Schism: The Battle for Darracia (Book 1)

by Cash, Michael Phillip

  Their words pierced the wall of anger, and V’sair slowed his attack. He paused and looked into the worried face of the young soldier, who now allowed his sword to slide to the floor. “Please come with us. We must act swiftly.”

  V’sair bent over to help the older soldier. “Apologies,” he murmured, as he gestured to the gash in the Darracian’s side.

  “Happens.” The man shrugged. “Let’s get you to Swart. He will be happy to see you.”

  General Swart indeed looked happy when V’sair was ushered in. He dipped low and said reverently, “Highness.”

  “Do you know where my parents are?”

  “Captain Zayden and your father went to extract your mother from the throne room. One of my men reported that Vekin is making his way there as well. We’ve planned to mount an offensive to create a pincher, with the throne room in the center.”

  V’sair gripped his sword tightly, his face grim. “Let’s do it now!”

  Chapter 29

  Airboats started to rise, dotting the entire horizon with Quyroos—Bottom and Tree Dwellers alike—making unregistered flights to Syos. Nuen guards, outnumbered, were efficiently dispatched. Their bodies made a quick descent downward, their stalliuses now commanded by able-bodied Quyroos. Tulani stood in the first boat, her fist outstretched, her long red braids streaming around her, her eyes only on the castle in the clouds.

  In the distance she saw a huge cruiser moving toward the same destination. The name was not visible, and she did not know its intentions.

  Chapter 30

  Reminda stood defiantly as the first exchange of swords rang in the room. Staf backed away, letting Drakko take the offensive, cleverly parrying his thrusts, his steps quick. Drakko was aggressive, his borrowed Fireblade red with angry intensity. The swords clashed, and Reminda realized that Drakko was furious, and Staf was letting that fury exhaust him. Drakko’s green eyes narrowed with anger, and he slashed at his brother, who responded with the skill of a practiced fighter. Drakko aggressively went after Staf, who ended up with his back against a low table. He jumped up, with Drakko following him, and they moved down the length of the banquet table, knocking candles and food to the floor. This was an even match between two of the very best fighters in Darracia. Reminda prayed to the Elements for her husband to be victorious. A hot breath fanned her neck, and she spun to find her sister-in-law so close that they were almost touching.

  Staf slipped near the end of the table, and Drakko moved in quickly for a fatal blow. Pacuto raced between them, raising his sword to prevent the king from killing his father. Zayden growled as he rushed forward to stop his cousin, revealing Hilde behind him.

  “Hilde!” Pacuto shouted, and attacked Zayden with vicious hatred. If Drakko and Staf’s fight looked like an elegant dance, Zayden and Pacuto’s swordplay looked like a rampage.

  Everyone moved out of the way as the blades rang with a rapid staccato.

  “You see, my boy…” Staf’s voice spat out the words. “He killed V’sair, and now he will kill your bastard.”

  “I will see you in hell!” Drakko’s face was flushed with exertion, and he was momentarily distracted by Hilde’s wild scream.

  Pacuto had slashed Zayden and caught him in the face. Fluid dripped from his eye as he groaned and dropped to one knee. Zayden was bent in half, one hand holding his torn face, his eye destroyed. Pacuto laughed and quickly moved forward to finish the job.

  Hilde rushed to Zayden, holding up her hand to stop her brother from delivering the final blow to her beloved. “Traitorous whore!” Pacuto screamed in outrage, and buried the blade in her chest.

  White with shock, Hilde sighed, her knees buckling as she slid off the end of the sword. Zayden snarled as he staggered to his feet; he went after Pacuto as if a machine were moving his arm. Pacuto fought, but he was no match for Zayden’s adrenaline-fueled rush of anger. He hacked Pacuto in the neck, and a gout of blood bathed them both so they looked as red as the Quyroos that began to fill the room.

  Beatha screamed, grabbing Reminda by the hair and twisting her head so that the queen shouted with pain. They rolled onto the floor in a swirl of fabric, their gowns entwined. Small fists pummeled the countess, who ripped at the queen’s head, tearing out tufts of hair.

  V’sair entered to see an arena of bloodbath and heard Tulani shout over the din, “V’sair!”

  She stood at the head of a mob of Quyroos that looked like a red tide of anger.

  “You fool!” shouted Staf to his dying son. “You said you killed him!”

  “Perhaps,” V’sair called out to his uncle snidely, “he is not the warrior you think he is.”

  With relief the king stared at his son, who stood with his sword raised for battle, a look of triumph on his lean face. A scream split the air as the queen and countess rolled toward the roaring fire wall in a deadly embrace. Beatha stood then dragged Reminda up and shoved her toward the raging inferno. As the queen fell backward, she looked at her son sadly.

  Her small webbed hands grabbed Beatha’s dress. The two women teetered for a moment as the countess’s hands feverously tried to untangle Reminda from her. Their balance shifted, and V’sair watched in shock as his mother tumbled into the white-hot flames.

  “Reminda!” the king shouted.

  Staf took advantage of this moment to sink his Fireblade to the hilt inside the king’s chest. “You are finished!” he shouted with triumph.

  V’sair saw his father go down, the sword deep in his chest. Fury rolled through him as he leaped into the fray, his face a feral snarl filled with burning rage to attack Staf. His uncle smiled, wiping the sword on his cape and expecting another quick victory.

