Suriax

by Amanda Young

  “Somniedus,” Lynnalin commanded. The men at the door fell asleep. Without their weight against the door, it slammed shut. After a moment to get over their surprise, Rand and Bryce barred the door.

  “Are you alright?” Bryce asked.

  She tried to stop the spinning in her head. Her head injury was beginning to throb, not that the pain bothered her, but it did make concentration difficult. Add to that a less than restful night unconscious, and she was near her limits for spell casting for the time being. She needed a good night’s sleep. “I will be, but we need to figure out a long term solution. Those people won’t stay asleep forever, and there are even more the spell didn’t reach. It isn’t safe here.”

  Bryce looked around the tavern. “I know,” he said dejectedly. He built this business from nothing. The idea of leaving it to be destroyed was not easy to swallow. Before they could discuss options, the window erupted into a fiery spray of glass and wood. A stone planter rolled through the room, coming to rest by Lynnalin. Fire shot through the opening, catching her cloak on fire. “Stinguest,” she said quickly. The flames went out, but not before leaving a whole big enough to stick her fingers through.

  “Open up or I’ll throw in another fireball,” someone called from the street.

  “Fireball?” Lynnalin asked. Gathering her cloak she stormed to the window, climbing up on a table and out the opening. The street full of men and women stopped their fighting to look up at her. Well, her and the large ball of fire growing between her hands. “You call that a fireball?” The flame that was a bright glowing red turned to blue and white as she fed in her own fire. The flames flared out, engulfing everyone for fifty feet. Anyone caught in the blast disintegrated into ash. She looked out at those left. “This tavern is off limits. Now go find some place else to loot.” She waited for the street to clear before going back inside. Jumping down from the table, she headed to the back where Bryce kept his spare bed. “Let me know if they come back.”

  “Where are you going?” Rand asked.

  “To sleep.”

  * * *

  “Can we talk?” Eirae sat down next to Kern, their backs to one of the many balcony gardens in the palace. His eyes and tone suggested a serious conversation.

  “It was self defense,” Kern started without preamble. “He attacked me.” This was ridiculous. All he wanted to do was help some people, and now he was being judged for killing that man. What kind of backwards place was this anyway? He was starting to miss Suriax. At least things made sense there.

  “I’m not here to discuss what happened today. No one faults you for your actions. We all know you saved those two women’s lives.”

  “Then what do you want to talk about?” he asked, mollified, but confused.

  Eirae collected his thoughts and continued. “I want to talk about your feelings on killing.

  Kern groaned “What is this, an intervention? Let me guess, you want to talk to me about the error of my ways and how killing is evil?”

  Eirae laughed. “So, Pielere got to you first, then,” he said to himself. “I guess we can’t help wanting to meddle. We are accustomed to making decisions that affect the lives of thousands of people, and we take family obligations seriously. As such, Pielere and I are prone to unsolicited advice. Just ask Mirerien.”

  He scrunched his face. He was annoyed at having his life scrutinized, his life choices questioned, but it was somewhat comforting to be called family. “Honestly I didn’t expect you three to believe me so easily, much less take to giving brotherly advice.”

  “Mirerien believed you. She’s never wrong about that sort of thing. She has a knack for knowing if someone is telling the truth.”

  “Really?” he asked, intrigued. “So what’s your special power?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Mirerien knows if someone is lying. Pielere can hear voices of people asking for help.”

  “Pielere hears voices? That explains a lot.” he shook his head. “We’re getting off topic.”

  “Look, yes I’m with the Flame Guard. Yes, I’ve killed people. I’m surprised you have a problem with that. After all, you’re known as the Punisher. Are you telling me you’ve never sentenced someone to die?”

  “There is a difference between having someone executed for a crime and going out and killing someone because you want to.”

