Harbinger

by Nicole Conway

No response.

  I nudged him with my shoulder, but he didn’t make a sound. Instead, his full weight slumped over against me. Pain from my injuries, mainly my shattered ribs, shot through my body. I could barely keep us both upright.

  “Phillip! No! Wake up. You need to stay awake,” I cried out as I tried jostling him again. “Wake up, right now! Don’t you dare give up on me! I need you to stay alive. I need you … ”

  I had no idea how much time had passed, or where we’d gone after the wagon had carried us away from the smoldering remains of Barrowton. But when the doors of the wagon opened, and bright light from torches glared down upon me, I knew we were underground. The air smelled thick, humid, and earthy. It was tinged with the flavor of smoke, almost like scorched metal. Voices echoed from all around, bouncing off the stone walls and mingling with other sounds. Horses, footsteps, the clanking of metal armor—all were sounds I knew well.

  “How many?” a gruff man’s voice asked.

  “Two,” another replied. “Captain says they’re priority targets.”

  “Dead or alive?” A hand suddenly grabbed one of my ankles and started dragging me out of the wagon.

  I screamed and kicked. More men gathered, swarming around to fling me out of the wagon and onto the ground. Squinting up into the light of their torches, I finally got a clear glimpse of them—Tibran soldiers.

  “Alive.” One of them chuckled.

  An older man wearing an ornate bronze helmet crested in dark red horsehair leaned down to peer at me. “This is her? The Maldobarian princess?”

  “So they say.” His comrades didn’t seem so sure.

  “She’ll have to go to Argo, then.” The older man rubbed his chin and frowned. “What about the other one?”

  They were dragging Phillip out of the back of the wagon, too. He hung from their grasp, limp as a wet rag, and didn’t put up any resistance as they tossed him onto the ground next to me. He landed with a thud and was motionless, not making a single sound except for labored, rasping breaths.

  It took everything I had not to look at him, not to show any kind of concern. I didn’t know what they would do if they found out who he was, or that I had a relationship with him. Would they torture him, too? Would they kill him outright?

  “Is it the prince?” The older man asked.

  “No. He’s already here. They sent him on to Argo ahead of us. Bet he never guessed he’d wind up back here again, eh?” The Tibran soldiers joined in a chuckle, as though that were a joke.

  Wait—Aubren was here? Oh, gods. He’d been captured, too.

  My heart sank to the soles of my feet.

  The older man in his crested helmet nudged Phillip with the toe of his boot. “This one’s just a common foot soldier. Look at his armor. It’s not even the proper size for him. Probably another volunteer from the city folk.” He scowled and gestured to a few of the soldiers around him. “He won’t be any use as a recruit. He’s already half-dead as it is. Take him to a holding cell and we’ll see what Argo wants to do with him. If he dies, cut him up and feed him to the switchbeasts.”

  “What about her?”

  “You know the orders. If either of Maldobar’s royal brats ends up in custody, they go straight to the tower.” He sighed. “Strip down her armor, make sure she doesn’t have any concealed weapons, and maybe clean her up a little. He may want to keep her.”

  A few of the soldiers were murmuring, chuckling darkly as they gazed down at me. It was like being circled by a pack of ravenous wolves. With my hands still bound at my back by the wrists, and my side splitting with pain every time I took a breath, there was no way I would be able to fend them all off if they attacked me.

  “Hey—not a finger on her otherwise. You know Argo will have your neck if you mess with his prize,” the man snapped. “Now get moving.”

  EIGHT

  The Tibran soldiers took every piece of my armor—my greaves, gauntlets, even my boots. I stood, shivering in my socks and undergarments, as they checked my body over for any concealed weapons. I bit back a curse when they snatched the silver whistle from around my neck. That was my way of calling Phevos. It had taken us years to work out our own language of signals with that whistle. Now I could only hope he’d found safety somewhere far away from the reach of the Tibrans.

  … If there was such a place.

