The Key of Creation: Book 03 - The Temple of Kian

by M. D. Bushnell

  The sorcerer was sweating anew and hunched over in the water. His voice was a dry rasp when he spoke. “Go!”

  Aldrick saw the crackling power being drawn into the Tritaph, but he could not help but ask, “What about you?”

  “Go I said!” Jahann croaked. “I cannot…hold…much longer. I will follow.”

  Aldrick turned to the others and swam towards the archway. “Let’s go.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice!” Warren blurted.

  The tremors throughout the temple were increasingly violent as they clambered up the cracked marble stairs, and they were forced to dodge and scramble over chunks of stone and falling debris. The greater part of the mysterious burning torches were either missing along with collapsed sections of wall, or barely flickering, and they were forced to struggle along in near darkness.

  They managed to find a path through the debris in the ruined front hall, eventually stumbling out of the partially collapsed front entrance. Both of the immense golden doors hung askew, and the columns of the front portico had collapsed.

  Covered in stone dust and sweat, they climbed over piles of broken marble to freedom as the temple shook violently. Reaching a safe distance, they looked back to see the roof and walls of the once gleaming marble temple collapse in a huge cacophonous cloud of stone dust and debris.

  Aelianna cleared her throat. “We made it.”

  Dathan grimaced. “Bloody magic.”

  Warren coughed from the stone dust. “What about Jahann?”

  “I don’t think anyone could have survived that,” Garrick surmised.

  “We owe him our lives,” Aldrick said, “even if his intentions were not completely altruistic.”

  “That’s a mild way to put it,” Garrick quipped.

  Aldrick smiled and turned, putting his back to the collapsed temple. “We have a long road home.”

  “Which begins with finding a bloody way back up that damn cliff and retrieving our bloody horses.”

  “If they’re still there,” Warren groaned.

  “Will you be positive for once?” Garrick scolded, smacking Warren on the arm. “We found the Tritaph, didn’t we?”

  “Ow!” Warren rubbed his arm. “I suppose we did.”

  Garrick grinned. “Besides, if we can retrieve an artifact of such immense power, and survive a collapsing temple, I’m sure we can find a path up a simple cliff.”

  Warren nodded. “We’ll find a path.”

  Aldrick suspected the king was projecting confidence for the sake of his squire, as their path would be anything but simple. Yet the sooner they began, the better. All he said was, “Let’s go home.”

  Chapter 20

  Tiberius could not have said how much time had passed since his capture. After being tortured, he had been only marginally aware of being dragged and tossed carelessly onto a cold, very hard stone floor. After that he remembered nothing for some time.

  When he opened his eyes at last in near darkness, he might have thought he was still dreaming except for the excruciating pain he felt in nearly every part of his body. The rebels had kept him alive, but just barely.

  He tried to sit up, but a sudden jolt of pain quickly changed his mind. He fell back against the stone floor with a groan. When his eyes adjusted, he became aware that it was not as pitch black as he had thought at first, but only very dim; complete darkness was broken by a distant torch.

  “Are you alright?” A familiar voice asked from behind him.

  “Paden?” His voice cracked, and Tiberius discovered his throat was exceedingly dry. “Where are we?”

  “The dungeon.”

  Tiberius rested his head back against the floor, and tried to swallow. “What happened to you?”

  “Much I’m not proud of, but you should know a rebellion is indeed being planned,” Paden replied with a dry chuckle.

  “Safe to say I’m aware of that.” Tiberius tried to smile, but that proved to be painful.

  “I’m so sorry, Tiberius,” Paden said, the pain evident in his voice. “I got inside the headquarters of the rebellion easily enough, but they planned on using me from the beginning. Felinus was in charge.”

  “Felinus!” Tiberius choked. “That bastard.”

  Paden adjusted his position, and continued. “They waylaid me on my return to the palace and forced me to help them sneak past the guards. This is my fault.”

  “I despise Felinus. More so now,” Tiberius licked his lips from thirst, but tasted only blood. “Jarvus said there was fighting in the streets, so this is not restricted to the palace. If you hadn’t helped them, I’m sure they would have found another way eventually. You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

  “Nice of you to say Tiberius, but there aren’t many people who could have walked their men right past the guards.”

  Tiberius coughed and winced with the sudden sharp pain in his ribs. “What is done is done. Now, we must concentrate on finding a way out.”

  Paden grunted in consent but said nothing. Tiberius shifted his position and cried out, discovering new pains.

  “Are you alright?”

  “I’m not sure,” Tiberius wheezed for a moment. “I was tortured, but I think I’ll live.”

  “I was stabbed myself,” Paden said with empathy in his voice. “By chance, Doctor Quintus, escorted by loyal guards, found me while looking for casualties of the fighting. He was just in time to save my life.”

  “That was lucky,” Tiberius noted.

  Paden nodded. “I’m alive, but fighting an infection. The good doctor said he would return to check on me. My guess is that Brodan did not kill you for a reason…perhaps he’ll allow Doctor Quintus to help you as well.”

  “I would welcome his jovial face about now,” Tiberius started to laugh, and then groaned in renewed pain.

