Heroes of the Crystal Star (Valcoria Book 1)

by Jason James King

  Ashra started as Saetala moved forward as fast as a striking viper, grabbed Kaiden by the throat, and lifted him off his knees and into the air.

  “KAIDEN!” she screamed.

  Although struggling for every breath, Kaiden managed to shoot Ashra a glare that seemed to warn her not to spoil his ruse.

  “Tell me,” Saetala growled, and his eyes glowed red.

  The nauseating cold and frightening hate that Ashra had felt earlier intensified as Saetala’s eyes burned hotter. How was he able to do this? Kaiden’s legs swung a foot off of the floor. No one was that strong.

  “I…will…tell…you,” Kaiden wheezed, “but, you have to let Ashra go free.”

  No. He’s going to buy my life with his!

  Saetala flashed a wicked grin and dropped Kaiden to the ground. He rolled onto his back coughing and gasping desperately for air.

  “No deals,” Saetala said. “Tell me how to enter the Aldor Sokatasa.”

  Kaiden rolled onto his side and half sat facing Saetala. “Ashra’s freedom for the Legacy Secret.”

  Saetala’s eyes flashed red as he kicked Kaiden in the ribs. He released a sort of groan-shout and collapsed on his back, choking as he coughed up blood.

  “Stop it!” Ashra cried out. That injury was serious, perhaps even life threatening. If only she were free to go to Kaiden, so that she could heal him.

  Saetala ignored her. “The secret, Kaiden.”

  Kaiden forced a smile. “You won’t kill me, old friend.” He sprayed another cough of crimson onto the stone floor. “Not until you get what you want.”

  Saetala knelt beside Kaiden. “You will tell me, even if I have to break every bone in your body, old friend.”

  “Let her go, Rayome. Your quarrel is with Tael and myself.” Blood dribbled into Kaiden’s salt and pepper beard. “Ashra wasn’t even born when Darcivian died.”

  “And Darcivian wasn’t part of our quarrel, yet she still died because of it!” Saetala slammed a fist down on Kaiden’s hand, shattering bones with a sickening crunching sound. “An innocent life for another innocent life,” he snarled.

  “Sage?” the emperor asked, trepidation tainting his voice. “What is this about?”

  “He didn’t tell you,” Kaiden said to the emperor. “His real name is Rayome Saetala. He’s an Amigus exile with a grudge against the crown.”

  “Silence,” Saetala hissed.

  “He’s been using you to get his revenge. That’s all he cares about. Not the glory of the Aukasian Empire or its emperor.”

  Saetala gripped Kaiden’s arm, bones crunching as he squeezed. “Tell me,” he growled through gritted teeth.

  “The-secret-dies-with-me,” Kaiden said, his words ending in a scream as his arm broke.

  “Then I will discover it on my own.” Saetala raised a fist.

  “No!” Ashra shouted. “It’s the Guardian Seal!”

  Saetala turned to look at her. “What did you say?”

  “Ashra, no,” Kaiden said in a trembling voice.

  She met his eyes, tears streaming from her own. “The entrance to the Aldor is buried beneath the Guardian Seal.”

  Saetala stood and looked to his right. The circular painting of the white eagle in flight was only a few feet away. “Of course,” he said to himself as he walked over to the outer ring of the seal’s circumference. “How did I not see it?”

  Ashra flinched as Saetala slammed a foot on the edge of the seal, cracks in the stone spider-webbing out from the point of impact and cleaving the painting of the eagle in two. A second stomp caused the stone in the circle to collapse inward, falling away and revealing a large, dark shaft. Saetala smiled as he stared into the abyss. He turned to the emperor’s entourage and singled out a soldier. “Fetch me some sturdy rope, as much of it as you can find.”

  The soldier cast a hesitant glance at the emperor before saluting and trotting away.

  Ashra looked at Kaiden lying on the ground, blood dribbling into his beard. He returned her stare, face full of worry.

  When Yaokken recovered from his stupor, he found his wife trying to rob him of his treasure. Rage boiled inside of him, and the voice in his head told him that Adariel had betrayed him out of selfish ambition.

