by Jann Rowland
Skye glanced at Gusty. “Do you think you could . . . ?”
“Certainly,” Gusty said with a knowing smile. He turned to Mista. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to see her tonight.”
As Gusty continued to speak with Mista, Skye hastened away to speak with Bluster. In his present mood, he was not particularly inclined to talk to his stepmother. His mind was almost wholly focused on when he would see Tierra again.
The morning after Skye’s coronation, he flew down to the ground realm to see Tierra. He had not slept well, and when he had finally rolled out of bed, his legs had been hopelessly tangled in the sheets. A glance in the mirror had revealed bags under his eyes, and the state of his hair left much to be desired. He scarcely looked the part of a Skychild, much less a king of his people.
Whereas his father had required the assistance of multiple attendants when performing his morning ritual, Skye waved off most of the proffered help. He would not have accepted any at all had he not felt such a bumbling fool due to his sleep deprivation.
And so it was that he went down to the ground realm with an overwhelming sense of relief. Being separated from Tierra after such a fight felt worse than the actual fight itself had, and he could not wait to see her.
But when he set down in front of a pair of castle guards, he could not miss the anxiety painted on their faces.
“King Skye!” one of the men managed.
Skye held his hands up in the air to show he had no weapons. “I come in peace,” he said, trying to lighten the oppressive mood. It was a horrible failure; both men looked at him as if he were insane, deepening Skye’s concern. “Is something wrong?”
The two men exchanged a look before the first man spoke again. “You must leave. It is not safe!”
“What do you mean?” Skye asked, stepping closer.
“Princess Wisteria is the only one left,” the second man whispered quickly. He kept looking around in fear of being overheard. “The king is dead, the queen has disappeared, and Princess Tierra was taken away late in the night. The Iron Swords, we . . . we do not know what to do! Our duty is to the entire royal family, but only Princess Wisteria is left.”
Skye had grabbed the guard’s shoulders before he even knew what he was doing. “But Tierra is alive, right? Did Wisteria have anything to do with this?”
Skye’s mind was racing. Yet he felt a spike of hope with the sudden realization that Tierra had to be alive . . . or else Skye himself would be dead.
“As far as Ranger and I know, y-yes, Princess Tierra is alive,” the guard managed. He did not even try to push Skye away, but his voice quivered. “Nobody had ever before seen the men who came and took her. They were so pale-faced—”
“Do you know where they were from? Where they were going? For Celesta’s sake, how did these men even gain access to the castle?”
“Shale and I do not know, Your Majesty,” Ranger said, putting a hand on Skye’s arm in an attempt to encourage him to relax his grip.
Skye released the hapless guard he had been clutching and let out a growl beneath his breath. “This has to be Wisteria’s doing.”
A sharp look at Shale showed his terror. The situation was obviously serious. Perhaps Skye could turn it to his own advantage and take control of the Groundbreathers while he found out what happened.
“Where is the Sword of Terrain? I need to speak with him.”
The two guards shared a wild look before Ranger said, “The Sword of Terrain is dead, Your Majesty. He died while fighting the intruders. Princess Wisteria replaced him with one of the pale newcomers, a hard man with cold eyes and a shaved head.” The man almost seemed disgusted by the thought of a Groundbreather without any hair. In fact, Skye had never seen any Groundbreather without hair that was at least shoulder-length, now that he thought about it. Perhaps Terrain gave his people some sort of power over their hair, he thought with a sort of dark, sardonic humor.
“The Iron Swords who remain are all afraid of him,” Shale added.
Skye cursed under his breath and began to pace. He could scarcely believe that Tillman was dead. A sense of sorrow passed through him; he had come to esteem the mild-mannered Groundbreather king, even more than he had esteemed his own father. If what he had been told were true—if Tierra had been taken, Sequoia had escaped, and Tillman had been killed—then the fact that Wisteria was still present seemed to suggest that she was behind everything. He knew she hated the new alliance with the Skychildren, but he had never thought her capable of anything more than casual malice. Apparently, he had misjudged her.
Skye’s curses turned to a snarl, and he turned and began to walk toward the entrance. “Wisteria is behind this! Now she’ll have to deal with me.”
“Your Majesty!” Ranger called.
Swiveling around, Skye saw the two men hurrying to follow him.
“If you go in there, Your Majesty, she will have you executed!” Shale told him. “She has instructed us to take you to her if we see you. There will be no escape!”
“Surely she knows killing me will harm her sister, too,” Skye said. But even as he spoke, he knew that would not deter Wisteria at all; her hatred would overrule whatever residue of affection she possessed for her sister. If, indeed, any such thing had ever existed in the bitter woman.
“You are taking a risk by speaking to me like this,” Skye said.
Shale looked around in seeming consternation, but Ranger only squared his shoulders. “Perhaps, but we could not let you walk in unaware. Our loyalty is to the king and queen, and Princess Tierra has always been respected by those in the castle. Wisteria is . . .”
“Feared, but not respected or liked?” Skye finished when the man paused.
A grim nod met his declaration.
“I understand,” Skye said in gratitude.