  Tracking time in the near dark of the dank, foul smelling dungeon was impossible, but it was some time later when Doctor Quintus did eventually arrive. By the light of torches carried by rebel soldiers, he gave Paden the medicine he had brought for him and checked his bandages. He proceeded to look Tiberius over, and gave him something for the pain. He promised to return with more medicine when he could, before following the scowling rebel guards out of the cold, dark dungeon.

  Food came for them after that, and for the next several days by their best estimates, it was a simple rotation of near darkness, bland tasteless food and the occasional visit by Doctor Quintus. The jovial doctor remained almost annoyingly positive, even as worry filled his eyes. More time passed, filled with little beside the pain of healing and excruciating boredom. Eventually, they stopped bothering to count the endless rotations of bad food and darkness, as the differentiation no longer seemed to matter.

  Tiberius had healed to the point he could sit up by himself when several rebel soldiers, now dressed in the uniforms of the palace guard, arrived to deliver him to Brodan. He ascended the stone steps with the aid of two of the guards. He was extremely weak from his long stay in the dungeon. Every joint was sore from sleeping on nothing but a thin straw pallet, which was little better than the cold stone floor upon which it lay. He was filthy and disheveled, and the guards assisting him wrinkled their noses in disgust.

  He arrived in the throne room and was greeted by Brodan, who was smiling widely. His expression changed to a mixture of contempt and revulsion as Tiberius was brought forward. “You stink like a sewer!”

  Tiberius gasped for air, after the laborious trip from the dungeon, but said nothing. Brodan flopped down on the throne with a grunt. “I wanted you to experience the great fun I had during my stay in that pit. Of course, you’ll need to spend a few more seasons down there, before I’m satisfied.”

  “What right do you have to put me in the dungeon?” Tiberius demanded. “What have you done with Jelénna and Adrias?”

  “Being king gives me every right!” Brodan leaned forward in his seat, his eyes bulging. “The rightful king has reclaimed his throne. Traitors like you belong in the dungeon! Tha
t is until I have you beheaded, of course.”

  Tiberius forced a laugh. “Garrick is the rightful king. You are nothing but a conniving, murderous traitor!”

  “Lies!” Brodan jumped to his feet, his face turning red. “Everything I did was justified. Every action I took was to protect this country from an Illyrian plot. If Garrick was the rightful king, he’d be here protecting his country and not back in Illyria assembling an army for invasion!”

  “You fool! Garrick is not in Illyria to assemble an army,” Tiberius replied before realizing his mistake.

  “Ah, so you do know where he is,” Brodan smiled in triumph. He began whistling, and did a quick dance around the throne. Tiberius was startled by the reaction of the former regent, and wondered what his time in the dungeon had done to his mind.

  “I don’t know where he is,” Tiberius answered honestly. “He left to discover why the Illyrians were amassing on our border, and if necessary, to plan a defense.”

  “You can’t truly believe that nonsense!” Brodan sat back down with a laugh. “As if that Illyrian traitor of a prince wouldn’t know his own invasion plans.”

  Tiberius let out a particularly weary sigh. “Your denials mean nothing to me. When Garrick and my son return, they will take care of you once and for all.”

  “Every word declares you more the traitor,” Brodan retorted with a sudden fire in his eyes. “I’ve learned that both of those demon spawn have been gone so long, that it’s unlikely they will return soon, if at all. If they do return, it will be alongside the Illyrian invasion force amassed on our border, for which I must now prepare. I will waste no more breath on you, old man.”

  “I told you they have nothing to do with that,” Tiberius argued. “But I assure you, they will return.”

  Brodan jumped up and struck a dramatic pose, another unusual gesture that forced Tiberius to question his sanity. “If they are stupid enough to return without an army, they will find that I’m prepared.”

  Tiberius scowled. Clearly Brodan had lost his mind. It was becoming obvious that there was no point in trying to rationalize with this madman. Perhaps argument and intimidation would earn him a swift execution, and spare him further torture. “Like you were prepared during the Tournament? They foiled your plot then, and will do so again, you lunatic.”

  Brodan stepped forward, his eyes bulging and his hands balled into fists. Before he could retort, Tiberius continued in a rush. “The only difference will be that this time my son will not spare your life, you sniveling, murderous coward. You are a traitor, and I will see your corpse rotting from a hangman’s noose!”

  His face was crimson with rage, and his hands shook as Brodan vaulted from the throne over to one of his guards. Snatching the long sword from the sheath on the guard’s hip, the former regent spun back towards Tiberius. His body trembled, and hate blazed in his eyes.

  Tiberius remained held securely between two large rebel guards, as Brodan started towards him, brandishing the sharp blade. “I wanted to hear you admit your treachery before I had you killed old man, but no longer. It’s time for you to meet the All Father, traitor!”

  Chapter 21

  Brodan stalked across the room, with his lips pulled back in a vicious sneer and the sword in his hand trembling from rage. Tiberius closed his eyes and said a quick prayer to the All Father. If his death would save the life of his daughter-in-law and grandson, then he would gladly accept it. He had lived a good life, raised a son to be proud of, and helped others when he could. He was prepared for the end.