  My face was tender, especially around the place where Hilleddi had attempted to kick my skull in. When one of the soldiers started wiping at it with a rag, tears immediately welled in my eyes. I cringed away from the pain of his touch, biting down hard against the urge to whimper.

  “It’s all right. I know it hurts. I’ll try to be quick,” he murmured quietly so none of the other soldiers would hear. He was surprisingly gentle as he took my chin in his fingers and kept gingerly wiping at the blood and grit smeared on my face.

  I dared to look at him and my heartbeat skipped. He was a gray elf, a teenage boy probably about the same age as Reigh. All his silver hair was gone—shaved down to the scalp to expose his pointed ears and the freshly branded mark seared into the dark golden skin on side of his neck. It was still swollen and red. I’d seen that brand before. That was how the Tibrans marked their slave soldiers. When our gazes met, I caught a glimpse of absolute terror reflected in the depths of his multicolored eyes.

  We were both captives here, but I knew better than to expect him or any of the other slave-soldiers to do anything to help me get out of here.

  I was on my own.

  Flanked by more Tibran soldiers on all sides, I walked the cold stone passageways through their compound. They were fond of this tunneling method of moving men and supplies and had all but perfected it as a means of invasion. The tactical soldier side of my brain could appreciate that strategy. It made their movements difficult to track and their numbers impossible to estimate. No one really knew how they were able to do it with such speed. A beast or creature, perhaps? Or maybe another divine artifact they’d come across? Until Barrowton, I’d never seen their tunnels used to make a direct siege on a city before. The Tibrans were full of horrific surprises.

  A cold blast of air hit my face like an icy slap when we emerged from the tunnel. I squinted into the daylight, trying to get my bearings. One look upward at the fifty-story tower that loomed overhead like an ominous black spike was all I needed. I knew the stronghold of Northwatch the instant I saw it. The Tibrans had besieged this city weeks ago, and yet the fires of war still smoldered in the city streets, throwing up plumes of foul black smoke that turned the sky dreary gray.

  Aubren had lost more than half of his infantry and cavalrymen here trying to defend this city. If our father hadn’t recalled all the dragonriders back to Halfax, they might have been more successful in holding it. After all, this fortress had withstood more than twenty years of war before, and at the time we’d only had Tibran forces coming in from one of the coasts. But Aubren had warned me not to bring my riders here. He didn’t want to risk leaving our western coast unguarded. And without dragonriders to support his ranks, Northwatch had fallen.

  Looking around at the remains of the city, now overrun with Tibran soldiers, encampments, and war machines, I felt sick. Just the sight of their red banner fluttering from the tower’s battlements made my stomach turn and my pulse surge with rage. That banner was like a poison spreading through my homeland. I despised it with every fiber of my soul.

  The company of heavily-armed soldiers walked me to the front gates of the tower, a sword aimed at my back in case I got any bright ideas about escaping. The gateway had been built to be heavily fortified, and yet the Tibrans had made their own modifications to it as well. The entrance was small, the size of a doorway barely large enough to march two men through. That had been intentional, funneling any potential invading enemy into two-abroad. Besides, the real entrance was fifty stories in the air: a platform and wide passage into the tower where dragonriders could land their mounts without any interference from the gr
ound.

  Vicious snarling and barking pierced my eardrums from either side the second my bare feet crossed the threshold of the entryway. Two hounds as big as horses lunged at the length of iron chains with their mouths foaming and their red eyes fixed upon me. Their tails and ears were cut down to nothing, and their snouts were snubbed and disfigured. Another inch of chain and they could have mauled me to death. I had to walk in perfect line with my escort to avoid their snapping jaws. Where in the world had the Tibrans found such creatures?

  The interior of the tower was as I remembered it from my own service as a dragonrider. A central shaft ran from top to bottom of the enormous structure, featuring a crank-operated elevator system that was used to move supplies up and down the various floors. It wasn’t designed for moving people, but no one had warned the Tibran soldiers about that—or maybe they just didn’t mind the risk of losing a limb if you happened to get it caught in the wrong place.

