by Jann Rowland
“Sorry about that, pal,” he murmured as he slid the sword out of the sheath on its back.
He straightened and turned back to his opponents, holding the sword in front of him. “Would you like to dance?” he taunted, flashing a grin.
“I will handle this,” the bald man said, stepping forward. The arrogant look on his face indicated an abundance of confidence.
But Skye had fought Tierra, who was more than competent with the blade, and he had learned that while his skill with a sword was not as impressive as his ability to wield a bow, he had certain tactics up his sleeve that were unique to his position as a Skychild . . . and his willingness not to play by the rules. And so he smiled back at the cocky Groundbreather and gave a mocking bow. “Care to lead this dance?”
The man lunged. Skye sidestepped and swatted his sword.
“Slow, fumbling Groundbreather,” Skye said with a sigh as he shook his head. “I suppose I should not be surprised by your lack of grace and manners. You know, it is customary to offer your name before you begin to dance with someone.”
The Groundbreather slashed and stabbed, his face red with anger. “I go by the name ‘Scythe.’ Remember that when my blade slides between your ribs, for it is the last name you shall ever hear.”
After blocking Scythe’s attacks, Skye danced backward. “Scythe? Really? It couldn’t be something less predictable, like Blade or Sword or Pikestaff?”
“If I had a real scythe with me, you can be certain I would use it to separate your head from your neck,” the man growled. “Right now, I want nothing more than to stick a feather in the middle of your sky-loving heart.”
Skye risked a glance at Wisteria. “He really is one of yours, isn’t he?”
Wisteria’s mask of contentment was beginning to show a few cracks, and the other guards in the throne room looked back and forth between Skye, his opponent, and Wisteria, as though eager to rush in and deal with Skye. He suspected that the only reason they had not already charged was because Scythe had told them to stay put.
Skye could not help goading his opponent. “Do you enjoy taking orders from a princess with blood on her hands? I would think that even one as filthy as you would condemn patricide.”
“Princess Wisteria is the rightful ruler now that her father is dead,” Scythe said, feinting and then coming at Skye with a blow that was barely dodged. “Her hands are clean of his demise. Multiple witnesses placed her elsewhere at the time of King Tillman’s death, and there is nothing that can be said against her.”
“Awfully convenient, wouldn’t you say? That a prissy, antisocial princess happened to be among a group of people on the night that her father was murdered? Sounds to me like she was trying to avoid the suggestion that she was to blame.”
The Groundbreather came at Skye in a flurry of movement.
Skye could barely deflect the barrage of blows coming at him. Only his fast reflexes sent him diving to the side at the sound of a low growl behind him.
The garm that had leaped for him collided with his opponent’s legs instead. Scythe tottered, and Skye sent a gust forward that knocked the man to the ground.
Skye swiveled and locked his eyes on the second garm. It was struggling to get to its feet. Evidently, it had received a harder blow than its fellow.
Skye, sending a mental apology, lifted the garm up in a whirlwind and sent it flying toward the guards standing nearby. They cried out as the force of the whirlwind and the weight of the garm sent them to the floor.
“Skychild,” Wisteria gritted, the mere word an insult rather than any true form of address. Her obese cat had climbed up onto her shoulder, where it clung desperately to her clothes with its extended claws. “Guards, kill him!” she shouted.
The Iron Swords who were on the floor scrambled to stand, and those who were already on their feet came barreling forward. Skye brought up his sword and held it at the ready.
One Iron Sword rushed forward and lifted his sword to deliver an overhand strike. Skye darted to the side, pushing the guard away with a gust of wind that sent the man crashing against the wall. The guard’s helmet fell off with a clang, and he did not rise again.
The next wave approached, and Skye shot forward. His shoulder caught one man in the stomach and sent him reeling against two others. Scythe growled and flung himself forward. Skye avoided him by a narrow margin.
“I will kill you, bird-lover!” the man screamed. He stepped forward, a manic insanity in his movements.
Skye knew if he did not escape the room quickly, he would not escape at all. He met the Groundbreather, using his speed to overwhelm the man with an onslaught of swift attacks. Scythe batted his attempts aside and darted forward with a powerful stab. Skye heard the sound of ripping fabric as the sword tore a hole in his shirt.
“Yes!” Wisteria exclaimed. “Kill him and end his miserable life!”
Skye pirouetted from his opponent. Using the power of the winds, he swept up the sword and several rocks. The sword sped through the air. Scythe twisted at the last moment, contorting his body and throwing himself on his back in an attempt to avoid being impaled. The scream that tore from his throat attested to his partial success as a fountain of blood erupted from the gash the sword had opened in his face.
Meanwhile, the rocks hurtled at Wisteria. She tried to duck, but several caught her about the face, causing her to cry out. One especially jagged stone opened up a wound under her left eye. Blood dripped down onto her immaculate green dress.
“This isn’t the end, bitch!” Skye yelled. And with the wind at his back, he dashed out of the throne room.
The sounds of pursuit followed Skye as he raced through the castle. Though his breaths left his lungs in heavy pants, Skye felt the thrill of danger as he sprinted through the halls. His heart beat in counterpoint to his rapid footsteps.
