The Book of Kaels Bundle (Books 2 - 4): The Wood Kael, The Metal Kael, The Fire Kael

by Wendy Wang

  Gordon slipped up behind Sorrel and placed his hand over hers.

  “We’ll take care of him now, Miss Sorrel,” Gordon said softly, pressing gently against her wrists. “Come on.” He snaked an arm around her shoulders and she lowered the dagger. The stars zipped back towards her, landing at her feet and she burst into tears. Gordon pulled her to his chest and let her weep.

  The wardens moved in quickly, forcing Egan face down into the dirt. The queen stepped away, letting them do their job.

  Neala approached the sobbing girl, unsure what to say, so she said nothing. Instead, she placed her hand on Sorrel’s back, hoping it could offer some sort of comfort.

  A high-pitched whimper came from the nearby pit and Neala glanced into Gordon’s face. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips and Sorrel pulled out of his arms. Neala advanced to the edge of the open maw in the ground.

  The child, Raemah lay next to her brother with one hand on his shoulder and another wrapped tightly around her body. She turned her head and her cinder colored eyes met Neala’s.

  “She’s alive!” Neala shouted over her shoulder. Gordon and one of his men scrambled into action, retrieving the wounded girl from the pit.

  ******

  Sorrel leaned in close to the mirror and inspected the pale pink scar on her throat.

  “It’s lighter today,” Raemah said.

  Sorrel forced a smile and tied a pretty blue and green scarf around her neck. She smoothed her long, dark hair, and wrapped a knit shawl around her shoulders. Her dark eyes cut to the clock on the wall and Raemah nodded and hopped off the bed. She took Sorrel’s hand and they left their shared room, heading towards the breakfast room.

  “Did you have any bad dreams last night?” Raemah asked. It was the same question she asked every morning. Sorrel squeezed her hand.

  “No,” she whispered. It was the best she could manage these days, despite the healer's insistence that it would get better over time. “Did you?”

  Raemah shrugged her slight shoulders. “Not too bad.”

  “That’s good,” Sorrel whispered, giving her an encouraging smile. Raemah nodded but didn’t smile back. Sorrel wished there was a way to take away Raemah’s nightmares, but she only knew of one healer that might be able to do it, and she had no way of finding her. They reached the open breakfast room door, and Sorrel saw the queen sitting at the end of the table with a serious look on her face. The chief sat next to her. A scowl marred his heavy brow, and he didn’t look up from the papers he was reading. Whatever it was it must be bad news.

  Sorrel raised her hand to wave hello and sparks flitted across her field of vision. Her breath stuttered and images bloomed before her eyes—a black walled prison with blood seeping from its mortar. Kaels by the thousands, withering away to nothing behind its walls, their power drained from them. She felt it pull her towards it, wanting her power too.

  The queen was beside her in almost an instant, holding her hand until it passed.

  Sorrel blinked hard and the image cleared away.

  “The prison again?” the queen asked softly.

  Sorrel nodded and took two deep breaths blowing them out through her mouth. Her voice rasped as she spoke, “This was worse than before. It wanted me.”

  “Wanted you how?” Cai asked his heavy brows knit together.

  “It wanted my power—my life.” Sorrel steadied her gaze on him.

  Cai nodded and gave her a smile, but it looked forced.

  “Has there been any news?” Sorrel asked as she rose to her feet.

  “No, but we’re still looking,” the queen said. “We won’t give up until we find them.”

  Sorrel shrugged and took her seat at the table. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “They probably won’t be able to heal me twice.”

  “Yes, she will,” Neala said plainly.

  “How do you know?” Raemah asked, her voice meek, not quite ready to commit to the idea of being healed by one person. After all a half-dozen healers had seen both of them since they’d come to Tamarik and none of them had made either of them better.

  “I believe,” Neala said, matter-of-factly and smiled at the child. “And you should too. That’s how it works. You must believe to see.”

  “Believe and see,” Raemah whispered, and for the first time in weeks her face lightened, chasing away the lilac shadows of doubt and fear coloring her face.

