by Devri Walls
He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he gave a firm nod and spun out into the open, firing off spells that brought a house crumbling down in the Hunters’ path.
Tybolt bolted behind him, heading for the little house he’d always known as Gamel’s. He was nearly at the front door when a load of stones broke free from the top of the wall and smashed through the roof. Tybolt jumped back, running into Malachi. He turned and covered the boy until the stones stopped falling.
“Demon spawn,” Tybolt swore. “Where’s the entrance?”
“The back room—the door’s beneath the bed.”
Tybolt jerked the front door open with some effort. It was leaning just far enough to the side that the bottom was jammed into the floor. He ran through the hall, leaping over several blocks, and skidded to a stop at the bedroom.
The bed itself had been crushed by several large stones. He heaved the stones to the side and kicked the shattered frame out of the way. The ring was under the rug, and he jerked the top open. Above him, Tybolt heard the grinding of stone on stone just over the howl of the wind. He looked up through the hole in the roof to see the city wall leaning in.
“Down! Now!” Tybolt grabbed Malachi and threw him down the shaft, leaping in behind him. The door slammed shut moments before getting hammered with falling bricks. “Malachi,” he called. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” He groaned. “I think.”
The tunnel was pitch black. “Light.” Tybolt’s fingers glowed and their surroundings came into view. Down here the wind and the chaos was muted.
“Wow.” Malachi stared at Tybolt’s fingers in wonder. “Can you do that anytime you want?”
Tybolt almost laughed at the expression on his face, but all too familiar cracks were running up and down the walls. A clod of dirt dislodged from the ceiling and smashed just behind Malachi. “Run!”
They hadn’t made it more than a few feet before Malachi stumbled and fell. The tunnel behind them couldn’t take any more weight and it gave way, dumping earth and bricks. Tybolt jerked Malachi to his feet and pushed him forward at a dead run.
The tunnel continued to collapse, racing at them, reaching with filthy fingers while sending a thick dust cloud billowing up. The debris blinded and choked them.
Malachi fell again and Tybolt groped for him, losing valuable seconds. There wasn’t time for this—one more fall and they were both done. He threw the boy on his back and ran as fast as he could.
Rocks and dirt bit at his heels, letting him know exactly how close they were to death. Finally the surface beneath his feet changed and the rumbling ceased. Tybolt slowed to a stop, coughing out dirt as he dropped Malachi to the ground.
He held up his hands again. “Light.”
From what he could tell through the haze, they were in a stone tube now, bricked from top to bottom. He shone the light behind them—they were completely sealed in by a wall of collapsed earth.
“I say we go that way,” Malachi said, pointing away from the blocked exit.
“Yes, excellent idea,” Tybolt huffed. “That way.”
A fire burned in Auriella’s chest that warmed her from the inside, despite the freezing rains. She raised her sword, gripping harder to account for the slickness of the hilt. She wished she had some gloves.
Terric pulled his sword and strode forward to meet her. “Where’s Tybolt?” he yelled over the storm.
“Where’s my father?”
“Tybolt first.”
“If you want Tybolt, you’ll have to go through me.” Auriella inclined her chin.
“I would’ve gone through you anyway, you demonic little wench. Just for the fun of it.”
She took her stance. “I’ve already shredded your face. Are you sure you want more?”
His humor fled and he leapt, sword overhead.
The farther they walked, the more the dust cleared. The bricks that lined this portion of the tunnel were very old, mottled in color and uneven from settling. Finally, they could go no farther and found a set of metal rungs hammered into the bricks, just as Alistair had said. “We’re here.”
“Finally.” Malachi groaned and leaned against the wall as if they’d been walking for miles.
Tybolt climbed, then cautiously pushed the cover up. It’d been years since Alistair had taken this path—things could’ve changed. With his luck, he’d come up in the middle of a main hallway. He raised his head.