A surreptitious look around revealed no one in evidence. Skye suspected that Wisteria had left only two guards out to greet him in order to lull him to sleep. Though it might have been foolhardy to brave the harpy in her lair, Skye needed to know what was happening. Still, he paused and turned back to the two men.
“I am not certain what is happening here, but it seems Wisteria has managed a coup to remove her father from power. I don’t know how you Groundbreathers typically handle matters of succession, especially when it involves regicide, but I can’t imagine anyone here would be happy to live under Wisteria’s yoke.”
“The murder of a king has not happened in centuries,” Ranger said. “We are all descended from those chosen by Terrain. Ambitious people have tried to get ahead, but their efforts usually do not extend to killing their rulers.”
Much like the Skychildren, Skye reflected. What a dismal coincidence that the monarchs of both peoples had been murdered within months of one another!
“I must go speak with Wisteria,” Skye said, holding his hand up to forestall any further protest. “There is nothing else I can do. I have to find out what happened. As you well know, because of Terrain’s water, I’m in a precarious situation myself. I have to find Tierra.”
“I understand,” Ranger said.
“What I need you to do is speak with your fellow guards and find out who shares your perspective,” Skye said. “When I find Tierra, she’ll likely want to hold her sister responsible for the murder of their father. I need you to form a resistance or a company who can support her when she returns. I will pledge my assistance, but Tierra will need the support of Groundbreathers to make it work.”
“We will do as you ask, Your Majesty.”
“Good,” Skye replied. “But don’t take chances. Keep your activities quiet, and don’t give Wisteria a reason to punish you.”
“We will take care,” Ranger said firmly.
Skye motioned for the two guards to resume their posts, and then he steeled himself and entered the castle.
Skye would have noticed the difference immediately, even if he had not spoken with the Iron Swords. The Groundbreather castle had always had a different feel than the
Skychild palace, even after Skye had started visiting it as a free man. The castle was a sober sort of place, where everyone went about their duties, performing their tasks quickly and efficiently. The Skychild seat, by contrast, was a much more frenetic place, with people bustling about this way and that, and while Skye did not think his people were any less diligent than their Groundbreather counterparts, still they were a more boisterous people.
On that morning, the castle could almost have been mistaken for a cemetery. It was quiet and somber, with few denizens walking the halls, and those people who did pass by fled at the sight of him, as though they feared being seen near him. The Iron Swords were also scarce, and Skye did not see one garm during the course of his journey. The air felt stifling, though it was still early in the day. Only the ground-snakes seemed unaffected by what had happened.
The throne room, by contrast, was guarded, but rather than there being a pair of Iron Swords with their garm companions outside the entrance, there instead stood a pair of men with swords strapped on their backs. Their hair was a much lighter shade of brown than most Groundbreathers possessed, and their complexions were indeed pale, as the Iron Swords outside the castle had noted.
When Skye approached, both men turned and opened the throne room doors. As he glanced at the two guards, they watched him closely, but with little in the way of an actual reaction. As far as Skye could tell, it was equally likely that they would fall to their knees and venerate him as draw their swords to attack.
Skye moved past them and through the open doors, the hair on the back of his neck rising in his dread. The throne room was much as he remembered, except that now Wisteria sat in the seat once occupied by the king. The princess watched him as he approached, her expression almost gleeful. In her arms sat her fat pet cat, a monstrosity of a feline which could easily be mistaken for a young garm due to its sheer size. Its purring filled the otherwise quiet throne room.
“Skychild,” Wisteria said, her voice a purr that seemed better suited to the creature sitting on her lap. “Have you come to congratulate me on my recent ascension?”
“What have you done?” Skye asked, grinding his teeth together. “I know Tierra’s alive, but I can’t sense her anywhere nearby.” His telepathy apparently had its limits in terms of distance, and he cursed the fight that had made him heed Tierra’s presence in his mind less than he would have ordinarily.
“I shall take it slow for you since you are but a simple Skychild,” Wisteria said, a malicious smile crossing her face. “I have control over the ground realm, and you will never see Tierra again.”
“Did you kill your father?” Skye growled. “Tillman was a good man.”
“I did not touch my father. But yes, he is dead. And soon, Tierra will be as well. All I need to do is take care of you, and that foolish water bond will ensure she is properly disposed of.”
“I knew you had no more honor than a harpy,” Skye said, “but I had not thought you deranged enough to intentionally kill me to get revenge against your sister.”
“She is not my sister! The moment she took up with our mortal enemies was the moment she stopped being my sister!” Wisteria shook her head and sneered. “I always knew she was worthless, but I never knew she was a traitor.”
“Perhaps you are the traitor.”
“It matters little, for you are about to die.”
“You think I am that easy to kill?”
“You forget that I once took a whip to you, Skychild. I know what your limits are. Furthermore, my kind have captured you twice. We are more than capable of doing so again within the confines of my throne room.”
“It will never be your throne room,” Skye growled. “You may be the eldest, but your people won’t stand behind a foolish usurper forever.”
“Listening to your insults is like listening to the tiny ping of pebbles thrown by children at the castle. Whatever you do and say has no meaning. Your greatest use to me is that of an instrument that may be utilized to destroy my sister. The throne belongs to me. I am the rightful heir. It is simple enough for even one of your kind to understand.”
