by Tim Marquitz
A massive cheer exploded in the wake of battle, the people of Lathah kissing and embracing each other, scrambling to free those who had yet to be turned loose. The smiles of the four orphans stretched their cheeks to the limits. It was a bittersweet moment for Ellora. She knew the cost of their freedom.
“Don’t get too excited,” she told the boys. They looked at her with wide eyes. “Prince Olenn killed the king and captured the princess and her family. He left the people to die even though he had a means of escape that could have been used by everyone.”
“You speak true?” Mikil asked.
Ellora nodded. “I was captured with the princess and taken from Pathra and brought back here through secret tunnels in the mountain.” She pointed toward where Malya and her family stood, though they were little more than faint silhouettes against the wreckage. “That’s them. The prince has them bound and under guard.”
The boys muttered amongst themselves a moment, Brandon turning to Ellora. “Prove it.”
She didn’t bother to respond. Ellora motioned for them to follow and snuck off through the debris, guiding the group closer but staying out of sight of the guards. The men didn’t bother to look back as she and the boys drew close enough to see the group clearly.
Mikil’s eyes looked as though they might slip loose of his sockets for his surprise. “That’s her,” he whispered.
Ellora kept her, “I told you,” to herself. The chants of Prince Olenn filled her ears as the freed captives celebrated. She saw the guards grin and slap each other across the back at the success. Malya and her family stood stone-faced and despondent.
The boys slunk lower behind the piles of wreckage they used as their hiding place. “He means to kill them?” Mikil asked?
“I don’t know,” Ellora told him, shrugging. “All I know is he doesn’t want her seen by the people. That is why she is here and not out there with him.” She looked to each boy, meeting their eyes. “We can’t let him hurt her.”
Brandon shook his head. “There are too many guards for us. We can’t fight them, not just us.”
“Did you see any more of us when you were tied up?”
“I saw some,” Mikil answered.
“I did, too,” Kane answered. Thelis nodded, as well.
Ellora looked to Mikil, the oldest of the group. “Then go get them and bring them back to the hole in the wall where we came in…quietly. Don’t let the prince or his men see you.” She turned to Brandon. “A lot of people—soldiers—died in the city when the Grol attacked. Go gather whatever weapons you can find. If we’re not here when you get back, look for us higher up in the levels. The prince will probably keep the princess inside, and the only place I can think of that would be free of prying eyes would be the Crown.” The two boys nodded. “Be safe,” she said to both before they ran off.
“And me?” Thelis asked.
“Stay with me, for now.” She smiled at the young boy. “I might need someone to protect me.”
Thelis beamed and looked back to the princess, his chest puffed out. Ellora drew in a deep breath and settled in to wait. Everything depended on what Prince Olenn did next. If he ordered Malya from the city, there would be nothing Ellora could do to help her. Even if he left her inside its walls, Ellora was uncertain she and a rabble of orphans could overpower trained soldiers and rescue the princess, but she was set on trying. She owed Malya that much.
The princess had extended her hand to Ellora and treated her better than anyone ever had. If death was Ellora’s reward for trying to repay that kindness, so be it. She was willing to risk it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Domor wept. Without Sultae setting a hand upon him, he had given in and told her all he knew of the Sha’ree plan to train fighters in the O’hra and lead an army against the Grol forces. He told of the journey to Ah Uto Ree and of the people who traveled in the group. Sultae had left him with a smile.
He looked across the room to see Zalee squirming in agony beneath the constant wash of magical energy that flowed from the trough beside her. She had woken at last, but that had been no mercy. She screamed and thrashed in defiance, at first, before her body grew too weak to fight. Now, she only moaned and twisted against the chains that held her in place. Her eyes fluttered, pink tears staining her cheeks and tortured chest as she suffered.
Domor had betrayed her, telling Sultae what she wanted to know while Zalee had met the cruel torture of her fellow Sha’ree without breaking. He had only to see her battered and beaten before he made up his mind to speak all he knew. Nothing but a coward, he chastised himself, but even the honesty of his words failed to soften his guilt.