  “All right, you two, eat up,” the queen said. “I need you strong.”

  Sorrel nodded and filled her plate with eggs, bacon and a slice of toast.

  The queen was right. She needed to believe that if anyone could heal her throat it was Tahlulah and Cilla. And once they found them, and she had her voice back, she would not stop until they brought down the emperor and his prison of blood.

  To be continued in The Fire Kael: The Book of Kaels Vol 4.

  The Fire Kael

  The Book of Kaels

  Vol. 4

  By

  Wendy Wang

  Copyright © 2015 by Wendy Wang

  www.wendywangauthor.com

  One

  Egan Crane stepped onto the platform for the accused and placed his hands on top of the carved circles on either side of the banister. A length of jute emerged wrapping tightly around his wrists binding him to the wooden banister.

  To his right was his court-appointed advocate — the second to act as his defender. The first had assumed the charges were true and had wanted him to throw himself on the mercy of the court. When he balked, she told him it was his only option and to take it or leave it. He left it. He was all too familiar with the prison known as the Keep. His first assignment as a young warden had been as a guard. It might be nearly impossible to escape from, but the prisoner’s there had a soft life — thanks to the last queen and her soft views — two good meals a day, a game-yard, conjugal visits on occasion and its own underground economy. If he was sentenced to life, which his advocate said was almost guaranteed, he had enough connections to lead a rich life, even behind bars.

  The advocate stood up behind the table and straightened his black robes. He glanced at Egan giving him a reassuring smile. But nothing about the man reassured him. The rest of the courtroom stood up including his prosecutor and the witnesses that had been called to testify against him.

  The seer didn't look at him. Instead she kept her eyes on the empty tribune waiting for the judges to appear. Her long dark hair hung over her shoulders in a straight sheet. And she wore a dark pink scarf tied around her neck. His lip tugged into a sneer. She had managed to live but the scar on her neck proved who her real owner was. His advocate scowled and shook his head. He gritted his teeth and flattened his mouth into a more acceptable expression.

  A door behind the tribune opened in the rosewood paneled wall and the first judge emerged. She climbed the steps and took a seat on the far left. A braid of silver hair coiled around the top of her head and sharp blue eyes stared at him. Her pink mouth twisted into a grimace. That probably wouldn't bode well, he thought. The next judge took his seat on the far right. He was younger than the woman but not by much. His deep olive colored skin was less wrinkled and he had a serene expression on his face but his solid black eyes unnerved Egan. The boy he killed, the seer’s friend, had had the same color eyes. Were they from the same village? His vote could go either way, he thought. The last judge took the center seat. She was younger than the others. Her pale bronze skin contrasted her gray green eyes. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face and was pinned at the base of her neck. Her strong features paired with the fullness of her lips were stunning. She was too beautiful to be a judge. It was too bad he couldn’t have spent some time alone with her. Maybe he could have influenced her ruling. She picked up a gavel and banged it against the desk.

  “I call order,” the judge said. A murmur spread throughout the room and then fell silent.

  “Egan Crane,” the judge began, “You have been charged with treason against your Queen, desertion from the
Queen's Army the wardens, attempted kidnapping of the Queen, the murder of Jorgen Heard, and the senseless enslavement of thousands of Kaels.”

  Egan stared at her unable to look away. He kept his face as neutral as possible and buried his feelings deep in case she was a Wood Kael.

  “Do you have anything to say on your behalf? Perhaps to mitigate these findings?”

  Egan took a deep breath through his nose, and jutted his chin out. He narrowed his eyes and began to speak. “Only this,” he said. “You are all asleep and when the Emperor comes and wakes you, you will be sorry.”

  The judge on the left recoiled, her face giving away her disgust. The serene countenance of the judge on the right dissipated and his nostrils flared. His jaw tightened.

  “It is a shame you feel this way,” the judge said. Giving no indication of her true feelings either with her voice or her face. Perhaps that's why she was the head judge. “The court is in recess until 3 o'clock. We will give our final ruling and sentencing then.”

