It had galled him every time he saw one of Kallik’s men in a Candlewax uniform. So much so that it had been a relief when Kallik ordered all of the colors of Candlewax stricken and destroyed. At least Kallik’s men now looked like Kallik’s men. Conrad had taken to ordering them around harshly, making them fear him. There was satisfaction in watching them lower their eyes and do his bidding. They had murdered thousands of good soldiers in their assault on the Candlewax guard, mostly at night, while many had been sleeping. Kallik’s troops had been pouring into the kingdom ever since.
The first test of his authority as captain had come directly after his meeting with Sebastian, while walking back toward the dungeon with the jailor and the escort guards. As soon as he was out of Sebastian’s earshot he had bellowed, “You there! Jailor! Give me the keys and go at once to the armory! Inform them we are coming. Prepare weapons for my men! I want bows, full quivers, shields, swords, helms, and breastplates. You soldiers! Go with him!”
They had looked at Conrad, surprised. Minutes ago they had been his guards. The jailor opened his mouth, but Conrad cut him off. “Are you deaf, then? Did you not hear Sebastian? I am a captain of Candlewax and I report only to him and Kallik. You’d best keep that in mind.”
Conrad bestowed upon them what he hoped was a merciless sneer. After a moment’s hesitation, the jailor dropped the keys into his outstretched hand and stepped back. Hesitation had been replaced by looks of worry and confusion.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but we’ve never been to the armory. Could you tell us how to get there?” asked one of the soldiers.
Conrad had laughed harshly. “On the way to the stables there is a long, low building jutting out from the main castle. That is the armory.” As they turned to leave he had shouted after them, “Two of you go to the kitchens and have them bring up baskets of cheese, sausage, bread, and fruit! You do know where the kitchens are, don’t you?” They nodded.
“The food had better be waiting for us at the armory before we get there!” continued Conrad. “And I want water and cider for sixty thirsty men!” Then Conrad turned on his heel and made for the dungeon, feeling their stares on his back.
King Cyril and Menard had been waiting for him. The old advisor had arrived only a half hour after the king. He, too, had suffered the bullying of Kallik’s men, but had fared far better than Cyril. He was stitching up Cyril’s back wounds with a practiced hand, using needle and thread from his Cinnan pants pocket, his face grim. He would have done the same to Conrad’s cheek, but Conrad had thought it best to leave it alone, especially when Menard mentioned something about re-cutting it. Besides, Sebastian might have been suspicious.
Conrad stood now at a window inside one of the rarely used castle stairwells. He fingered the scab on his cheek and considered the battle that lay ahead. At least the king was safe. Sebastian believed Cyril was dead. The king and his counselor had taken refuge in the vast system of hidden corridors and rooms that were built into Candlewax Castle. Even if he had wanted to—which he didn’t—Conrad couldn’t tell Kallik or Sebastian where they were. Clever, how Cyril thought to dress one of the corpses in his Cinnan clothes.
There was just one problem: Sebastian was bound to ask about Menard. The two had never gotten along. It would be hard to explain Menard’s absence from the dungeon once Sebastian got around to remembering him.
From the window Conrad could see his men as they assembled in the yard for last-minute preparations. They were all brave, loyal Candlewax soldiers, every one, even dressed as they were in Kallik’s colors of orange and black. These men would die before they gave up their king. He remembered Cyril’s orders: “Obey Sebastian and Kallik in everything except taking life. Make them believe in you.”
It was the hardest order Cyril had ever given him. The men were sworn to secrecy that King Cyril lived, forbidden to inform even one of the hundreds of Candlewax people who still served the castle. No one knew that Conrad and his men were yet loyal to the king, and their hatred shamed Conrad. The story of the king’s death had spread like a brush fire through the castle. Villagers glared at them and some spat after they passed.