Cael, the son of Domor’s brother, traveled to Ah Uto Ree along with the others. Domor had betrayed him, as well. He had come all the way from Vel to save Cael, or so he had told everyone, but the truth lie elsewhere. Domor had only partially told Uthul when he said he returned for both the boy and the relic. Cael had only been a small child when Domor last saw him. He remembered little of the boy. Here in the dark caverns where he was likely to meet his end, he could be more honest, at least with himself. It had been the relic, the golden rod, which had drawn him from his fugue of alcohol and drawn him across Ahreele.
As Sultae knelt before him, he had feared only for his own life. Watching Zalee wither before him brought out his shame, but still he could think of nothing but what lay before him. What last orders had Sultae given Illraine before her departure? He could see no purpose to keeping him alive. Zalee might well be traded to the Sha’ree for ransom or leverage, but Domor had no one; he had no value. A cold chill settled over him at the thought. Domor sunk against the chains that held his arms, feeling them bite into his wrists. He tugged harder to feel the pain. He deserved it.
For hours he hung with only the sounds of Zalee’s torment for company, his arms long since gone numb. She was fading. Of this, he was certain. Her moans had grown low, resonating deep in her throat. She barely moved as the pure magical essence circled the trough beside her. Soon she would be dead. He stared across the room, assailed yet again by guilt. Could he have done something to help her, to keep Sultae from having tortured her? Lost in his head, he didn’t hear the forger come in.
“She still lives, though not for long,” Illraine said. Her deep voice echoed through the chamber, startling Domor and confirming what he already knew.
He snapped his head to look at her. She came closer, her pale hands fiddling with the links of the chains that held Domor to the wall.
“It is time to go,” she said, loosening the last of the restraints from the stone peg.
Domor looked up at her as she gave the chain slack so he could get to his feet. His gaze shifted to Zalee. The Sha’ree’s eyes were open. Though little more than cracks against her bruised face, she looked back at Domor and met his gaze. Under her stare, he felt the burden of guilt press him against the wall. Tears spilled loose once more, warming his cheeks and he gasped to draw breath. He shuddered under Illraine’s appraisal.
With a deep inhalation of the pungent air, he willed his hand to function and pointed at Zalee, his eyes widening. “No!” he called out.
Illraine spun, her eyes going to Zalee.
A cold emptiness filled Domor as made his choice, Illraine falling for his feint. He knew what had to be done.
“What are—” the forger began.
Domor interrupted her with his feet. He curled his legs under him and leaned back into the wall to gather the most leverage he could, and kicked out. His heels crashed into Illraine’s back. It was like kicking a wall, but the blow sent her tumbling.
Domor’s eyes went wide as he realized she still held tight to the chains that bound his wrists. They snapped taut and yanked him to his feet as Illraine struggled to regain her balance. The sudden weight on the chain yanked her sideways and sent her crashing to the floor. The room trembled under his feet just before Domor was pulled to his knees just a short distance behind her.
“I’ll kill you!�
�� she screamed as she rolled to her side, her cheek bloody from the fall.
Illraine pulled the chain and Domor slid across the stone floor toward her. He clasped his hands around the links and fought to resist her, but she was too strong. Domor slid across the stone floor, scrabbling for purchase. He managed to get to his feet, fighting with all his strength. It wasn’t nearly enough, but with all of his weight added in, he held his ground against her one hand. The forger climbed to her knees, laughing. The bitterness of it stung his ears. She was toying with him. Illraine started to her feet, using her free hand to stabilize herself. Domor could feel the tension increasing in the chain. Once she was up, he would be a rat on a leash, flung about at the mercy of her whims. She knew it, as well.
Just as her hand left the ground, Domor released the chain and charged. Illraine’s eyes went wide as her balance fell away under the sudden slack. She wobbled but didn’t fall, but Domor wasn’t yet done. He ducked his head and raised his arms before him, crashing into the forger’s broad chest. His momentum sent her flying.
