s glaive protruded from the knight’s back, its incessant hissing ceased, and, in pieces around the glaive through its chest, the grey armor reduced to ashes, smoldering upon the floor.
***
Kyrn quickly helped Brailen to his feet.
Brailen looked around the room, as if he’d forgotten where he was. He saw a few elven guards fending off the few remaining goblins. Though, most of the guardsmen stood in awe of Kyrn’s victory over the Dark evil.
When the golden-haired elf set his eyes back upon Kyrn, he quickly dropped to a knee. “By the Old King and the New,” he said loudly. “May the forest of Castrolyl be born anew.” He bowed his head. “I swear my service to you, Kyrn Fellenor, son of Ulzrich Fellenor, ancestor of the fallen King Mayhlan Ezroch.” He looked back up to see Kyrn’s eyes wide, his face flushed. “King of Castreeth.”
A few elves within the room fell to their knees as well; however, many remained standing, looking at one another with confused glances.
Magmi rushed over to Kyrn. “Now is not the time for that,” he hissed at Brailen. “Nothing is ever quite that easy. Especially not in the realm of politics.” The old wizard wrapped his arm beneath Brailen’s and pulled him to his feet. “Not in the realm of elves.”
“He wields the king’s glaive,” Brailen argued. “Surely…”
“Surely nothing,” Magmi said. “If you swear your fealty to Master Kyrn, then I suggest you make haste and get us through Castreeth. We must make for the Safe Pass.” Magmi watched Brailen begin his argument anew. “Quickly!”
Brailen looked back at Kyrn, who only nodded in agreeance with the old wizard. Truthfully, Kyrn hadn’t known of what Magmi spoke of, precisely; however, he’d known that his time to flee would soon be upon him, with the Dark Ones tracking his steps. If they’d made their way into Castreeth, there was no safe place in all the realms.
Kyrn grabbed Syonne’s wrist and pulled her through the air as he followed Magmi and Brailen.
The golden-haired elf pointed to one of the guardsmen and shouted, “Make for the king’s castle.” The taste on his tongue felt odd and bitter, having seen their traitorous king so recently fall. “Gather Kyrn’s belongings and meet us in the Ivorrose Gardens.” Before they’d reached the door, he turned back to the guard. “The wizard’s, too,” he added.
“Wait!” Kyrn shouted.
“We don’t have time,” Magmi grumbled, turning back to see what the fuss was about. But Kyrn had already turned, racing back into King’s Justice.
In the center of the room, Kyrn raised his glaive high once more, jamming it through one of the illuminated lights around the ring of the mirror-like portal. It sent a shock through the glaive and into Kyrn’s body, but he held tight, sucking air through his clenched teeth, fighting off the pain.
With a quick and bright flash, the portal flickered from view and was no more.
***
Through the city streets they ran, Magmi following Brailen, Kyrn following them both.
Syonne fluttered quickly at their sides.
The mists upon the dirty city streets were heavier than when Kyrn first set foot within the city of Castreeth. Beneath their purple tint, the ground was trampled and indented with boot prints and claw marks. Bodies littered them. There were elves, young and old alike, littering the streets in bloodied messes. Even doubly, so lay the bodies of countless goblins, heads cleaved and stomachs opened. As they rounded corners and raced through streets, sporadic, dark bodies of draelor laid upon the ground, intertwined with the pandemonium of Castreeth’s streets.
“I can’t bear this,” Brailen whispered through careful breaths.
Neither Magmi nor Kyrn responded. What were they to say? Nothing could console the grief of the city. Nothing other than time, if even that.
Kyrn knew that getting the fallen king’s relics out of the city would help start the healing process.
He felt a gust rustle his hair, as Syonne swooped in closer to him.
“Why did you rescue me?” she whispered to him. “Again.”
“He wanted you executed,” Kyrn answered, as if there was no other answer. “I couldn’t let them return you to the soil.” He looked at Syonne to find her child-like demeanor absent. Her brows were lowered in a sorrowful look, the flakes of her blue skin bowing down with them.
“Do you remember what you said?” she asked.