  I cut my eyes around to the company of armored men around me as they put me in the center of the elevator’s broad platform and flanked me on all sides. One of them still had a sword at my back. Occasionally I felt the prick of it against my bare skin.

  I’d deal with that first.

  The crank’s metal gears began to grind and groan, putting tension on the ropes and hauling the platform aloft with us on board. I waited until we were moving fast, blurring up the floors. This had to be quick. No mistakes.

  Sucking in a breath, I dropped into a crouch and threw myself into a backward roll. I hit the soldier with his sword drawn as hard as I could, throwing him off-balance. He stumbled, his sword clattered to the ground and arms flailing as he stumbled back. Crunch—the fluttering end of his cape snagged in the ropes, chains, and gears and he was yanked off the platform.

  I swept my shackled hands under my legs and dove for the sword. The rest of the soldiers were panicking now, drawing their weapons on me. Three against one; I liked those odds.

  “It’s rude to keep a lady waiting, you know.” I snarled as I grasped the hilt in both hands, licking the front of my teeth. “Who’s next?”

  Aubren—I had to find my brother.

  That was my one and only objective as I sprinted down the twisting hallways of Northwatch tower. I was barefoot, my wrists shackled, and still wearing nothing apart from my undergarments, so it was far from the ideal situation. But I did have a sword, and so far, the Tibran soldiers hadn’t caught up to me. The few who had survived my escape from the elevator were still hot on my trail and gathering reinforcements as we played a frantic game of cat and mouse through the tower. I knew this place far better than they did, which turns to take, where the hidden passages were. But that wouldn’t help me find Aubren … or escape the tower altogether.

  There were only three ways out of this place. One was the platform where riders landed their dragons. There was also a small hatch that opened to the roof, although unless you had a dragon waiting on you or an amazing talent for climbing the exterior of the tower, that wasn’t going to help. The last exit was the one I’d come in through, the one guarded by the two hounds.

  I set my jaw and rounded another corner. First things first—I needed to find where they were holding Aubren. Maybe with his help we could …

  I came to a halt right in front of a passageway that should have led from the dragonrider level down to the infantry portion of the tower. Only that passage no longer existed. It had been completely blocked off by crudely-installed iron bars. I spun in a circle, looking around for somewhere, anywhere else I could go. Down the hallway behind me, the rattle of armor and shouts of Tibran soldiers approached. They were searching every corridor. It was only a matter of time.

  Gods and Fates. I was trapped.

  “Princess?”

  I whipped around, sword raised.

  It was him—the same young elf who’d wiped the blood from my face. He stood only a few yards away, hesitating at the other end of the corridor with his hands raised in surrender.

  “I don’t want to kill you,” I growled through panting breaths.

  “Well, that’s good news,” he said with a nervous smile. “I’d rather neither of us died.”

  “Then let me pass.”

  He slowly started to drop his arms back to his sides. “And what then? Your Highness, there is no escape from this place. Take it from someone who has already tried.” His strange eyes glinted like opals in the gloom as he studied me. “I would let you go if I knew of some way out of here. I’d do everything I could to help you escape. But it isn’t possible. Even if you made it out of the tower, they have thousands of men encamped around the city. War mounts the likes of which you’ve never seen. I don’t want to watch them kill you. Please don’t make me witness that.”

  I swallowed. My grip on my sword faltered. I was tired. The pain from my ribs was nearly more than I could bear, and the rush of adrenaline left my body trembling.

  “T-They’ll kill me anyway,” I rasped. “Better to die on my feet, fighting to my last breath.”

  The elf boy took a few cautious steps toward me, little by little closing the gap between us. “If they intended to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

  “Then they’ll torture me first.”

  He stopped in front of me with his brow crinkling and his mouth pressing together into a worried line. “Please, Your Highness.”