Domor’s head rang at the impact and he crumpled to his knees. He saw the end of the chain slip from Illraine’s hands as she windmilled her arms to capture a balance too far gone to be saved. She spun as she fell, her feet entangled in Zalee’s. Domor heard Illraine scream. It filled the room for only an instant before it turned into a gurgled shriek, followed by a wet splash. He watched in horror as the forger tumbled into the trough, her head and right arm, to the shoulder, buried in the oozing green flow of pure magic.
Zalee scrambled to be away from Illraine as she thrashed inside the trough, spilling Ree’s essence over the edges. Domor jumped to his feet, ignoring the thunder that threatened to split his skull, and ran to Illraine. One of her feet kicking at empty air as she tried to drop it back to the floor, he grabbed the one that sat solid on the ground and lifted with all his might. Illraine kicked, but it did her no good. Her weight distributed forward, she slid deeper into the green fluid, all of her leverage gone. She writhed and flailed about, but she could find no purchase to push her great bulk from within the magical essence. After a short, violent moment, she went still.
Domor stared at her through the distorted lens of the pure magic. She lay with her eyes and mouth wide open, horror written across her features. The skin at her cheeks seemed to bubble, squirming growths leaking from her ears. He turned away from the transformation and stepped over to the chains that held Zalee in place. Her hands free a moment later, he started at her feet.
“Do-do not feel…sorry for…her,” Zalee said, her voice a fluttering breeze with little substance.
Domor said nothing as he loosed Sultae’s feet. He reached down and scooped her into his arms, surprised by how much she weighed. He could not carry her far. Near the doorway, he set her down in the place he had been bound until just moments before and collapsed to his knees before her. His breath sat heavy in his lungs. He felt her hand on his head.
“Feel no sorrow for what you have done, Velen,” she told him in a whisper. “It was wrong of us to ask that you fight our battle.”
Domor raised his eyes to hers. She worked at the chain links as she spoke.
“This war was started by Sha’ree ignorance, and by Sha’ree hands, and I fear it may well only end with Sha’ree deaths.” She slipped the chains from her wrists and started on Domor’s. “But not today.”
She pulled the links free of Domor and quickly freed her ankles. Zalee got to her feet and pulled Domor up alongside her. She wrapped her arms about his waist and leaned into Domor’s side for support.
“Come. We must reach my people and warn them,” Zalee told him as she pressed for him to walk.
Together, they slipped from the room and out in to the corridor. Fear nagged at Domor as they began the slow walk through the stone-hewn passage. He had killed one of the Hespayr and there were miles of darkened caverns to traverse before they reached the bleak surface. He cast a quick glance behind him, believing they had done nothing to escape their deaths, only postpone them. The shadows closed around them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ellora crept closer to the princess, Thelis at her side. The celebration outside the walls continued but had begun to taper off. Ellora understood the cold reality of what the people of Lathah were now realizing. Their homes and shops were in shambles, and rubble and bodies lined the streets from the Ninth to the Crown. None had escaped the ruin that had befallen the city, and none could simply carry on as though nothing happened. They had lost loved ones and neighbors, everything they knew, and there was no certainty left in anything that remained. The people could rebuild, but would it matter? The Grol could return any moment and destroy everything all over again. Yes, they’d been freed from captivity but they were still held hostage by the unknown. No matter what Olenn told the people, there was nothing he could say to relieve that fear.
The guards surrounding the royal family shifted impatiently, keeping Malya out of sight of the people. No one had returned to the city so whatever the prince told them had worked. Ellora doubted it would last forever. People were curious and sentimental. They would defy the prince to return home if only to gather memories of what they had before the Grol came. She prayed some would do so now, but her words failed to reach the goddess’ ears. Only the prince and a few of his men slipped through the hole in the wall, the people remaining outside.
She looked to the prince and saw he walked with a young man; tall and lean, his hair was a dirty blond and he walked with subdued resistance. He looked familiar to Ellora but she couldn’t recall having met him before.