The darkness was nearly complete, with the exception of a sliver of yellow that glowed to his right. He held up a hand and whispered, “Light.”
A rat scuttled away with a screech down the empty hall. The layers of dust said that nothing but rodents had been here for years. Satisfied, Tybolt looked down at Malachi’s anxious face below him. The light from his hands painted the boy in shadows. “Stay here,” he commanded.
“What? By myself? But…but…what if you need a…” He struggled for a viable excuse. Finally he blurted, “A diversion!”
Tybolt’s exasperation bubbled over. “What?”
“A diversion. If you need someone to look another way, then I would—”
“I know what a diversion is.”
“I can help you. Let me come.”
Tybolt sighed and shook his head. “Just stay here and don’t move.” He climbed up and headed to the right.
A diversion. Of all the ridiculous suggestions. Malachi would trip on his own feet and bring anyone left in the castle straight to them.
The brick wall Alistair had spoken of loomed before him, and Tybolt ran his hands across it, illuminating it while searching for the smallest brick. His heart picked up speed again. It wasn’t here. They were all exactly the same size. He crouched and checked every corner until his fingers ran over the top of a tiny red brick. He pushed.
The brick snapped, and then something clicked. Tybolt froze, listening for the sound of voices or footsteps. When there was no indication he’d been heard, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Applying pressure, the door started to swing open but then stopped.
Tybolt peeked around the side and realized the secret door was behind a tapestry. He slid through the opening and out into a hallway he’d never seen before. At both ends stood a door.
He walked quickly to the left and pushed the door open just a crack. He peered through to find the royal bedroom. It was deserted, and Rowan’s master keys sat neatly on the side table. Tybolt couldn’t hold back his smile. He slipped inside and took two steps, his hand outstretched.
Someone leapt from the thick curtains that hung from the bed canopy and smashed into him. Tybolt was tossed to the side, crashing into the wall. He scrambled to his feet while reaching for his sword. Kelton was prepared for the move, and he brought an elbow down on Tybolt’s forearm.
Tybolt grunted as fiery pain spread up to his elbow and down to his wrist. He was worried for a moment that Kelton had broken his arm. He rolled to the other side and up to his feet, clenching his hand in a fist to make sure he still had movement.
Not broken—yet.
Kelton grinned as he lowered his stance, elbows at his side. “Rowan has a price on your head.”
“And you were stuck here guarding the keys. You must’ve been disappointed.”
“I was, but not now.”
Tybolt charged. He lowered his shoulder like he meant to ram it into Kelton’s abdomen. Right before impact, he dropped lower and smashed into Kelton’s knees. He felt the one pop farther back than the other, and Kelton screamed as muscles and tendons tore. An elbow came down between Tybolt’s shoulder’s blades, and he fell to his knees as Kelton dropped on top of him.
With that bad knee, Kelton wouldn’t be able to stand. He’d try to keep Tybolt on the ground where he might be able to gain the upper hand. Tybolt had been choked out in training by Kelton before—ground grappling was his strength.
Tybolt scrambled, squirming out of his grasp. Kelton grabbed his foot, and Tybolt kicked until he released. Tybolt stood, findi
ng the advantage. He pulled back and hammered a fist to the temple. Kelton fell to the side, unconscious.
Tybolt shook out his fist. Kelton’s skull was as thick as it looked, and his hand throbbed.
He ran to the table and snatched the keys, then made his way down the hall to check the opposite door. He carefully pushed it open and saw the throne room, just as Alistair had said he would. Unfortunately, it was full of young Hunters, all staring out the windows at the devastation. He cursed under his breath.
Although they weren’t fully trained, they still had the natural abilities of the Hunters, and he was greatly outnumbered. Even if he could fight them all and win, it would not be a fast battle, and he didn’t need someone running for help.
There was only one thing Tybolt could think to do.