  My vision blurred and dimmed. I couldn’t breathe. Every attempt was agony. “M-My brother, Prince Aubren, where is h-he? Where are t-they holding him? I have to … ”

  Before he could answer, my knees buckled. The sword slipped from my hands and I slumped forward. The floor rushed up, but before my knees met stone, the bronze-clad arms of the elf soldier caught me.

  “You’re hurt.” He sounded surprisingly concerned.

  “Phillip.” My soul cried out his name even as it passed over my lips. He was somewhere here, too. Lost, maybe dying. He needed me just as much as Aubren did.

  And I couldn’t do anything to help either of them.

  My head lolled against the elf’s shoulder as he picked me up. Every muscle in my body was slack with exhaustion. I clung to consciousness as he carried me through the hallways of the tower, back toward the chaos of the Tibran army.

  Back into hell.

  NINE

  I awoke to the soft, flickering glow of warm candlelight. Before me was a room I only vaguely recognized. I’d stood in it maybe three times, and only briefly. It was the finest room in the tower, the chambers of Northwatch’s former colonel. Only it had been drastically redecorated to suit someone else’s tastes.

  And he was standing right in front of me, leaning against the broad window. The moonlight and hard shadows from the candles that burned about the office made it impossible to see his features. I could only make out a vague outline of his face: —a hard, squared jawline, short hair, wide shoulders, and a muscular frame. The soft light flickered off the surface of his breastplate and shoulder pauldrons, making the bronze shimmer like molten gold.

  I snapped upright, surprised to find that I wasn’t chained or tied to the chair where I sat. I was, however, still naked except for my meager undergarments. Well, that and a crimson cloak that had been unceremoniously draped around me. The collar was lined with a mane of long, golden fur and the hem trimmed in embellishments and depictions of lions.

  “Most impressive.” He spoke in a deep, smooth voice. “I heard you took down eight of my men in your effort to escape. They’re still cutting the remains of one of them out of the elevator mechanics. You also killed my sister and her favorite war mount singlehandedly.” His laugh was rich but decidedly cold. “You are deceptively beautiful for so dangerous a woman. It’s enchanting.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Argonox, I presume? Give me a blade and I’ll show you exactly how enchanting I can be.”

  The outline of his cheek moved as though he were smiling. “My name sounds so mundane when you say it. Most people whisper i
t, as though it were a curse.”

  “I don’t believe in curses. Fairy tales are for children.” Without bonds or chains to stop me, I tried to stand. Agony immediately shot through my body from my broken ribs. I wheezed, faltering as my legs threatened to buckle again.

  “Ah, yes. Your injury must be quite painful; however, I’m told it’s not life-threatening. In any case, I suggest you sit and take rest while you can.”

  I squeezed the armrests and tried to breathe through the discomfort. “W-What is this? Planning on torturing me yourself? Save your efforts. Nothing would please me more than to take every shred of valuable information I know to my grave.”

  He laughed again and pushed away from the window. As Argonox stepped into the candlelight, more and more of his features came into view. He was … so much younger than I expected. He looked nothing at all like Hilleddi. He was about the same height as my brother, just at six feet, but there was something deceptively soft and handsome about his face. His light brown hair was trimmed short, the front combed back away from his forehead and his strong jaw flecked with short stubble. He studied me with deep-set eyes of cobalt blue a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “You seem surprised,” he observed, his smile widening.

  I was. Argonox didn’t resemble the monster I had painted in my mind at all. I searched every corner of his face for the subtle traces of cruelty that had to be hidden somewhere in his features. To do the things he had done, and was still doing, to my kingdom—it had to be there somewhere.

  “And what do you think?” He arched an eyebrow.

  “What?”

  “You’re sizing me up, aren’t you? Evaluating? I’d like to know what you think,” he said. I leaned back, turning my face away when he crouched down in front of my chair so that we were eye level. “Well?”

  “You don’t look like a tyrant. But then, you’re the first one I’ve met, so maybe it’s only that I have an unpracticed eye.”