Kyrn returned his eyes to the path before him, as he followed Brailen and Magmi through the streets. “That I’d have you come with me.”
“No,” she sighed. “That I was not to make the same assumption of you.”
“The trolls,” he said, remembering.
“So,” she continued, “why did you rescue me, if we are not friends?”
Kyrn couldn’t help but laughing. It hurt his ribs and his back flared like it was on fire. “We have more important things ahead of us,” he reminded the elleinor. “I’d make the same decision over again, if given the choice.”
Syonne watched as the young boy ran through Castrolyl. His dark, braided hair bounced each and every time his feet landed upon the streets. Perhaps he’d had a better grasp on friendship in his few years, she thought to herself. Perhaps that was how the elves had created her, to never truly know. Yet, somehow, she knew.
***
Not long after, they reached the edge of the city and crossed the large River Bridge. The waters below them gushed wildly, splashing off the banks and misting them with cool waters as they crossed.
Kyrn could see the path that he’d walked down, leading back up and into the forest. The trees swayed with the breeze, and the light caught the orange podlings growing in their branches.
Instead of trudging back up the hill, Brailen cut a sharp right and skirted the edge of the river. Before them lay the Ivorrose Gardens.
Kyrn had never seen them during his short stay in Castrolyl. In fact, he’d never even heard their name whispered through the melodic elven voices. Though, he knew them when he saw them. The garden was a vast land of trees sprouting from the soil. Had Syonne been walking beside them, rather than flying, they would have barely stood higher than her. Their branches were filled with luminescent leaves of the brightest blues and purples, drooping heavily like miniature weeping willows. They spread out as far as Kyrn could see, seeming to stretch to the horizon and tear into the realm that he’d recently come from.
“What is this place?” Kyrn asked, though he hadn’t meant to speak aloud.
“The Ivorrose,” answered Syonne.
Brailen smiled behind him, as he slowed their pace to a brisk walk. “It is where our healers grow their herbs and medicines. This garden is life itself. The heart of Castreeth.”
Where the bright trees met the border of the lands, he could see the silhouette of a small object. As they stepped carefully through the Ivorrose Gardens, Kyrn saw that it was a small boat, only a little larger than the fishing vessels he’d seen in Grimmrich. The boat was long and
wooden, nearly stretched enough to seat two dozen men side-by-side. The bow of the ship was curved upward, forming a finely-carved podling that hung towards the waters. The stern was curved similarly, though, rather than the podling, the point curved into itself, forming a tightly wound ball of wood.
“Easy as that,” Magmi grinned. “Though harder times will come, you can be sure of that.”
Kyrn believed the old wizard, through and through. But he’d not been able to convince himself how much harder things would be.
“So, we’re to leave,” Kyrn said. He’d known that he’d have to, sooner or later. And he’d felt sure it’d be the former. But the elves were in need. “Castreeth is falling apart.”
Brailen rested his hand upon the half-elf’s back. “Remember who you are,” he said. “What you are. Castrolyl will prevail. We will make sure of that.” A rustling came from the garden behind them, and Brailen spun around, unsheathing his sword simultaneously.
A guard held two packs in front of him. “Your belongings, Master Kyrn and Master Wylah,” he said, and released his breath when Brailen holstered his sword. Behind the guard walked the four members of the council, who had been seated before Syonne in King’s Justice.
Kyrn and Magmi took their packs from the elven guard.
The elf who had spoken at Syonne’s trial stepped forward. He bowed before Kyrn. “You have done great justice to Castreeth,” he said.
“What will come of the city now?” Kyrn asked.
The old elf smiled at Kyrn. He said, “The council has decided, given light of your unforeseen heritage, to wait until your return for further decisions to be made. Until then, the council will restore Castreeth to what it should be.”
Kyrn nodded, not knowing what he had to do with anything. “And of Syonne?” he asked sharply.
At this, the old elf laughed. “Given the traitorous nature of her master, the council has also decided that all accusations against the elleinor fall null to our ears.” He looked then at Syonne. “We have decided that you, Master Kyrn, will determine her fate.”
A Flutter In The Night (Kyrn's Legacy Book 1) Page 18