  The massive gilt doors leading into the throne room abruptly banged open, and the bodies of two rebel guards were flung into the room.

  A familiar voice called out, “Brodan stop!”

  Tiberius opened his eyes and turned his head towards the doors in shock. “Aldrick!”

  Aldrick pointed a bloodstained sword at his former life-long friend. “Brodan, drop your sword.”

  “At last, I have all three traitors together in one room. The triumvirate is complete,” Brodan gloated, and pranced over to a guard. He whispered into his ear, and then the rebel guard quickly disappeared into a side door.

  Suddenly looking serious, the former regent spun back towards the intruders. “Did you bring your army, or were you foolish enough to return by yourselves?”

  “Army?” Garrick asked, his own bloodstained sword held at the ready.

  “Don’t play dumb,” Brodan scoffed. “The Illyrian army you have perched on my border, preparing to invade.”

  Aldrick took a step forward. “You are delusional, Brodan. We left to investigate that army, not join it.”

  “Lies!” Brodan shouted. He swiveled around as the side door reopened and several guards entered, escorting two prisoners. Brodan grinned malevolently at them with a gleam in his eye.

  “Jelénna! Adrias!” Aldrick cried out. “Let them go Brodan!”

  “Aldrick,” Jelénna called out, reaching towards him. She had a fading black eye, and her worn clothes were torn in places. Adrias appeared unharmed, although his clothes and hair were rumpled, and he scowled fiercely.

  Brodan pointed his sword menacingly. “I think not. They are here to ensure your cooperation. Drop your weapons!” Aldrick lowered his swords, but Garrick and the others remained vigilant.

  Brodan stamped his feet. “I said drop your weapons, or Jelénna and the whelp die!”

  Aldrick gritted his teeth but dropped his swords on the cold, stone floor. They landed with a dull clatter. Garrick hesitated, but followed suit and gestured for the others to do the same. Two rebel guards collected the discarded weapons, eyeing the newcomers with suspicion.

  “That’s better,” Brodan gloated, looking proud. “The rightful king is back on the throne, and has now captured the leaders of the devious plot against him.”

  “What are you talking about?” Aldrick demanded. “What plot?”

  Brodan sighed. “Must I spell it out? Gilmoure is an Illyrian spy named Prince Garrick, who has cheated me out of my rightful kingship. Aldrick, you betrayed me when you helped this traitor take over my country and imprison me, with the aid of your conniving father. All three of you are traitors, and will be executed immediately!”

  Jelénna began to sob as Aldrick and Garrick shouted and argued simultaneously, vehemently denying the allegations of the former regent. With a frown, Brodan grabbed Adrias and held his sword tight against his throat, shouting for their silence. Aldrick and Jelénna cried out for him to spare their son, but Brodan stamped his feet again and demanded silence.

  Once he had their attention, Brodan sputtered, “I will argue with traitors no more! I am the rightful king, and I’ve judged you! I would love to kill you now, but Jarvus suggested that if you returned, I should wait, and make your executions public, to clear my name. Everything I did during the Tournament was completely justified! I had to protect my country from your vile Illyrian plots. The people must learn of my innocence!”

  “You were neither justified nor innocent, Brodan,” Aldrick retorted. “You cheated at the Tournament, maliciously murdering the other contenders! Stop this Brodan, and let my wife and son go! You were like a brother to me once. What has happened to you?”

  Brodan pointed his trembling sword at Aldrick. “Enough! Guards, take these traitors to the dungeon to await execution!”

  The guards started towards the company with their swords drawn, but paused when Brodan abruptly screamed. In a moment of distraction, Adrias had bitten down hard on the hand of his captor. Blood sprayed from the wound as Brodan shrieked in pain and anger. The former regent dropped his sword in shock, and Adrias kicked him hard in the knee and ran to his mother, blood covering his face.

  There was a heartbeat of confusion, and then the room erupted into motion. Aldrick, seeing his son safe for the moment, motioned to Garrick and Aelianna, and the three launched themselves at the men who had taken their weapons. The rebels, having been distracted by Brodan, were caught off guard and did not put up much of a fi
ght.

  Once the company retrieved their weapons, they turned on the other rebel guards. Soon, the room echoed with the sounds of metal clashing on metal, and the grunts of men fighting. Brodan clutched his wounded hand and danced about screaming orders, but in the din of battle no one listened to his shrieked demands.

  With blood running down his arm, Brodan grabbed his sword from the floor and whirled towards Adrias. With a snarl, he held his sword out and rushed towards the boy. Jelénna broke away from the rebel guard holding her and launched herself clumsily at Brodan to protect her son.

  Brodan was caught off-guard, and his wild look turned to surprise as he stumbled in an effort to dodge her. Unable to stop his forward momentum, he watched helplessly as his outstretched sword pierced into her chest and slid in all the way to the hilt. Dumbfounded, Brodan stopped and stared at Jelénna, as her expression changed from one of protective rage to surprised shock. Her eyes glazed over and her knees gave way, and her lifeless body slid off the sword and collapsed awkwardly to the floor.