  She banged the gavel against the tribune. When the three judges stood, so did the rest of the courtroom.

  His advocate’s face revealed his disgust for his client for only the briefest of seconds.

  “Egan,” his advocate said. “This is not what we discussed this morning. You were supposed to ask for their wisdom in deciding your fate.”

  “They've already decided my fate,” Egan said. “All you have to do is look at their faces.”

  “Perhaps. But I believe you could have changed their mind if you'd given them the chance.”

  The bailiff stepped up behind him and touched his baton to the bindings holding him to the podium. The jute retracted, freeing him. He rubbed his wrists, frustrated by the leather harness, around each one, dampening his powers.

  “Come with me,” the bailiff said.

  Egan stepped down from the platform and the bailiff grabbed hold of his arm.

  “Toby Wyn,” Egan said. “How interesting to meet you here.”

  Toby jerked Egan's arm pushing him forward. He also jabbed the tip of his baton into Egan's ribs. He braced himself waiting for the jolt of fire in his side but it never came.

  Toby led him out through a side door and down a long dimly lit corridor towards a row of cells where the accused were kept during their trial.

  “That was quite an impassioned speech,” Toby said. “But it's more than likely it will just get you killed sooner.”

  “I just wanted to make sure they knew where my loyalties lie,” Egan said. “And I'm not ready to die just yet.”

  “That's good,” Toby said. They came to the first cell and he slid the door open guiding Egan inside. “Sit.”

  Egan looked over the flat stone bench in the middle of the cell. He sighed and took a seat facing the door. A small office was across from his cell and Toby went inside and dragged a chair into the center hallway. Egan watched with amusement as the tall muscular warden folded himself into the tiny chair. Toby's flat Brown eyes leveled on him and a smirk stretched Toby's lips.

  Egan sat forward resting his elbows on his knees. He folded his hands together making a point with his two index fingers. He wasn't about to be intimidated by the likes of Toby Wyn. Didn't matter how much height or weight he had on Egan.

  “So how's your wife Egan?” Toby asked.

  Egan narrowed his eyes. Same old Toby. He was never one to pull a punch.

  “Why don't you tell me? Because you already know, don't you?”

  Toby chuckled. “I like you. I always have.”

  “Lucky me,” Egan said.

  “She's doing well by the way. We can get to her at the moment she's in Casilladin.”

  “That doesn't surprise me,” Egan said. Cilla had an aunt that lived in Casilladin. It would only be a matter of time before the Emperor brought down the fold around Iberebeth. But no one believed she could penetrate Casilladin.

  “I didn't think it would.” Toby said.

  “What do you want from me Toby?”

  “I think a better question Egan is what do you want for yourself?”

  “Does it matter anymore?”

  “Yes.” Toby glanced up into the corner of the room. He reached for his baton holding it close to his body. The tip glowed red and a high-pitched humming sound pierced the quiet of the room. Egan covered his ears. A green light caught his attention and Egan shifted his head.

  “Don't look,” Toby commanded. “Not if you want to hear.”

  Egan grimaced and scrubbed his chin. Trying to figure out what Toby was up to. From the corner of his eye he saw the green light grow brighter until finally it turned black. The acrid smell of ozone stung his nose.

  “Why do I want to hear what you have to say Toby?”

  Toby re-holstered his baton. And leaned forward mimicking Egan's stance.

  “Because I'm about to change your life. Those judges in there they were horrified by you.”

  “So?”

  “Maybe it's time for everybody in the city to wake up.”

  “Maybe it is. There's not much I can do about it from here.”

  “See that's where your thinking is all wrong. You can always make a difference doesn't matter where you are. Do you want to make a difference Egan?”

  Egan thought about it for a second and then nodded his head.

  A smile stretched Toby's mouth. “That's what I was hoping you'd say.”

