Haven (War of the Princes)

by A. R. Ivanovich

  Dylan walked around his brown horse, different again from the others he’d used, and paused to look at the stable girl behind him.

  This was it.

  We had to fly.

  I jammed my heels into Florian’s sides and let the long slack of my rein slap against his neck. My grey charger put all of his power in his back legs and leapt forward, diving to speed.

  Somewhere behind me I could hear Dylan shout in surprise. The sounds were muted; my ears were ringing from the rush.

  Breakwater was still mostly unfamiliar to me, but I trusted that I’d find my way out. Florian’s hooves clattered over cobble streets and pounded packed dirt paths as we wove through the town at all speed. An automobile was forced to swerve and slam to a jarring stop to avoid us. Gouts of dark steam clouded the driver as he honked his horn at us. We charged past shop fronts and I ignored the surprised cries of shoppers in my wake. Chickens scattered clumsily from our path, squawking with fright. Florian slowed for no one.

  The sound of echoing hooves drew nearer but I refused to let Dylan catch me. I wheeled Florian to the side and we stormed up the stone steps of an old building, dodging shocked townspeople. Not bothering to walk down the opposite steps, Florian launched over them. I felt my stomach rise to my throat as we fell the short distance, landed, and barreled off again. We turned sharply down a side street and I stopped breathing when I saw a pair of carts blocking our way. Florian wouldn’t be stopped. Any doubt within me meant nothing to him. The gelding tossed his head, powered forward and jumped the obstacles before him with commendable ease.

  My hair, tangled with ribbons, flowed behind me, my orange scarf trailing along, and I smiled. We were faster. Dylan had given me the better horse.

  If I had liked him before, I loved Florian now. Maybe he thought it was a race, maybe he just liked to run, but either way, he was unstoppable and followed my lead more fearlessly than any horse I’d ever known.

  We burst out of a side alleyway into a wide, unpaved area of town, filled with sun-drenched olive limestone cottages and surprised townspeople when something went wrong.

  Florian fell.

  It happened quickly and slowly at the same time. I saw his head lurch and felt us dip down. The dusty ground sped toward me and I twisted sideways to protect myself from the impact. Before I knew it, I was on the ground, Florian was struggling to get up, and a brown horse was trotting confidently toward us. I didn’t think about why I wasn’t pinned beneath my horse, or how I wasn’t injured, I just ran. I couldn’t check on Florian, Dylan was just behind me.

  Burning every bit of strength and energy within me, I fled. Near the outskirts of town, I was so close to the low hills that led home. I had to make it. I had to hide.

  Then I was victim to Florian’s same misstep. My foot felt strangely cushioned for a split second and I lost my balance, before crashing to the ground.

  “Katelyn,” I could hear Dylan call after me. “Stop running.”

  I forced myself up, ran, and fell again. It was like a bad dream. I couldn’t get far before tumbling onto the dirt.

  When I hit the ground a third time, I remembered the floating cider. It was Dylan. He was using his Ability to loosen the gravity around my foot and trip me, just like he must have tripped Florian.

  “No,” I said scrambling up and taking off again.

  “Katelyn, please stop. I hate to do this,” Dylan said, sounding both impatient and sympathetic.

  He hurried his horse forward to catch me and I ducked behind a carriage and dashed around a street corner.

  Skidding to a halt at the very edge of town, I took in a ragged gasp. I found myself face to face with a Lurcher and a ring of soldiers.

  In the sunlight the beast was a dirty cream color with round dull-green stripes over its back. Its long, swishing tail was jet black. Heavily wounded, there were dozens of gashes all along the length of its body. It looked as surprised to see me as I was to see it and its liquid silver eyes met mine. I was terrified.

  Behind the Lurcher, a soldier in dull black and red leather armor loosed a spear that came down and impaled the creature in the back of the neck. Three other soldiers shot the beast with their rifles. It dropped dead at my feet.

  I screamed and jumped backwards, right into Dylan.

  “Just in time,” a soldier said.

  From the intimidating armor, I assumed the men in red were Dragoons. The other half of the troop was made up of men and women in brown militia gear.