Olenn smiled. The prince’s hand was on the man’s shoulder and the grip looked tight. Guards hovered close behind, their shimmering swords in their hands.
“Well, well, well, sister, what a glorious day this is,” Olenn said as he approached.
Malya, who had stood staring at the ground, raised her head and looked toward the prince. Her face was pulled back in a scowl as she met her brother’s stare. She glanced toward the young man with Olenn and the anger bled away in a wash of whiteness. Malya’s eyes went wide and her lips pursed. She seemed to jump, and then suddenly all trace of her reaction was cleansed away. Her expression was stone.
Olenn laughed. “The mask is beautifully done, Malya, but too slow to hide the truth.” He grinned wide and grabbed the young man’s chin, raising his face to the princess. “Quite the resemblance, is it not?”
Malya stared as though blind, saying nothing.
“No matter, sister, your reaction alone confirms it for me.” He turned to his men. “Bind him, but be kind. This young man has just become the most valuable jewel in the whole of Lathah.” The guards grabbed the young man’s arms and began to tie them together.
The princess seemed to collapse. Falen leaned into her and the guards clasped her arms to keep her standing. Malya’s husband appeared distraught, Argos and Kylle near panic.
“What’s your name, boy?” the prince asked the young man.
He stood rigid, his face lined with confusion. “Camron, my lord,” he answered. “I do not—”
Olenn waved him to silence. “Your parents, boy, where are they?”
“Dead, sir. For many years now. I was raised on the Fifth, by the Lord and Lady Ellis.”
The prince turned his eyes to his sister. “Raised in the lower aristocracy. How clever of father, don’t you think?” He turned to the soldiers holding the young man. “Take him back to the rest of the men and keep an eye on him. Do not let him get away from you, but whatever you do, on your life, keep him safe.”
The guards nodded and dragged the young man back through the wall. Ellora watched them leave and it struck her who the boy reminded her of.
“Handsome young man,” Olenn said to his sister after Camron was gone.
Falen looked to his wife and then to Olenn, a snarl on his bruised face. “What are you playing at, Olenn?”
“Nothing at all.” The prince gave him a broad smile tha
t conveyed no warmth, only malice. “I was simply noting how much young Camron looked like his father, but not very much like his mother, I must say.” He turned his smile on Malya. “It’s a shame, really. If the boy had, your lout of a husband might have caught on sooner.”
Falen growled at the prince. “Speak clear!” The guards clasped their hands on his arms.
“The boy is my son,” Malya’s quiet voice broke through the tension.
Falen spun on her, eyes narrow. “The exile is his—” he started, catching on immediately.
Malya’s nod silenced him.
Olenn stared at the couple a moment and then broke out into a fit of laughter. “How dramatic, sister. Your own husband didn’t know Arrin was the father of your first born child.”
Argos and Kylle stared at their mother, and she absently tussled their hair. Tears ran from her eyes without restraint. “I believed I would never see either again,” she said to no one. Her voice was a gentle breeze.
Ellora watched as Falen absorbed the news. The boys seemed lost in their mother’s arms. The boy had been Arrin’s son, born of the princess. Ellora’s mind whirled with the surprise of it all. She had known nothing of such a relationship, and saw none of it as they fled Lathah. What she did know was that Olenn despised Arrin and wanted him captured or dead. It took no effort to realize what the prince intended to do with Camron, the son of his enemy.
A crunch of stone startled Ellora. She bit down on her scream and spun to see Mikil behind her. She rolled her eyes angrily at him, pinning her finger to her lips, and turned back to the royal family.
“Take them back to the tunnels and keep them out of sight,” Olenn said to his men. He winked at Malya. “Don’t worry, sister, I won’t hurt the child…at least not until I have his father’s head on a pike.” He waved them away. The soldiers tugged the family away and marched them toward the Crown. “Gather all the men capable of fighting. It seems our path leads to Ah Uto Ree.”