  “I never just killed people because I wanted to or because I enjoyed it. It was my job, and it was all legal.” He found himself returning to that argument, almost as a desperate last attempt to justify his actions. He never questioned the moral choice to take a life before. It was not something anyone in Suriax thought of or talked about. Killing happened. Death was something you grew accustomed to. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He never felt guilty about his life before, not even when his uncle criticized him about it, but now . . . now he found he did not want them to think poorly of him. He didn’t want his new family to be disappointed in who their brother was. It was stupid. He didn’t even know them, but they accepted him, and a part of him didn’t want to lose that.

  Sensing the conflict in Kern, Eirae’s tone softened. “I don’t have a problem with killing if it is justified. If someone commits a crime, there needs to be a consequence. That is what keeps society moving, what keeps order. The fear of punishment is what keeps people from breaking the law. While it may be legal to kill in Suriax, that doesn’t make it justified. That is where our father lost his way. He became distracted with what was legal, with what he could get away with, and stopped being a steward of the law. You say you killed on orders. What were the crimes of the people you were sent to kill?”

  Kern thought back. Many of the people he killed were not pleasant individuals, they were killers, thieves, all around cruel people, but there were some who were guilty of no crimes. He was sent to kill people who challenged the queen’s authority, people who spoke out against her or annoyed her. He never questioned that before coming here.

  Eirae put a hand on Kern’s arm. “Just think about it.”

  Kern felt his head spin. His vision blurred for a second. “Okay,” he mumbled, before heading back to his room. Suddenly, he felt very tired. He turned the corner down the hall and came up short. Marcy and Thomas were standing at the door of her room. Thomas looked down at her, stroking her face affectionately. His head lowered, their lips about to meet, when everything went black.

  * * *

  Kern awoke feeling groggy. He rubbed his face and came instantly awake. His hands were sticky and smelled of blood. A quick glance confirmed the smell. He patted his body but did not find any injuries. Dried blood stained his clothes and bed sheets. He saw he still wore his day clothes, including his boots. Trying to remember when he came to bed and whose blood he was covered in, he looked around the room for clues. Everything looked untouched. He saw no sign of a struggle, no dead body, nothing to tell him what happened.

  The door flew open. “Murderer!” Thomas came running in. Guards held him back, but he continued to scream at Kern. “You killed her,” he accused.

  “Who?” Kern asked.

  Two guards grabbed his arms and pulled him off the bed. “Kern Tygierrenon, you are under arrest for the murder of Marcy Kentalee.

  * * *

  Kern looked around his small cell. The walls were stone. They normally housed criminals in the prison, crafted from magic from a large tree, but given his ability to create fire, they were taking special precautions. Truth be told, he hadn’t gotten the hang of calling the fire, yet. He was just as likely to kill himself as to escape. But they weren’t taking any chances. The room was empty, not even a cot or chair. He sat on the cold stone floor and stared at his hands. The blood was dry, now. He still couldn’t believe it. Marcy was dead. He’d never hear her laugh again. He would never see her smile. And they thought he was responsible. He could never kill Marcy. He loved her. Yes, he was jealous of the way she looked at Thomas, but what sense would it make to kill her? Of course, no one listened to him. H
e was covered in her blood. Even he knew that was suspicious. He had no idea where to blood came from.

  The door opened. He squinted against the bright sunlight. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw his uncle standing there. The look of disappointment cut through him. “How could you?” Frex’s voice broke.

  “Uncle, I didn’t ,” Kern pleaded.

  “Do not tell me lies. I knew . . . I knew what you were becoming, and I didn’t stop you. Her death is as much my fault as yours. I should have stopped you. I failed your mother. I failed you. For that, I am sorry.” He turned to go. “I can’t do this anymore. This is the last time we will speak. Goodbye, Kern.”

  “No!” Kern raced to the door, but the guard slammed it in his face, and for the first time since his mother died, Kern cried.