Conrad looked over his shoulder and then ducked down a stairway that led to the library. As he had hoped, it was empty. All of the kingdom’s precious hand-copied books lined the shelves. Neither Kallik nor his men had much use for them. It was dark in the room, but Conrad neither needed nor wanted light for what he was about to do. He ran his hand along the paneling until he reached a carved Candlewax tree over the marble mantle. He could feel the outline of its trunk and branches. Every council member of the King’s Guard, including Sebastian, knew of this passage. Conrad prayed that Sebastian had other things to think about right now.
His fingers traced the elaborately carved CK, about two thirds of the way up the sculpted tree trunk. He pushed hard on the middle space of the C and waited. He pushed again, straining his ears to hear what he had heard during the initiation rite he had undergone three years ago. He felt a ghost of the thrill it had given him then as the youngest member of the council.
Stone moved against stone. Conrad held onto the mantle, not wanting to lose his balance. He ducked just in time, feeling his hair brush the stones over his head as the whole hearth rotated into the secret council room of the King’s Guard.
It was just as he remembered it. A large, seven-sided dome of breathtaking stained glass dominated the ceiling. Carefully crafted Candlewax branches seemed to be lit with tiny shards of yellow, white, and gold glass. A cobalt-blue background made the glass “flames” seem all the brighter. Looking up gave the viewer the feeling of being under a canopy of Candlewax trees. Conrad basked in its beauty for a moment, marveling that the window was only visible from within the room. No other vantage point gave it away.
Then his eyes came to rest on the long oak table in the center of the room, surrounded by fifteen carved oak chairs. Neither Cyril nor his father Cedric had ever made a habit of sitting on the dais-throne at the end of the room, but its presence was a reminder of their ultimate authority in all rulings. Following the example of his father, Cyril always invited a different member of the council to sit on his left, with Menard at his right hand at all times. No one had sat in the chair at the other end of the table since the old queen’s death.
Conrad closed his eyes and drew upon the strength and calmness he had felt when in the presence of the council. Sebastian and Kallik can’t have Candlewax. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He turned and regarded the wall over the entrance to the room. Cedric’s banner. Thank God they haven’t destroyed it yet.
Conrad moved one of the chairs underneath the banner and tenderly unfastened it from the wall. He folded it and slid it under his chest armor. After one last, long look around, he returned to the mantle. A patient look through a tiny peephole showed no movement in the library. He pressed the K and ducked quickly as the hearth turned again.
All was quiet, until he stepped out into the chaos in the main corridor of the castle. Soldiers crowded the hallway that ran between the rooms on the first floor, headed for the armory, the kitchens, Kallik’s rooms, and every other which way, in a hurry. Conrad slipped past the throng, out through the armory and into the stables, where his men were waiting.
The Candlewax grooms had lined up the horses in full battle gear. These still bore remnants of Candlewax colors, as Kallik had not yet provided horse armor in orange and black. The grooms stood at attention as they had been trained to do.
Conrad regarded Dowan, the groom who took care of his horse—a good-natured, hard-working boy who dreamed of being in the King’s Guard one day. Conrad had always encouraged him. Now Dowan glared back at him with pure hatred. Conrad was getting used to looks like that, but this was akin to a shower of ice water. Of course! To him I am as bad as Sebastian.
“Do I need to check this saddle, Dowan? Have you loosened the cinch?” Conrad felt the groom’s eyes boring into him like nails. He smiled wryly and lifted the stirrup to
see. It was loose. Not enough to notice right away, but just enough to spill a rider once the action started. Good man, Dowan, thought Conrad. You will make the King’s Guard yet.
Conrad looked down the line of grooms, soldiers, and horses. They are probably all loose. He almost laughed at their ingenuity, struggling to keep his bearing haughty. Kallik’s men are watching—I had better make this good. He tightened the cinch. Then he shoved Dowan against the stable wall with a stranglehold.
“If this happens again, I’ll have your head, Dowan!” he shouted at the frightened groom. Conrad let him fall to the earth and turned to his men. “Check your saddles and cinches! Make sure that they are tight enough. These worthless grooms are not to be trusted!”
Conrad waited as the entire line of soldiers checked and tightened their cinches. But there was something he had to know. He grabbed Dowan from the ground and shoved him through the open stable door until they were out of sight in an empty stall.