No new guards appeared to delay him. Skye soon burst from the castle gates out into the courtyard beyond, the light of the firmament calling him home. As he gathered the winds to him, the familiar lines of a ground cage sprung up around him. But Skye did not hesitate. He barreled up through the winds, impacting the ground cage, and burst through, scattering the soil like the dust it was. He had never been able to break through earth like that before, but he did not question his good fortune. He simply shot upward.
Rising higher in the air, Skye stopped when he was at the level of the treetops, knowing that no Groundbreathers would be able to reach him with cages or stones at that height. He paused and looked down, eyeing the Iron Swords below. Many of them were the pale-faced newcomers, and they regarded him with hatred and fury. The guards with whom he was familiar were harder to read. Most, he thought, seemed almost relieved.
Into this roiling mass of Groundbreather spectators strode Wisteria. She was battered and bloodied about her face, and the angry red gash on her cheek was closer to her eye than Skye had realized. A stream of blood down the side of her face gave her an especially ghastly look.
“I will find Tierra,” Skye spat. “You will not keep me from her.”
Wisteria only laughed, the noise a hoarse, grating sound. Then she called up to him, “She has gone where you will never find her.”
“We’ll see about that,” Skye muttered.
Then without a second glance, Skye shot up into the air, leaving the ground world behind. There was work to be done.
Upon alighting on Skymount, Skye tasked one of the guards at the gates to summon the lords and ladies still present in the palace for a council of war. Then he went to his chambers to change out of his battle-tarnished clothes. He removed his torn and soiled shirt first, dropping it onto the floor with a disgusted look. Then he grabbed another shirt to pull over his head.
That was when he noticed the thin scratch along the side of his stomach. It appeared as though the Groundbreather sword had come closer to seriously injuring him than he had thought. It was only a scratch, and there was little blood, but he did not wish to be hampered in any way during what was to c
ome, so he decided a visit to the healers was in order.
After pulling on some pants and trading his boots for the most comfortable pair he owned, Skye gave some instructions to a servant concerning his anticipated journey, and then he departed from his room, making his way toward the healers’ ward. Focusing his thoughts inside himself, he grasped onto the link between him and his love in desperation.
“Tierra?” he called.
When he received no response, he increased the force of his efforts, but no matter what he did, he could not reach her. His mental connection with her truly did have a limit.
It was not unexpected, as he had not sensed a hint of Tierra’s presence since the time she had left the previous evening despite his recent efforts to contact her. They had been able to communicate between Skymount and the Groundbreather castle in the past, though it had taken more effort. Wherever Tierra was now, she was much further away than that.
“We did not expect you back so early.”
Skye turned and saw Cirrus approaching. With a grunt, Skye continued on his way. Cirrus hastened to join him at his side.
“The Groundbreather king is dead, and the elder princess has taken the throne,” Skye said by way of greeting. “I know nothing of what has happened to the queen, but Tierra has been taken somewhere, and I cannot sense her.”
Cirrus made a disgusted noise. “I knew they were trying to double-cross you from the start. This only proves what I was saying.”
“What?” Skye demanded. He turned to look at his oldest friend, wondering whether he had heard him correctly. “So you know everything that transpired without even asking what happened?”
“They’re Groundbreathers, Skye.” Cirrus’s lip curled up in contempt. “You didn’t think they would hold true to any promises they’ve made, did you?”
“If they intended to betray me all along, then tell me why the man in charge, the man who was to be my father-in-law, is now dead at the hands of his eldest daughter? Can you explain why the man who meant to double-cross me would submit to his own death in order to bring such a betrayal about?”
Cirrus shook his head with a lighthearted smile. “You’re willfully misunderstanding me, Skye.”
Skye could feel the muscles in his jaw working with anger, and it was only with great effort that he kept his tone level when he spoke. “I think you are so caught up in your prejudices that logic is completely evading you, Cirrus.”
“I’m not referring to the actions of a dead man,” Cirrus said. “I’m referring instead to the Groundbreathers as a people. They aren’t trustworthy, Skye. It was only a matter of time before one of them tried to stab you in the back. The fact that it’s happening among the Groundbreather royal family is just further proof of the questionable nature of their morals.”
Skye halted in his tracks. “Need I remind you that my father, your former king, stabbed me in the back not too long ago? The Skychildren aren’t pillars of perfection either.” He shook his head in frustration before stalking forward once more, Cirrus still at his side. “I’ve always known that Princess Wisteria was the scum from the depths of Terrain’s earth. It doesn’t really surprise me that she has pulled something like this, but I would not call the entire Groundbreather people untrustworthy. I’ve learned to push past my prejudices. You need to give them a chance, if not on their own merits, then at least on my recommendation. There was a time when you trusted my word.”
“This isn’t about trust of your word,” Cirrus protested as they stopped in front of the healers’ ward. “You know I’d do almost anything for you, Skye. I just hate that they’ve thrown dust in your face and blinded you to the reality of their pettiness. You’re better off up here with your people.”
“I’ve never said anything about leaving my people,” Skye growled. “Cirrus, Tierra is going to be your queen once I figure out where they have taken her, and if you don’t like that, you’re welcome to go elsewhere.”