  Chapter 29

  The Jihan Truik

  Yuiv rode through the streets of the city. Having been spotted by a contingent of Aukasian cavalry, he had been forced to make several unanticipated detours, weaving through alleys and side streets. A few more minutes of hard riding brought the southern gate into view. It looked like the Sentinel Gate in Lisidra, an iron double-door portal with a two-story, tower-like, stone gate house that stood at the right side of the gate, stairs running out of its roof to the top of the wall. As Tyra had suggested, both the wall battlements, as well as the gate house, looked completely empty of personnel.

  Yuiv felt a giddy panic as he drew closer. He kept checking over his shoulder for signs of his pursuers, but so far he saw only frightened people hastily boarding up their windows and doors. Yuiv rode up to the gatehouse, yanked on his horse’s reins, and nearly fell on his head in his effort to dismount. A locked wooden door sealed the small tower, but that didn’t daunt Yuiv. He called upon another of Calid’s lessons, pulling a pin from his horse’s bridle, bending it slightly, and inserting it into the keyhole. A few heartbeats later, the door opened and Yuiv rushed into the tower.

  The inside of the gatehouse resembled the one in Lisidra, a system of chains and pulleys controlled by a barrel-sized floor wheel. Yuiv flew by the wheel and darted up a flight of steps to the second floor where his experience in Lisidra had taught him he would find the locking mechanism. His faith was rewarded as he laid eyes on a wall crank fastened to a thick spool of chain. Yuiv went to work, unhooking the crank’s safety and throwing all of his weight into winding it back.

  His arms burned, but he kept winding, using his giddy urgency for fuel. Just as he felt a cramp setting into his right shoulder, the crank stopped. He locked it into place and flew back down the stairs to begin opening the gate. He leapt off the staircase and flung his weight and momentum into the push bar, turning the floor wheel. At first it gave, but on the second turn, it slowed to a halt.

  It’s too heavy! It had taken two men to open the Sentinel Gate, and even then it had been almost impossible.

  The guardhouse door burst open and five Aukasian soldiers blitzed the room. Yuiv threw everything into pushing the floor crank, all his panic, anger, and every last shred of his strength, but it was too late. One of the soldiers grabbed him by the collar of his gentlemen’s coat and hurled him backward so that he fell and struck the floor.

  Laughter rang in his ears as he heard one of the soldiers call out in his clipped accent, “Shoulda picked a smaller door to flee through!”

  “A scrawny little dauchen rat, isn’t he?” another said, “Look at his suit, he is a nobleman’s son.”

  “Where is your father?” the soldier standing above him asked and when Yuiv did not respond, the man slammed his booted toe into his stomach. “Answer me!”

  I’m sorry mama, but I can’t fight them. Guess I’m a coward after all.

  Sitrell watched as Etai helped Gevan climb off the top rung of the ladder. According to Etai, they were in the palace now, or rather a hidden passage leading into a storeroom at the top of the palace’s north spire. Sitrell used his lantern to survey the room, a claustrophobic unfinished hallway covered in dust. Etai walked past him to the wall at the end of the passage, one that looked to be made of wood instead of stone. He gripped a concealed handle and pulled open a door Sitrell had not known was there. Etai motioned for them to follow and led them to a medium sized room filled with overturned barrels and broken crates.

  Etai halted, looking troubled as he stared at the room’s exit, a splintered wooden door hanging from a gnarled hinge. “This is newly broken.”

  “What does that mean?” Sitrell heard Gevan ask.

  Etai shook his head. “It means there is little time.
” He turned to face them. “You need to make it to the throne room, no matter the cost. Ashra will be there.”

  Sitrell asked. “Don’t you mean we?”

  Etai continued, “The palace will be overrun by now, so forget stealth. Just get to the throne room as fast as you possibly can. Understand?”

  Sitrell nodded, even though he really didn’t, and before he could ask for clarification, Etai rushed out of the room followed by Gevan, the Niazeride hand unit whining as it charged.

  I’m coming, Ashra. Sitrell left the store room and entered the spire’s deep stairwell.

  I’m coming.