“Was this your idea, Dowan?” he shouted for all to hear. “Did you think to thwart me and Sebastian and Kallik with your own miserable little trick? Did you?” Dowan stood with his legs apart, arms folded on his chest, glaring fiercely at him. Conrad continued. “Or do I have to beat one of the other grooms?”
Dowan’s hands dropped to his sides, balled into fists. His face, drained of color, remained defiant. “It was my idea, you traitor! I hope William grinds you to a pulp. I hope you piss in your pants when the trodliks come and get you!”
It was all Conrad had wanted to know. Somehow he would feel better going into what would probably be the last battle of his life if the stalwart young Dowan knew the truth. Conrad smiled at him. “Good man, Dowan. This shall not be forgotten,” he murmured.
The groom’s eyes widened. Conrad put a finger to his lips and winked. Then he yelled as fiercely as he could for the others to hear. “Your insolence will be punished!” Dowan frowned, confused. Conrad made the sign of a C with his right hand and beat his chest armor with it in the greeting of the King’s Guard.
The boy’s mouth hung open in disbelief. Then a hesitant smile crept across his face. He answered Conrad’s greeting by silently thumping his own right hand on his chest with the C. Conrad nodded solemnly at him and left the stables.
Conrad mounted his horse and shouted to Kallik’s men. “No one is to discipline these treacherous grooms but me! When I return I will decide the manner of their punishment.” Conrad scowled menacingly and bellowed, “Is that understood?” All around him Kallik’s men nodded in agreement; some of them leered at the frightened grooms. Dowan frowned studiously at the ground, but Conrad noticed a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Conrad turned his horse toward the drawbridge.
The great fields between the castle and the village of Ryeburg were swarming with soldiers and horses. Their camps had turned the gentle slopes into a trampled sea of mud over the past few days. Conrad surveyed the scene, his heart in his throat. Twelve thousand. Kallik has twelve thousand soldiers. He squinted at the troops. If he had to die, he wanted to at least exact revenge on the one man who had betrayed them all. Where is Sebastian?
He looked in vain among the riders surrounding Kallik. As if sensing this, Kallik lifted his head, his gaze uncannily finding Conrad’s. He was wearing the fairrier cat skin, a metal helmet, orange and black clothing, and no armor. He carried no shield, but his belt had two daggers and two swords. Kallik’s eyes seemed to measure him. Finally he motioned for Conrad to approach. Steeling himself, Conrad made his way through the horde.
“My lord?” he asked, with a bow of his head.
“Sebastian speaks highly of you, Captain Conrad. He says you are a wise man—an ambitious man. Is this true?”
“My ambition is to survive, and to serve you, my lord. If I am wise, it is only experience that has made me so.”
“Ah, yes. Disillusionment with the great cause of Candlewax surely helps—brought on by the death of Cyril. I, too, was rather disappointed that he left us so ignominiously. I had planned a spectacular demise for him! All ruined. Such a pity.”
“Yes, my lord.” Conrad kept his tone precisely neutral. His fingers itched to draw his blade. To avenge his king and all of Candlewax. Sweat beaded his brow.
“Look at me, Captain Conrad,” Kallik ordered silkily.
Conrad dragged his eyes from the dirt, forcing himself to calmly regard the grotesque creature before him. Careful. Don’t let him see your thoughts. Kallik’s yellow eyes had an intensity that was almost physical. Gripping.
“Prove yourself today and you will be well rewarded,” Kallik was saying. “I need a man like you to keep Sebastian in check. That kind of ambition is a danger to all. He will rule and you will report everything to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my sovereign.”
“Sovereign.” Kallik’s smile was a hideous grimace. “I don’t often hear that one. It is pleasant to my ears.”
“Will I fight next to Sebastian today?”
The leathery, lined face twitched at Conrad’s question. Kallik’s smile disappeared. “No. You and your men will lead us in battle. Today Candlewax will be mine, completely and forever. Crystallia and Alliana will be next. All of Lackanay will fall to me, and all of its untold riches and power with it.” Kallik’s eyes were misty.