  ******

  Cilla Beckett balanced the heavy bowl on her lap, took a handful of the long purple bean pods from the basket by her feet and began snapping the ends off of them. The chain supporting the porch swing creaked with each push of her feet and the ocean breeze wafted around her. The smell of salt brine drifted through her senses. She loved the light here, especially this time of day, as the sun set low in the sky and cast a golden glow everywhere, making everything seem perfect. Untarnished. Of course it only looked that way for just a little while and of course it was a lie. Nothing was perfect, not even here in the serenity and peace of her aunt’s home in Casilladin. In the distance, just beyond the tall white sand dune the wide blue ocean churned. The undulating waves reminded her of the way the tall grass moved in her mother’s fields, and a pang of homesickness gripped her heart.

  Her boys’ voices drifted up from the yard. They were the reason she was here, why she’d left. Their protection and safety was more important than her need for comfort. Still she longed for the green fields and the chickens scratching in the dirt and the smell of her mother’s bread drifting through the house.

  “You're not holding it right,” Tom said to his little brother. “You have to hold your wrist up and pointed tips straight at your target. Here watch me.”

  Tom swirled the tip of the long straight stick in his hand and pointed it at a fence post. The air around him crackled and a few sparks exploded from the wooden baton.

  Cilla frowned. Her babies were growing up. What she wouldn’t give to keep them little. Then she wouldn’t have to think about having to teach them how to wield a baton, or how to call on his power responsibly. Where was Egan Crane when she needed him? It was just one more way her husband had let his sons down. She sighed. Well, it would have to be addressed. No one needed Tom accidentally catching the house on fire. After dinner she and her cousin Birgit would sit him down and talk to him about how to be responsible with his developing powers.

  “Tom,” she called. He stopped playing and looked up at her from the yard. “I think that's enough baton play for today.”

  “Aw Mama,” Tom protested.

  “Don’t aw mama, me,” she started but a prickle at the back of her neck interrupted her. Her heart sped up and she scanned the horizon for the source. Her aunt’s warning system was definitely working. The sensation sharpened, traveling the length of her spine, forcing her to sit up straight. The chain screeched in protest. When she saw the man coming around the curve towards her aunt's house she jumped to her feet, almost spilling the beans on the planked floor.

  “Boy
s,” she said, keeping her voice firm. “That’s enough play for today. Come inside and get washed up for dinner.”

  “Cilla? Did you feel that?” Birgit asked through the screen door.

  “Yes.” She leaned against the banister, squinting her eyes, trying to make out his face. “There's a man on the road.” And he was getting closer. Cilla reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out her bandahl, a wooden baton with a leaf and flower motif carved into it.

  The screen door opened and slammed. Birgit sidled up next to her. Birgit was a tower of strong, lithe muscle and her elbow grazed the top of Cilla’s arm. Her blond braid was wound around the top of her head and her sculpted chin jutted out in defiance. Her tan knuckles whitened from gripping her bandahl, a delicate glass baton. Blue and silver droplets swirled inside—a tiny reminder of her cousin’s power.

  “Boys!” Cilla called. Panic squeezed her heart. “Come inside. Now.”

  Tom made a face and Danny mimicked him. Under other circumstance she might have smiled at her youngest son’s imitation of his older brother, but not today.

  “I’m going to count to three,” she said making her voice as stern as she could. “One—”

  Tom kicked the dirt and Danny did the same but they both clambered up the steps before she could get to two.

  “Cilla,” her cousin said under her breath. Birgit’s hand floated to Cilla’s wrist.

  “What is it?”

  “Trygg,” Birgit said.

  “Are you sure?” Cilla gaped and leaned out a little further. It could have been her cousin. The man was tall and in the late afternoon sunset his hair glint. A golden halo. He wove back and forth, holding his side as if he were drunk. “Is that a child?”

  A small girl with white-blond hair appeared from behind him, her thumb tucked securely in her mouth. The prickle down Cilla’s back strengthened, making the sensation a little painful.

  “Get my mother,” Birgit said, and she rushed down the steps before Cilla could stop her.