  “We won’t have far to carry it,” another Dragoon agreed.

  I struggled to pull free of Dylan’s grip, hoping to escape while their attention was on the dead beast on the ground. I wasn’t so lucky, but neither was Dylan.

  “What the hell is this?” a man demanded, reining his chestnut horse through the front of the troops to get a look at me. He was tall and imposing, his countenance commanded respect, and between his blonde hair and his low brow, I could guess that he was an Axton.

  “Brendon,” Dylan greeted his brother unhappily. He shifted his grip on my arm to appear more casual.

  Common-Lord Brendon Axton swung down from his horse and walked purposefully toward us. I could see a family resemblance, though Dylan was the handsomer of the two.

  “Dale, Grands, keep an eye on her. The Commanders should be here any moment,” Lord Brendon ordered, and Dylan grudgingly released me to the watch of two militia soldiers. “Dylan, what the hell do you think you’re doing, letting her out here?”

  “I wasn’t letting anything. I was showing her around town. Everything was under control,” Dylan said, shooting me an angry glance.

  “Clearly, brother. Control was in her favor, I’m afraid. Now tell me what in ten thousand hells you’re doing keeping a prisoner outside of a holding cell?” Lord Brendon demanded, gripping his shorter brother’s shoulder.

  “She’s not a spy, she’s harmless. There’s no reason to treat her like an enemy,” Dylan told him, pulling away from his grasp.

  I was grateful for what he said and even felt a little guilty for getting him into trouble, until I reminded myself of his motives. At the moment, I knew I’d rather deal with Dylan’s attentions than an army of Dragoons and Breakwater Militia.

  “That remains to be seen. She is no longer a concern of yours Dylan,” Lord Brendon leaned in toward him and said with a quiet authority, “If you disobey protocol one more time, brother, so help me, I will strip you of your title and send you on the next steam ship to Alder Island.”

  I was just beginning to regain my breath, feeling weak beyond measure by my recapture, when the Dragoons parted for two men on black warhorses. Their armor was the same color as the other Dragoons, but obviously superior in design. Intimidating battle helms covered their faces. They dismounted and walked straight to me, only pausing to nod down at the Lurcher’s body.

  The first was tall and gangly, even with the added mass of his armor. He removed his helm when he reached me and I sucked in a breath at sight of his face. One side of his cheek, from his brow to his jaw, was split with silver metal. The way the skin was parted, it seemed like the metal was protruding from within his face. The other side looked physically normal. He was middle aged, with a receding hairline, a long, crooked nose, a thin line for a mouth, and deep, laugh-wrinkles crowding his temples. His eagle eyes narrowed on me and I could feel malevolence radiating off of him. I’d never felt such hostility in my life.

  I tried in vain to pull away but the militia soldiers held me where I was.

  When the second man shouldered ahead of the other and removed his helm, what I saw in his face was even worse. Metal pushed up in ridges over both of his brows, jutted out of his cheeks, split the side of his upper lip and replaced two of his teeth with shiny silver hook-like fangs. The same darkness emanated off of him, but there was more control in his eyes. Shocks of grey mingled in his short, dark hair. His skin was the leathery tan of a man in his mid-forties. Metal growths aside, his stern features were remarkably average.
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br />   “By the Prince,” the fanged man said when he looked at me. He grabbed my face in his hand and forced me to look up at him. “You fools. You damnedable fools. You know not what rests even in your grasp. Tell me, Common-Lord Axton, do you know what this is?”

  I pulled my face away and he released me. I was shaking with fear now. Part of me was in denial. It told me this was a joke or a dream. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. How could they live with their faces so ripped from within by metal?

  I was breaking down inside. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion and self-loathing. I should have tried to run sooner. I shouldn’t have come this way. I should never have helped Rune. I should never have jumped into the cave pool.

  “Please, let me go,” I begged the militia guards quietly. “Please.”

  I was ignored.

  “She could be from the North, Senior Commander Fallux,” Lord Brendon answered. “An insurgent perhaps? A refugee if we’re lucky.”