Before Cirrus could respond, Skye snapped, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to have an injury tended to before I go to my emergency council meeting. You’re welcome to come and speak if you have anything constructive to say, but I’m warning you right now that there will be no changing my mind.”
Cirrus dipped his head and made a gesture for Skye to enter the healers’ ward. “I’ll see you in a few minutes then.”
Skye swept past his friend and into the healers’ ward, feeling as though a storm-cloud were hovering above him. It certainly would have suited his mood.
As he moved forward, a familiar healer greeted him: “Your Majesty.”
A small smile reached Skye’s face. “Twila, right?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said warmly. “I imagine you have been glad to witness your friend’s full recovery.”
At the moment, Skye was not feeling particularly kindly toward that friend, but he chose a diplomatic answer and said, “Yes, I am glad to see he has recovered so thoroughly.”
Twila’s smile grew, and she asked, “What may we do to assist you, Your Majesty?”
Skye hesitated. While he felt Twila was not the sort to carry tales, he was not so certain about the other healers gazing his way, so he chose his words carefully. “I was in a . . . fight of sorts recently, and I wished to have a minor injury healed.”
“We can certainly handle that. Where is your wound?”
“On my stomach,” Skye responded.
Twila made a motion for him to lift up his shirt, and he did so. Glancing down, he said, “It’s right . . .” But the rest of his words did not come, as his jaw slackened.
At the place where there had been a path of broken skin, there was now only a thin pink line. His injury had all but healed.
“Is this what you mean, Your Majesty?” Twila said with a frown as she looked at his stomach and pointed. “It does not look quite like a rash, but rather a wound that has healed over a period of days.”
Skye was at a loss. Though it had not been a deep scratch, it should not have healed so quickly.
Still, Skye opted to cover his confusion and said, “Do you think you could help with the healing process? It is a little tender.”
“Certainly,” Twila said, gently touching the injury.
Moments later, Skye was leaving the healers’ ward for the great hall. He was puzzled as to what had transpired in regard to the wound given to him by Scythe, but rather than consider the matter further, he turned his mind toward more pressing concerns. A fast-healing wound was not worth his attention during this trying time.
Seeing in Stonedog a noble champion who could lead his people, Terrain came to him and commended him for his actions against the malicious Skychildren who had attempted to take the produce of his fields.
Stonedog humbled himself before Terrain, saying, “I have done nothing but follow your edicts, great Terrain.”
“None have done as well as you, and nothing can be said against your character. It is for this purpose that I have come, for Celesta has created the Fenik, a weapon with no purpose but to destroy my people. The Groundbreathers are great, but the Fenik could overpower them.”
Stonedog was devastated by this news and asked, “What would you have us do, Mighty Terrain?”
“I would have you devise a plan to deal with the threat. You have captured a glider of the Skychildren that may be used to fly up into the sky realm and take the Fenik. I cannot always help you myself, and I wish for you as a people to grow and learn to care for yourselves. This is something you must do without my aid.”
“We only wish to honor you,” said Stonedog.
“I am proud of the Groundbreathers for their steadfastness and strength,” said Terrain, “and I am proud of you for your nobility of character.”
CHAPTER
NINE
Nobility
Skye soon found that several lords and ladies had already gathered in the great hall, and he was pleased to see Bluster among them. Everyone turned at his entrance, and he opted to dispense with plea
santries entirely.
“You are all no doubt wondering why I have gathered you here,” Skye began. “The answer is simple. The Groundbreather king has been murdered, and my fiancée has disappeared. A group of men took her from the castle, but I do not know much more than that. I intend to search for her and bring her back where she belongs.”
“Your Majesty,” Lord Eagleclaw called out, sharing an anxious look with his wife, “you can’t mean to go out traipsing about the ground realm in search of a young woman who may not even want to be found—”
“I don’t know what exactly you are implying,” Skye said with a threatening tone, “but I am not keen on the insinuation that my betrothed would willingly choose to abandon her commitment and duties.”
“Of course not, Your Majesty,” Lord Eagleclaw said, shaking his head back and forth and wringing his hands. “That is not what I meant to say at all. I only meant—that is, I wished to say—”
“He meant that it is unseemly for a king to do the work of a soldier,” Lord Eagleclaw’s wife said smoothly. Unlike her husband, she had her composure well in hand.
“Lady Airia,” Skye said, “I recognize your concerns, but I am the one who is best equipped to find Princess Tierra. Furthermore, I have a . . . weapon of sorts that I mean to take with me. It shall ensure my safety.”
Cirrus’s eyes were as wide as the moon. “Skye, no! You can’t mean—”
“Yes,” Skye said sharply, “I can mean to take the weapon with me, Sentinel Cirrus. The weapon shall remain safe in my hands, and you don’t need to fear for my safety as long as I have it.”
“What is this weapon you keep referencing?” Lady Larkin asked. “Does it have anything to do with the recent damage to the throne room?”
That’s an understated way of referring to a battle, Skye thought with dark amusement. Out loud, he said, “Yes, it does, and that is all I will say about it. You only need to know that it will keep me safe.”