“If you had been lawfully put on your throne, then you would have no fear of your sister stepping forward to take it away from you,” Skye growled. “Even one as dust-headed as you are must recognize she has no desire for power.”
“Oh, Skychild, I do not fear poor, pitiful Tierra. I simply must purge the Skychild-lovers from my family. It is nothing personal, you understand.” Wisteria made a casual twirl of her hand while looking at the four Iron Swords who stood beside her. “It merely has to do with the incompetency of your entire race.”
The guards’ faces were grim as they stepped forward, and Skye chanced a brief glance at the two Iron Swords standing beside the door. While Skye was not exactly surrounded, he was trapped. He would not be leaving the castle peacefully.
“I suppose I should not have expected you to attempt to dispose of me personally,” Skye said as he moved into a battle-ready stance. “It was foolish of me to underestimate the strength of your cowardice.”
Wisteria smiled and gave the purring feline in her arms a long stroke. “Guards,” she said, her tone almost bored, “kill him.”
A Groundbreather Skye had not noticed stepped forward from where he had been leaning against the wall at the side of the room. He was tall for a Groundbreather, and as he moved, his muscles rippled, suggesting a powerful frame. He was lean and graceful, as though the power of a griffin had been bunched up in his frame. As Skye looked at the man’s eyes, he noted a brown similar to that of most Groundbreathers, but whereas their eyes were often composed of a warmth of color, this man exuded coldness. It was almost as if he were dead inside.
As Skye had been told, the man’s head was shorn, the smoothness of the skin on his head standing out starkly against the rich brown tresses of the rest of his people. His attire was made up of numerous scraps of leather sewn together, as though he had taken a small piece of every animal he killed. A shiver traveled down Skye’s spine as he thought he recognized a chunk of human hair hanging at the man’s waist. Skye’s fears seemed justified, for as the man walked, the rest of the Iron Swords shrank away from him, as if his mere passage could corrupt them, turning them into nothing more than mockeries of themselves.
“If we kill him,” the man said, his voice deep yet rasping, “it will also kill Princess Tierra. I understand the apathy you possess for your sister, but killing her was never part of the plan.” Though the man spoke in apparent protest, his voice betrayed no concern over the matter. It was as if he were merely saying what was expected of him.
“I said, ‘Kill him,’” Wisteria responded in a tone that left no room for disagreement.
The man’s face twisted into a monstrous half-smile. “You will hear no further argument from me. I long for the slick feel of Skychild blood on my hands.”
As the four guards and the bald man moved toward Skye, he caused a circle of small whirlwinds to spring up around him. He would never go down without a fight.
As Stonedog had decreed, the Groundbreather armies prepared for battle, placing themselves beneath the palace of the Skychildren and holding up the captured Fenik as a living banner. Like a flock of carrion birds, the Skychildren filled the sky, blackening out the sun.
The Groundbreathers murmured at the sight of the sky-dwellers’ bows and arrows, but Stonedog cried, “Stand your ground!”
A flood of arrows rained forth as the Skychildren moved closer. But the arrows hit the Groundbreathers’ armor and then fell, so the Skychildren were forced to come down to the ground to clash in battle with the Groundbreather forces.
The two armies strove with one another, swords flashing as man after man fell. Stonedog’s voice was raised above all, crying out the glory of Terrain.
At last, Stonedog was assailed by the leader of the Skychildren. Their swords flashed like lightning and crashed like thunder. Stonedog had only rudimentary training, but he was carried forth by the grace of
Terrain. Knowing that killing the leader would win the battle, Stonedog feinted to one side, leaving himself vulnerable. And as the Skychild’s sword pierced a chink in Stonedog’s armor, the mighty Groundbreather used the last of his strength to slide his own sword in between the other man’s ribs.
Both men fell to the ground. The Skychild died instantly, sending his forces into confusion. And the last sight Stonedog saw before his eyes closed forever was that of the Skychildren fleeing into the sky.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Clash
When pieces of the stone floor sprung up around Skye, he was prepared. A gust lifted him upward. Another blast of wind sent the stones flying.
As Skye set down once more, he glanced at Wisteria, whose brow was raised in irritation.
“Guards,” she said, “do not wreck my throne room while you take care of this vermin.”
The guards’ grim looks were unmistakable as they moved forward. But though Wisteria’s words prevented them from causing further damage, they made use of their present collection of stones, sending the rocks hurtling forward with sweeping motions.
Skye batted the rocks away with the wind. A pair of garms rushed into the room, either summoned by their handlers or attracted by the commotion. As the two garms approached at a run, Skye sent the creatures flying forward through the air, catching the nearby pair of Iron Swords by surprise and throwing them to the ground.
The garms hit the wall behind Skye with an audible thud. He winced at the dogs’ yelps of pain. But this was his life, and he had no time to pity the creatures.
He rushed toward the two dogs, sending bursts of wind behind him to distract his opponents.
One of the garms lifted its head, dazed, and then blinked at him. It had an unusual nick on its ear, and Skye thought he recognized it as one of the garms he had once helped take care of.