  Hot, incredulous rage burned inside Lorta’ bosom. How dare he take control like this! He screamed inside as he watched the Medasylas direct his generals, Salache excluded on account of his absence, as they made one long rope out of several shorter ones. Perhaps the time had come to execute the final phase of his plan. His eyes dropped to the Medasylas’ strange talisman, the belt with the jewel that glowed whenever the man demonstrated superhuman feats of strength. Yes, that had to be it. His indignation evolved to eager lust.

  Lorta had hesitated when the plan first started to form in his mind, wondering if killing the man who had handed him Amigus might be going too far. But hadn’t the Medasylas himself told Lorta of his manifest destiny? Hadn’t he said that his cause was just, and so were any means which he employed to achieve that end? Well then, this would just be one more sacrifice for the empire, one more bloody stepping stone on his road to ascendency. Who was he to deny fate its chosen vassal? If Lorta hadn’t spared his own beloved father in his climb up the mountain of greatness, then surely his adviser would be no exception.

  “Sage,” Lorta called, loud enough that the man could not feign deafness.

  The Medasylas turned from staring into the circular pit in the floor, his face full of obvious irritation.

  “We need to counsel,” Lorta said.

  The Medasylas glanced at the men weaving the grand length of rope, and stepped away from the pit. “How may I be of service, Your Highness?” His tone was only passably respectful.

  “It seems that you have kept much from me,” Lorta said, “information that you ought to have divulged when you entered my service.”

  “Such as?” the Medasylas asked, sounding even more impatient.

  “Such as your prior affiliation with the Amigus government”―Lorta motioned to the broken Alderman lying on the floor―“or the fact that your traitorous acolyte was really your own son.” Lorta’s eyes fell to the black metal belt and its beautiful red jewel-eye, “or that you possessed a talisman of such wondrous power.”

  “My history with the Ruling Council was irrelevant to your purposes,” the Medasylas snapped, “my personal relationships are just that, personal.” He turned away. “And I kept the full extent of my unique talents secret because I knew that revealing them would only make jealous enemies.”

  “We’re not finished, Sage!” Lorta hissed.

  “Go celebrate your meaningless victory, Lorta.” He turned his back on him. “I have more important work to do.”

  Lorta clenched his teeth, seething with fury. He glanced at the captain of his Imperial Guard and nodded. The time had come. The black-armored captain made a quick motion to his comrades and all twelve of Lorta’s Imperial Guard charged the Medasylas. A shout of pain rang out as Lorta’s Guard captain sliced across the Medasylas’ back. The wound gushed, though Lorta didn’t think it had been deep enough to be serious.

  With unbelievable speed, the Medasylas whirled toward his attackers, eyes flaring crimson. The captain struck again, but this time the Medasylas was ready for him and in a quick motion caught the man’s sword arm and tore it free from his body. The captain dropped to the ground, his agonizing screams echoing from inside his helmet.

  The horror made Lorta take an involuntary step backward. He made eye contact with the Medasylas, the man’s burning, red eyes seeming to assure Lorta that when he was done with his minions, he would kill him.

  “Salache!” Lorta bellowed turning to one of his servants. “Fetch me my chief general!” The man nodded, forgetting to salute as he ran away.

  Lorta’s panic reached new heights when his most lethal servants cast him uncertain glances, they clearly hesitant to attack the hulking Sage. “Kill him!” Lorta shrieked.

  The remaining eleven members of the Imperial Guard attacked as one, but the Medasylas was faster than any mortal, making Lorta’s knights look as though they were moving underwater. The red-eyed monstrosity slipped through the ring of attackers, whirling behind the nearest one and punching through his back, his fist burst forth from the man’s chest. In a flash, the Medasylas’ bloody fist withdrew and the knight dropped. One of his comrades swung for the Medasylas’ head, but the Sage effortlessly dodged, ramming a knee into his assailant’s stomach. The knight fell to his knees, blood spraying out through the slits in his helmet. Another came at the Medasylas’ right. He leapt several feet over the knight, crashing clasped hands down on his helmet as he landed behind him. The helmet crunched as easily as a tin can, blood exploding from the slits of his visor.

  “Salache!” Lorta screamed again, fear raising his voice an octave higher. Lorta’s chief general was the only man whose fighting prowess exceeded that of his Imperial Guard. Hadn’t Salache sworn an oath to Lorta’s father pledging to protect his son? Yes, and Lorta would hold him to that oath, for Salache was the only one who could save him now.