“Then today will be a day to remember, my king,” uttered Conrad, his eyes back on the ground.
Kallik’s raucous laugh cut through the air. “Go then, Captain Conrad. Lead us to victory!” He paused. “Or die trying.”
Conrad turned his horse and waved to his men to join him at the front of Kallik’s forces. So be it.
William’s horse was beginning to tire. They were traveling faster than the trodliks and every hour put more distance between them and the menace that pursued. Once the trodliks had crossed the fire line, the whole mass had funneled straight after them, ignoring even the swaths of fertile farmland and the Candlewax Wood. William and King Stephen changed course two or three times to test the trodliks, and each time the creatures had followed them. They know we are against them.
After the loud pulses had ceased and the fire line was breached, it was clear that they could behave as a unit instead of millions of separate little entities. Now that unit was chasing them, the high-pitched pulsing sound announcing their cohesion whenever they switched directions.
William dismounted and walked his horse, signaling for his men to do the same. There would be no stopping, but the horses needed a rest. It had been a difficult retreat. Only by scrounging food from the abandoned villages were they able to stave off their hunger. Farmers had not been able to carry away all of their oats and hay either, so the horses ate too. When the sound of the trodliks grew louder, they picked up the pace and moved ahead.
William listened hard. A cold breeze ruffled his red hair. For a moment he heard only the branches humming in the wind and the voices of his men as they trudged along. The crunching, clicking, grinding sound of the advancing trodliks was unremitting, even when not consciously observed. William cupped his hand around his ear to better hear them. Five miles behind us, maybe six or seven. Barely enough time for the men to find their families to say good-bye.
“Mount your horses,” he croaked. His voice was starting to come back. The King’s Guard followed his lead. King Stephen, Brine, and Sir Gavin rode to the head with William. At midday, William noted that the trodliks has pulsed again and wondered tiredly what could have caused them to do that. After a bit, they settled back into the sounds of eating.
Passing through Ryeburg was particularly disturbing. Ryeburg, the closest village to the castle, was now vacant and lifeless.
There is nothing to say or do but go home to the castle. At least that will be a sight for sore eyes. William rode to the crest of the hill overlooking the vast plain in front of the castle and stopped. King Stephen rode up to his side. Sir Gavin groaned.
“What? What’s all this?” demanded Brine, dumbfounded.
“Th
is is Kallik’s way of welcoming us home, apparently,” whispered William in disbelief. In front of them was an ocean of orange and black. Two hundred yards away, horsemen with swords drawn were lined up against them. Every pennant on the castle was Kallik’s. Candlewax had been taken.
“And I thought things couldn’t get worse,” said King Stephen.
William was numb. He knew nothing but the orange and black pennants fluttering over the castle ramparts. As the rest of the King’s Guard joined them on the hilltop, the enormity of Kallik’s violation pressed down on them like a giant boot on their throats.
William’s breathing was fast and shallow. He searched the host before them for Kallik. When I find you, Kallik, I shall rip that fairrier cat fur from your back and crush your head with my bare hands!
Then he spotted Conrad at the head of Kallik’s forces, wearing orange and black, and he stopped breathing altogether. So this is why Conrad sent no help. The revelation tore the last little bit of hope he harbored into shreds. Conrad! The vein on his temple bulged.
“TRAITOR! I SHALL TEAR YOU APART, CONRAD!” William shouted with his frayed voice. The men around him began to shout as they, too, saw familiar faces among Kallik’s horsemen.
Numbness turned swiftly to rage. William leaned forward in his saddle and kicked his horse to a gallop, drawing his sword as he swept down the plain. Nothing else mattered except killing Conrad. I can best you in battle, Conrad. I have always beaten you. He was vaguely aware that the rest of the King’s Guard was following him. He saw Conrad and a few others charge toward him at full speed and seconds later he heard Kallik’s trumpeters signal the attack. A great shout rose up from the battlefield.
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