  * * *

  How much time passed, he did not know. The only light in the cell came from a small lantern near the ceiling. No one else visited him, not that he expected them to. If Frex believed him guilty and never wanted to see him again, he could only imagine the reaction he would get from his siblings. They hardly even knew him. They had no reason to believe in his innocence. Still, when he was finally led from the room and brought to the courts before them, he felt the last of his hope die. Pielere and Mirerien couldn’t even look him in the eye. That was still better than Eirae, who looked at him with unveiled contempt. He argued again, it was a mistake, but no one was listening.

  After a while he stopped arguing and sat in stunned silence. He didn’t resist when they led him back to the cell. They would most likely have him executed. That didn’t bother him so much. He killed enough people over the years that it was probably justified. What did bother him was the thought of Marcy’s killer on the loose. Who would want to kill her? Why set him up for it? Would they go after other people he cared for? Maybe bringing his uncle here hadn’t protected him at all. Maybe it put him in greater danger. There were too many unknowns.

  The door opened, someone entering the cell, but he didn’t bother looking up, expecting it was someone dropping off food. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate, not that he had any appetite. It occurred to him the only person who would want to hurt him who had the connections to plan something like this, was Maerishka. She probably wanted to ruin his reputation so that, should he try to take the throne from her, he would not receive any support from Aleria.

  Kern looked up and saw he was wrong about the identity of his visitor. Mirerien stood by the door. Her eyes squinted in distress. Without a word, she turned to leave.

  “Wait!” He stood, his legs unsteady from hours of sitting. “I didn’t kill her, and you know it. You must let me out.”

  “I cannot circumvent the law based on a feeling.” Her eyes burned through him.

  “So instead you let an innocent man be convicted of a crime he didn’t commit?”

  “Can you tell me how you came to have her blood on you or how your blade was used to stab her repeatedly?”

  Kern cringed. The description of Marcy’s death was painful to hear. Her attack spoke of rage, lending credence to the theory Kern killed her out of jealousy. “I’m being set up,” he answered weakly.

  Mirerien’s eyes softened. “I know.”

  Nothing left to say, she left. He didn’t know what he expected her to do. He was on his own.

  Chapter 7

  Kern waited, a plan beginning to form. He needed to find the person responsible for Marcy’s death and clear his name. Practicing with calling his fire, he sat by the door of his cell. They brought him food twice a day, all he had to do was time things right. Humming a song to keep himself awake, he still fought against sleep. It wasn’t that he was all that tired, but squatting by the door, poised to strike, staring at a plain stone wall, took its toll. When he finally heard the door knob turn, it startled him out of a half sleep. He almost burned the guard by accident, barely missing as he shot fire past the guard’s leg. The man jumped back reflexively, and Kern pushed the door into him, knocking the man over and buying himself a few seconds to run past him. Ducking into a side hall, he heard the man call out for help. Other guards ran past his hiding place. Grabbing a lone guard, he knocked the man unconscious and took his coat and hat. Then he rushed down another hall, blending in to the chaos surrounding his jailbreak. He kept a low profile, making his way through the city. By nightfall he reached the southern gates.

  Kern looked down the long bridge home. He never thought he would return to Suriax, yet here he was. Still posing as a guard, he easily slipped past the gate. Ditching the uniform in the crowd, he took in the chaos around him. The few riots that had sprung up in Aleria were nothing compared to what he found in Suriax. People were fighting, some out of anger, some for fun. Fire shot out through the air at every turn. Buildings burned, people screamed. Getting to the palace without being stopped was easy. He grabbed an extra change of clothes from home so he could be recognized as one of the Flame Guard. Looking at Frex’s chair and clothes threatened to break his self control. He steeled himself against the pain of Frex’s disappointment and pushed on. He didn’t have time to feel bad for himself. Once he cleared his name, hopefully things would go back to the way they were between them.