He jogged back to the secret passage, slipping between the tapestry and the door. He dropped to his knees and poked his head down through the hole. He hoped he wouldn’t regret this. “Malachi,” he whispered. “I need a diversion.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Just…don’t hurt yourself climbing up here.”
Less than ten seconds later, Malachi’s foot slipped on a rung and he cracked his knee. “I’m fine!” he called up, a little too loudly.
He reached down and grabbed the boy by the arm, lifting him the rest of the way out. “All right, the throne room is filled with young Hunters. I need you to take these keys and tell them that King Rowan has ordered they check the Hold for damage to make sure it’s safe to return the wizards. Once they leave, I want you to lock the door.”
“But, but—” Malachi looked frantically into Tybolt’s eyes. “They’re Hunters. How am I supposed to overpower them?”
“You're not. You’re going to outsmart them.” He tapped the boy’s forehead. “Tell them the King was explicit that the Hold be checked from the inside out. Make it clear that they must check every wall and every bar.” He shoved the keys into Malachi’s hands. “You have the master key ring, so they’ll think you got it from Rowan. They won’t question the order.”
“Oh...okay,” Malachi stammered.
“No, don’t let your voice shake. Confidence. Understood?”
Malachi nodded and his filthy hair bobbed. Tybolt realized for the first time how horrible he looked. He brushed at the boy’s coat and hair, trying to get as much dirt off as possible. “If they ask why you look like this tell them…” He trailed off, lacking an answer.
“That I was retrieving King Rowan’s horses after they escaped from the stable?”
“Yes.” Tybolt smiled. “Perfect.”
Tybolt watched from the crack as Malachi marched into the throne room and ordered the young Hunters about. He did well. Tybolt could detect a bit of nerves, but only because he knew the boy. He couldn’t help but feel a little pride mixed with a touch of guilt. Asher had been right to send him out to gather help in the village. Tybolt had never given Malachi the credit he deserved because of his clumsiness.
Tybolt waited until the last of the Hunters trailed out, and then he opened the door. He hurriedly peeked around the room one last time before he leapt off the small platform the throne rested on. He was seized with a desire to smash it—the physical representation of Rowan’s fraud—into a thousand pieces, but it would have to wait. He sprinted for the far door. Rowan would need a room large enough to hold all the wizards from the Hold, and since they weren’t here, Tybolt’s next guess was the old ballroom. He stepped into the outer hallway.
“Hey! What are you—”
Tybolt whirled with an elbow up, catching the guard in the jaw. He heard the crack of bone, and the guard crumpled to the ground.
Terric’s sword crashed into hers and Auriella slid to the side, funneling the force of his blow down her blade. Metal hissed and Terric’s weapon slammed into the muddy earth.
An arrow whizzed by Auriella’s face. She glanced to the side just in time to see Asher pull back his bow and send a reply straight into the back of the attacking villager. The man fell face first in the mud, red fletching a bright flag of warning to other assailants.
“I see Asher’s thrown his lot in with you and Tybolt,” Terric yelled over the storm. “For that, he dies too.”
She wouldn’t respond to threats with anything but actions. She took a quick step forward, jabbing. Terric barely moved out of the way in time. He sprung forward. She raised her defense only a moment before his blade smashed down. Too close.
Swords made two different sounds, she’d found. The usual clang of sparring and the harder, deeper resonance when the fighter’s only desire was his opponent’s death. She knew it was the sheer force that changed the tone, but it had always sounded to her as if the blade knew the bearer’s intent.
A gust of wind sent them both stumbling to the side. Auriella’s hair whipped into her face, obscuring her vision. Terric took advantage of the distraction and swung. Luckily he was still a little off balance—the tip only caught the edge of her sleeve. Before either could make their next move, the earth shook beneath their feet. Cracks spider-webbed and bubbles of air popped through the mud.
Nature betrayed itself, announcing the next move.