  “You’re wrong,” said the Senior Commander in his gritty voice. “This is a Lodestone.”

  “What?” Dylan exclaimed. “That’s impossible, it’s a myth. And she’s a person!”

  “Hold your tongue,” Lord Brendon snapped at Dylan. “Sir, my ill-mannered brother does have a point. How could this girl be a Lodestone? They were said to be ore infused with power.”

  “A misinterpretation of text. Look at her eyes… silver. She is infused with power. This is a Lodestone, no doubt about it. The first discovered in near a century.”

  There was muttering between Dragoons and militia alike.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, trembling with shock. “Please, let me go.”

  The Senior Commander’s smile was hideous. The way his skin pulled against the metal ridges pushing out of his jaw made me nauseous.

  I turned to Dylan for help, but he crossed his arms and looked dejectedly away.

  “Stakes, take care of the Lurcher,” Senior Commander Fallux ordered the man beside him.

  For a moment, Stakes just stood there staring at me predatorily, but eventually he turned on his heel and began delegating work to clean up the Lurcher.

  In my mind I was crying out to my dad for help and wishing beyond reason that everyone in Rivermarch would find the passage in the mausoleum and come charging to my rescue. I knew it was stupid, but I also knew that things were about to get a whole lot worse.

  Someone led Dylan’s horse and Florian to us. To my relief, the grey gelding was uninjured by his fall. Militia bound my hands and forced me to mount. I clutched the pommel of my saddle for support as they pulled Florian’s reins over his head and away from me.

  “Now that you’ve rejoined us,” the Senior Commander said, turning to someone within the group of mounted Dragoons. “Bring the Lodestone to the Installation for observation.”

  I didn’t like how he said the word “observation” one bit.

  The Dragoon that Senior Commander Fallux singled out rode forward, flanked by two others. All three of them rode on the backs of black warhorses. Florian stamped nervously.

  The lead rider, decked in the standard black and red leather armor, sidled close beside me, taking my reins.

  Dylan was arguing with his brother, but his words held no meaning to me. My head was spinning. I felt sick. It was so wrong.

  Of all these Dragoons, the man to take me to the den of my worst nightmare was Rune Thayer.

  Chapter 21: The Installment

  “I hate you,” I said, just loud enough for Rune to hear.

  He betrayed no emotion, not the slightest alteration in his blank expression. He simply rode on, holding Florian’s lead.

  “How can you do this? They’re going to lock me away,” I said desperately. He made no answer.

  He didn’t even look like the same person, suited up in red and black armor with swords on his belt, a rifle on his back and a javelin holstered on his saddle. I couldn’t imagine him being the same guy who delicately and carefully painted the triumphant white tree in the maelstrom.

  Our journey brought us parallel to town on a wide farm road. Just beyond the low hills of golden grasses and sparse trees were the peaks of Haven Valley’s mountains. The cave and the strange pool that would take me back to Rivermarch were right there at the foot of the range. I could feel the tug of home.

  “Just give me my reins, please,” I begged.

  There was no doubt that the other two Dragoons flanking us would chase me, but I was all for taking risks at this point. My speculations didn’t matter, Rune held his course.

  “I saw Lina today,” I began saying, hoping to stir any compassion in him.

  “Stop,” he said with enough quiet command to make me comply.

  It made me feel horrible. I understood perfectly well that his sister was a sensitive subject. Talking about the family he wasn’t allowed to have probably pained him. Deep down I didn’t want to hurt him, even though I knew I shouldn’t care.

  With daily agonies like these, it was no wonder that Haven Valley would want to separate itself from the rest of the world.

  A short ride outside of Breakwater we faced a dismally dark fortress that clearly didn’t belong anywhere near the quaint old town. Constructed with dark wood and pitch metals, it reminded me more of the hovering steam ships I’d seen just outside the bay early that morning. Of all the horrible places I could imagine, I wanted to go here the least. I would have groveled a thousand times to be put back in the cell in Breakwater Keep’s dungeon rather than be taken anywhere near this fortress.