  Their blades sang with hatred, and V’sair’s nimble feet soon made Staf fall backward in retreat. It was pandemonium—Quyroos cheering for the prince and the sounds of General Swart’s troops fighting with Staf Nuen’s men on the other side of the room. A fierce battle raged; finally freed from their defensive positions, the king’s men attacked together, attempting to squeeze out the Nuen rebellion. The halls were filled with heavy casualties.

  Staf was surprised at his nephew’s skill. He pressed forward, nicking him in the shoulder and unknowingly reopening the older wound. V’sair was tiring, but he refused to give in to his fatigue. He caught Staf’s blade at the hilt, locking them together, their faces so close that their breaths mingled.

  “I will kill you just as I destroyed your parents!” Staf spat.

  “I think not!” V’sair spun, taking Staf completely by surprise, the blade catching him above his hip. It went in smoothly and appeared on the other side of Staf’s back. He gasped as he staggered and slipped to the floor in a heap.

  V’sair stood back, breathing heavily, and walked unevenly to his father’s body. Tulani held a cloth to a bloody wound and shook her head slowly.

  “Sire…” He fell to his knees, exhausted and heartbroken.

  “You will make an excellent leader,” Drakko said in the barest whisper.

  “No, Dado.” He pressed his hand over Tulani’s, trying to stop the bleeding. “Tulani is a healer. She will help you.”

  “V’sair, it is over for me.” He coughed, his eyes mere slits. “You must finish what I have started. Where is Zayden? Is he…” He placed a weak hand over his son’s.

  “I am here, Father.” Zayden sat nearby, holding Hilde’s still body, his cheek pierced and his free hand cupped over his destroyed eye.

  “It is a rare privilege for a king to actually see…the next…You will be a great leader, my son, and I am proud of you both…” His voice trailed off, and his head rolled onto Tulani’s lap. She reached down and gently closed his eyes.

  A commotion erupted, followed by the wild screams of the masses of Quyroos in the room. A foot, small and webbed, followed by a blackened hand, reached out from the pit of the fireplace, seeking assistance. V’sair jumped up to pull his singed mother from the depths of the cavern.

  “Mo’mo.” He hugged her tightly. “You ar
e whole!”

  All eyes were on the tableau of the drama taking place in the center of the room. No one heard or recognized the chirp of an ancient communication device or the stealthy escape of Staf Nuen.

  “Yes, Beatha has broken her neck. I fell into the exhaust damper. It saved me. Oh, Drakko…” She left her son to fall to her knees next to her husband.

  V’sair saw Zayden; he bent down, gripped his brother’s elbow, and tried to help him stand. “I will get you help,” he said.

  “I will kill Staf Nuen!” Zayden exclaimed.

  “It’s too late.” V’sair crouched down to look at his brother’s face. “Our uncle is dead.”

  “Where?”

  V’sair pointed then stood; the spot was empty.

  Zayden staggered to his feet. “Where is he?”

  “I got him. He was there!” V’sair’s eyes scanned the room.

  Generals Swart and Vekin barged into the throne room, their Fireblades bloodied. Taking in the body of Drakko, they fell to their knees before V’sair and murmured, “Your Majesty. Long live the king. Long live King V’sair!”

  The crowd repeated the call, and V’sair bowed his head in acceptance.

  Zayden walked to the wall of glass that heralded a new dawn. Both suns rose, filling the pewter sky with the colors of rose and cream. Blood stained his cheek, and he pulled out Hilde’s ribbon from the inside of his armor. He held it to his cheek as he inhaled the last scents of his beloved. As he tied the ribbon clumsily around his muscled upper arm, he saw a destroyer quickly pull away from the castle. Its identity was emblazoned in bold paint—The Grand Mestor. It was the ship of Staf Nuen.

  Chapter 31

  V’sair stood in his rooms as he looked out the vast window.

  “She has gone?” It was his mother.

  The king shrugged.

  “She’ll return.”

  He spun, his face tormented. “I wanted to marry her!”

  “She loves you,” Reminda said, putting a bandaged hand on his shoulder. “She has much to learn. She has just discovered herself.”

  “Tulani could learn everything she wants from here,” V’sair responded petulantly.

  “Yes.” Reminda smiled. “You would think so, but you must trust that when she learns what she needs to, she will return.”

  V’sair sighed.

  “You are feeling alone?”

  “Dado and Emmicus are gone,” he said sadly. “Tulani has left to find her soul.”

  “You found yours.”

  “But I have lost half of it. Zayden is leaving today.”

  “What? He has refused the office?” Reminda was shocked.

  “He told me there cannot be two grand mestors. He will return when he can claim that title for himself alone.”

  “Hilde.” She shook her head sadly.

  “I would say he is heartbroken, but he is Darracian.” V’sair looked at his mother. “Sadly you have given me a Planta heart, and I am sorry to tell you it is making its presence known.”

  Reminda pressed her forehead against her son’s. “Have faith in the Elements, Voso. I am positive things will fall into place.”

  V’sair looked at the dual suns of Darracia and agreed. “Sradda willing.”

  About the Author

  Born and raised on Long Island, Michael Phillip Cash always has been fascinated with science fiction and fantasy. After earning a degree in English and an MBA, he worked various jobs before settling into being a full-time author. He resides on Long Island with his wife and children.

  Follow Schism on Twitter: @michaelpcash

  www.michaelphillipcash.com

  If you found this book enjoyable, please leave a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or Barnes & Noble under Schism: The Battle for Darracia. If you have any questions or comments, please contact the author directly at michaelphillipcash@gmail.com.