  It didn’t take him long to find Maerishka. She was always in the gardens this time of day. He saw her seated by a fountain talking to a robed man. The man’s cowl shifted and Kern felt himself go numb. It was Cornerbluff. He was alive. They laughed, Maerishka asking about his mission. He described, in horrific detail, murdering Marcy and framing Kern. “It was simple,” he boasted. “I posed as a servant and put a sleep potion in his drink. He didn’t wake until the next morning when the body was found. He was still covered in the blood I poured on him. When I left, they had him on trial for her murder. He may even have been executed already. You won’t have to worry about Kern Tygierrenon again.”

  “Excellent.” Maerishka stood and handed him a small leather sack. It landed in his hands with a jingle, coins falling from the loose opening in the top. “Worth every silver.”

  She left Cornerbluff to count his rewards. So distracted was he, he did not see Kern approach until he was only a few inches away. Cornerbluff jumped. Coins dropped to the ground, rolling out of sight.

  “Remember me?” he backed away a few steps. “I remember you. I remember killing you. Guess once wasn’t enough. Should I try again?”

  “Wait, I was just following orders. It wasn’t personal.”

  “Wasn’t personal? You killed a woman. What did she ever do to you? She was innocent. If you had a problem with me, come after me.”

  “I was following orders,” he said again.

  “Orders? Orders?” Kern let his anger rise. “She wasn’t orders. She was a person. She had a name, a life, a family. You took all that away.” Cornerbluff backed away from Kern’s tirade, but he kept pressing forward. “You killed her. Maerishka may have ordered it, but you are the one who took her life. You are the one who savagely stabbed her and took her away from those who love her. You could have said ‘no,’ but you didn’t. You could have said ‘no.’”

  Cornerbluff bumped into a column and stopped, no where else to go. He looked around frantically. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Espionage killing in Aleria for the queen is only illegal if you get caught.”

  “But it was wrong,” Kern thundered. At the look of complete bafflement from the old half gnome, Kern stopped. A week earlier, their roles could have been reversed. Was this what he sounded like justifying his actions to Eirae and Pielere? He felt bile rise in his throat at the thought. Disgusted, he walked off. Cornerbluff shifted his weight in confusion. “You aren’t going to kill me?”

  Kern stopped and considered. “No, it wouldn’t do any good. She’s dead. Killing you won’t bring her back. But if you or Maerishka ever come after someone I care about again, I will track you both down and show you the same mercy you showed Marcy.”

  Walking away, he felt lightheaded. Dizziness sent him spinning. He fell to his knees to av
oid hurting himself should he lose consciousness.

  “Are you okay?” a woman asked.

  Kern looked up, his vision clearing, and saw Marcy kneeling beside him. He stood and took a step back. His clothes were changed back to what he wore in Aleria the day she died, but they were not stained with blood. His surroundings had changed as well. No longer standing in Maerishka’s garden, instead he stood in the hallway leading to his room in the Alerian palace. Marcy looked at him with concern, clearly worried by his strange behavior, but unsure what to say. Thomas stood behind. It was then he remembered where he was. “I’m fine. I just need to rest.” Unable to stop staring at her, afraid she would disappear should he look away, he backed up several more steps before finally turning to go. Thomas followed after, pulling Kern aside.

  “Is this about what you saw just now? I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Marcy. I know we never discussed what she is to you, and I don’t want to step on your toes. It just sort of happened,” Thomas rambled on guiltily.

  It took a moment to remember what he was referring to, his mind still partially lost in that weird dream world. “It’s fine. Whatever feelings I may have had for her don’t matter. We were only ever friends.” At one time, he may have been angry or jealous. Now he was just relieved she lived.

  “Are you sure,” Thomas’ eyes beamed with relief. He obviously cared a great deal for her and would cherish her. She deserved that.

  “Yes.”

  Thomas smiled and left Kern alone with his thoughts. What was that weird dream? It felt incredibly real. He still felt the weight of his chains and could still smell the blood on his clothes. Maybe it was a side effect of the blue fire, or maybe his head injury was more severe than he thought.