Auriella shouted and jumped backwards while Terric dove in the opposite direction. The water-laden soil opened up, a chasm with a fraction of the depth of the one Asher had nearly vanished into. It was still big enough to send a message—at any moment the ground beneath her feet could give out, and she’d have no time to save herself.
On the other side Terric slowly rose to his feet, his nostrils flaring like an enraged bull. With no warning, he leapt. Auriella stepped back to buy herself enough time to raise her sword. They parried back and forth, Hunter against Hunter, in a well-matched duel. The clang of weapons sang above the roar of the wind.
“Don’t you think it’s odd that Rowan sent every Hunter out hours before a second Fracture?” Auriella shouted.
Terric stepped forward with an intricate series of moves. “I don’t care.”
“He’s trying to kill all of us, you fool!”
“The only thing I care about is shoving a sword through your gut,” he snarled.
Terric fought like a madman, a trained madman, which was infinitely more dangerous. Auriella met each attack without fear, but Terric was gaining the advantage, and she knew it. His adrenaline and hate fed his abilities, increasing his capacity to more than she’d seen from him before. Her mind raced through training scenarios, trying to remember anything that would give her the upper hand.
He sneered over the flash of steel, and she realized she didn’t need any more techniques to end this. She needed to cheat. Auriella pushed, shoving her sword with all her body weight behind it, bringing her within inches of his face.
His eyes glinted like she’d made a fatal mistake—he was, after all, stronger than her, so close quarters was a bad choice. But she didn’t intend to be here long. She let go of the hilt with one hand and dug her fingers into the infected wound on his check.
Terric screamed and his knees buckled, his skin fading to ghost white.
He was on his knees at her feet, and she wanted to torture him for information about her father, but there was no time. This was the only chance she would get. Auriella grabbed her sword and rammed it through Terric’s chest.
Every piece of furniture was shoved against the wall in the ballroom, and Rowan looked around at the circle of wizards he’d chained to the floor. The stonecutter had done well, encasing them all within the spell that fed their power to Rowan.
Even still, he was acutely aware of the drop in magic since Aja’s power had transferred to Tybolt. His exhaustion stirred anger in his belly. He should’ve done this years ago instead of trying to find Alistair. He’d been selfish, and now he paid the price.
No matter, he told himself. When Tybolt died, and he would die, the boy’s magic would transfer back to the keeper of the royal power. Right now that was Aja, but not for long. The solstice was upon them, and he had ju
st enough magic left to perform the ceremony. Then, finally, it would all be his.
If he survived.
The survival risk nagged somewhere near the back of his mind. It was not lost on him that this risk had played a part in his delay, but there was no more time to harbor such feelings. Fear was a traitor, and it had nearly cost him everything.
This was now all or nothing. He would take the power and the throne of both Eriroc and Deasroc, or he would die. He set his jaw.
The transferring spell had been hard to decipher. It was woven through several pages and many different spells to prevent wizards from taking magic that wasn’t rightfully theirs. But who decided what was rightfully his? He had not been born to royalty, but that was not to say he should be denied. A great cosmic mistake could and should be undone. The old leader had been undone by a common wizard—was that not proof of Rowan’s worthiness? Surely the magic could feel that he was a suitable, if not preferable, host.
The spell was more dangerous than he’d anticipated when he’d set down this path, and it would surely put him to the gates of hell and back before gifting him with that which he so desperately desired.
The wizards were slumped across the floor, exhausted as he drained power to fuel the Fracture. Except Aja. As the ground shook beneath them and the winds howled, as branches from the trees outside beat upon the windowpanes, Aja sat up on his knees, back straight, glaring. Aja had never fully submitted. Not even when Rowan cut out his tongue.
But he would submit now.
After Rowan was done with him, he would be nothing but an ordinary man, stripped of title, land, and power. A new thought passed through Rowan’s mind, and he smiled. Maybe he wouldn’t kill Aja after all. Maybe he’d let him live to watch the former king struggle as a powerless peasant.