  Sitrell growled as more Aukasian soldiers clustered in their way, most wielding curved blades, but a few taking aim at him with their flintlock pistols. An emerald energy bolt tore through a man training his pistol on Sitrell, and for the first time he was grateful that Gevan had joined their rescue party. A party of two, now. Sitrell simultaneously cut down two opponents while holding a curved Aukasian scimitar in his left hand to compliment his father’s blade. Where had Etai gone? The man had been with them as they raced down the stairwell, but Sitrell had not seen him since just after he and Gevan engaged the enemy. The two of them were attempting to battle their way through the mass of Aukasian soldiers who stood between them and the throne room, a feat that would’ve been impossible without Gevan’s adept use of the Niazeride hand unit.

  Sitrell nodded his thanks to the man and whirled into a mass of approaching soldiers. With a ferocity that frightened him, Sitrell cut down each and every soul that came within three feet, never giving his enemies time to strike. Wielding two blades had never been his strong suit, but the urgency driving him to find Ashra had turned him into a lethal tornado of steel against which no one could stand. Once, he had thrown himself at the enemy holding nothing back because he believed that he had nothing to lose. Now it was the fear of loss that drove him forward, fueling his fury and raising it to a fever pitch.

  Emerald light flashed continually in the room, each blast usually followed by sprays of marble and plums of dust. An Aukasian soldier on Sitrell’s right flank thrust a spear at him. He pivoted, dodging the serrated iron tip, cleaved the shaft with his scimitar, then whirled and took off the man’s head with his father’s sword.

  Two more soldiers launched themselves at Sitrell, and he met them, crossing his blades just in time to parry both of their swords at once. He kicked out, his right boot connecting and knocking one of the soldiers back. That gave him just enough time to pivot and slice the soldier’s companion across the back before thrusting his father’s sword into the first man’s throat.

  Both men went down, and Sitrell used the moment to disengage and fall back behind one of the room’s mammoth columns. He found Gevan there, alternating between firing energy bolts and hiding behind the pillar.

  “There are too many of them.” Gevan gritted his teeth as he fired several more blasts. “Where’s Etai?”

  “It’s only a little further.” Sitrell panted as he motioned to two double-doors fifty feet off to their left.

  “And will you have any stamina left by the time we reach the t
hrone room?” Gevan peeked out from the column and fired another bolt.

  “I hope so,” Sitrell replied.

  Another group of soldiers flooded into the room from the main entrance. No. Sitrell’s heart sank. One man, his uniform decoration telling of a very high rank, ran at the head of a mass of soldiers, his curved scimitar held aloft.

  “To the emperor!” the general shouted. “He is in peril!”

  To Sitrell’s astonishment, the advancing cluster of Aukasian soldiers turned back and joined with the mob of their fellows running up the middle of the lobby’s marble colonnade.

  “Vaekra take me!” Gevan said as he lowered his weapon.

  Sitrell watched as the room emptied of Aukasian soldiers, all of them flooding as fast as they could through the gigantic double doors. After a surreal moment of silence, Sitrell shook off his shock and sprinted toward the throne room.

  “Come on!” he shouted to Gevan over his shoulder, a clang resounding through the eerily quiet lobby as he dropped his spare sword to the floor.

  Ashra watched horror-struck as Rayome Saetala tore apart the last man of Lorta’s Imperial Guard, pieces of him landing on a floor covered in blood and littered with a cluster of bodies. Though Kaiden lay only a few yards away from her, in order to get to him, she would have to pass close to Saetala and his slaughter, so she waited for a more opportune moment. She glanced at Lorta. The white-faced emperor was turning to run. He had scarcely taken five steps when, in a blur, Saetala caught up to him and seized him by his cape. He choked the emperor and pulled him backward to the ground.

  “Please!” Lorta wailed. “I will give you anything: half the imperial treasury, the most beautiful of my wives, all of Amigus!”

  Saetala reached down and gripped the cowering boy by the throat and lifted him a foot off of the floor. Lorta stammered and sputtered as Saetala walked him over to where the Guardian Seal had been.