  “I helped you,” I said miserably. There was no sound but the shuffle of our horses’ hooves on packed dirt. “I shouldn’t have.”

  “We agree,” was his response. Anger and sadness poured through me in waves, each having a turn alongside my fear.

  “You’re right. If I didn’t help you, I’d be home and you’d be dead,” I said bitterly. “We would both have what we wanted.”

  Rune clenched his jaw.

  Staring down at the ground passing below me, I wished I could leap out of the saddle and land without getting hurt. It would be impossible with my hands tied like this. Even if I managed it, three soldiers on horseback would overtake me easily. I exhaled and tried not to panic when we got close enough to pass under the shadow of the fortress.

  The rusty iron portcullis of its exterior perimeter was raised and ready for our entry. The fortress was not overly large, within. A cluster of buildings with craggy towers sat at the center, surrounded by training yards with low fences.

  I tried to imagine being taken here at thirteen years of age to begin a new life as a Dragoon. It was dark, horrible and frightening. How could he do this to me? After everything I’d done, how could Rune bring me here?

  “Ruby, help me. Don’t give up on me,” I whispered when they brought our horses to a halt. Was there any chance at all that my best friend had tracked me to the graveyard in Rivermarch? It was a stretch but I wanted to believe it. I needed to believe I wasn’t alone.

  Rune helped me from my saddle with surprising gentleness. I glared at him and pulled away from his touch as soon as I was on my feet.

  The stable they took Florian to was surprisingly small considering this was the base of mounted soldiers. Two brown horses stood placidly within, but there were none of the black warhorses. I couldn’t imagine where they’d house so many of the creatures within these walls, but I wasn’t curious enough to ask.

  My escort walked me up a flight of stone steps toward the huge double doors of the main building. There was no utterance of comfort, no word of encouragement. I looked behind me to see a group of Dragoons riding alongside an open wagon, under the portcullis. The lifeless Lurcher was the wagon’s contents.

  The inside of the fortress was worse than I had imagined. The dark walls were unadorned and the floors were slick stone. There were no windows at all on the bottom floor and by the time they led me down a series of hallways and stairwells, I was breaking out in a co
ld sweat, just like I had in the mausoleum.

  The cell I was to be held in had no bars, no windows, and only one small lantern for light. There was a pile of filthy rags to one side, and a chamber pot on the other.

  I planted my feet. “I can’t go in there,” I said furiously shaking my head, feeling the coils of claustrophobia wrapping around my throat to suffocate me. Rune stood back while the other two Dragoons forced me in the room and locked the door. The last thing I saw before the door latched shut was his face, etched with regret.

  “No,” I shouted, pushing myself against the door. It didn’t budge. “Please don’t leave me here! Rune, please!”

  I was alone.

  My hands pounded against the thick wooden door until my arms hurt and I crumbled to the floor. Shock overwhelmed any chance at tears.

  My escape failed… I failed. I never wanted to see the twisted faces of the Commanders again, but here I was in their custody. What would happen to me?

  Early that morning, I heard Dylan mention that they were searching for Lodestones, but that they were just a myth. How could I be a Lodestone? I was just a regular girl.

  The image of Commander Stakes appeared in my mind, the tall, spider of a man, staring at me viciously. So that was what became of a Dragoon who drained another. Dylan was right. They really were monsters.

  I was in so far over my head, I was drowning.

  There was no way for me to tell how long they left me there. There was no natural light, no way to track time. I just sat there, curled against the door, wrapped in my scarf, with dirt and limp ribbons in my hair.

  I cried until my head hurt and my eyes could produce no more tears. Wrapping my arms around myself, I squeezed my eyes closed and wished with all my might to wake up from dreaming. Imagining that I was back home was a small comfort. Maybe when we jumped into the water from the Clockwork Ferris Wheel, I landed wrong and got hurt. Maybe this was all an elaborate nightmare. I pinched myself three times but didn’t wake from my reality.

  Some indeterminable amount of time later, I could hear raised voices echoing down the stone hall somewhere outside my door. By the tone of things, there was clearly a heated disagreement.