The Captive Twin

by R. J. Francis

  “You’re right, of course. But I have to face him.”

  “And when you do, how do you propose to kill him?”

  Jaimin began to unsheathe his sword. She put his hand on his, gently pressing the sword back into its scabbard.

  She had a thought. “Look, if it is the will of the divine spirit, surely Elaina will feel the same thing, right? Let’s go ask her.” Elaina was nearby, tending to a few of the fallen. Nastasha hurried off and Jaimin chased her.

  “No, don’t,” Jaimin pleaded. “She mustn’t know.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Nastasha said without breaking her pace. “I bet she’s already read your mind!”

  “Just don’t make a big…” They came upon Elaina sooner than they anticipated. She’d been expecting them.

  “There you are,” Nastasha said. “Your Royal Highness, please, may I have your counsel? Jaimin wants to accompany our team into the castle—not only to guide the troops, but also to personally take down the enemy general, Lazlo. What do you think of his plan?”

  Elaina looked at Jaimin, then at Nastasha, then back at Jaimin, then at Nastasha once more. She looked terribly worried.

  Nastasha was spooked to chills by this. Elaina finally rendered her verdict: “Bring him with you inside the castle. But you must stay together.”

  “See?” Jaimin said.

  “Oh, hush,” Nastasha said to him. “I have a feeling too. A feeling this is a horrible mistake.”

  Just then, friends arrived from the north. Alessa was riding Tyrant, and Makias and Kotaret were riding double on Elaina’s horse, Nightmare.

  “Oh my… How did you get the horses out?” Elaina asked Alessa.

  “We had to move a lot of rock,” Alessa said.

  “I shall remind you that you don’t have to do this, Kotaret,” Nastasha said to him. “You do have a choice.” She’d recently seen so many men she didn’t know die around her. Now that her closest friends were on the battlefront, for her the stakes were higher. She had tried to keep them out of danger—but here they were wanting to risk it all.

  “I’m in, no matter what,” said Kotaret, dismounting. He wore a dagger on each hip.

  “Fight only in your defense,” Nastasha told him. “Stay inside the walls until you know it is safe.” Kotaret nodded.

  “I have to get back to work,” Elaina said. “Good luck to you all.” She gave Kotaret a slight bow, and she gave Nastasha and Alessa each a hug and a kiss on both cheeks. Jaimin she kissed on the lips.

  “I’m not going to die, am I?” the prince whispered to Elaina.

  “No,” she said. “I’ll see you again very soon.”

  “I love you,” he said, and they kissed again. He took in the sweet smell of her lips; and lost himself in her dark, shining eyes. He cursed the war for sending them separate ways, if only for a few hours. “What’s this?” Her hands were glowing white. He took her wrists.

  “You’re terrified,” she said. “Since you had that vision of killing the general you’ve…I think this is for you.” She placed her hands on his chest and the white light penetrated his torso. It didn’t spread throughout his body like it often did with her patients. It remained around his heart.

  Instantly, a wave of peace and inspiration swept over him. He felt confident that should he raise his sword against Lazlo the power of the divine would be with him. Slowly, the light dissipated.

  “Feel better?” she asked.

  “Yes, for certain,” he said. Not only was he sure he would survive the night, he knew Elaina would as well. And that was the key—for his fear for her safety had been the source of his terror.

  “Good. Go now. Lazlo is waiting for you.” Elaina got back to work on her patients.

  Those who were to take back the Arran castle erected a few new tents and made final preparations. Queen Alethea was so confident the castle would be retaken quickly, she sent Alessa and Makias back to Three Falls Caves to lead the refugees home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  K ing Radovan fell asleep on his throne, after having not slept well for days. He was startled awake by the appearance of a messenger. “Your Majesty,” said the messenger. “Yellen is missing. You said to report if…”

  “Mascarin,” Radovan growled. The messenger looked confused. Radovan said, “Give this message to General Samson: a young traitor by the name of Mascarin runs the Red Barrel Tavern in Railside. Rescue Yellen if he’s still alive, and then kill Mascarin and everyone found with him. Burn his business to the ground.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” The messenger was off.

  “Leave me,” Radovan said to his guards. They left Radovan alone in the room.

  Except he wasn’t alone. Another man descended the circular staircase from the balcony and approached the throne. He was a rough skinned, grey-haired man: fit, perhaps handsome in his youth, now lined with age, although he looked far older than he actually was. One of his eyes had been injured—it was blood red in patches, and the color in half his iris was gone. “So you’re finally getting rid of those street rats?” asked the older man.

  “They have served me well,” Radovan said. “But I see no more use for them. They can only interfere with what we intend next.”

  “The tutor truly has purged you of compassion,” the man said.

  “That he has, father,” Radovan said. “That he has.”

  Nastasha had taken off her helmet and was prying open some supply crates when her father, General Valeriy, appeared at the entrance to the tent. He could not help but to smile when he saw her face, dirty though it was, with a few cuts and scratches here and there. In full armor she looked larger than life. He’d always worried whether he had raised Nastasha right, and whether she would be ready for life. But now, seeing her in full battle gear and knowing what she had accomplished, he felt his fears ease. The girl before him whose dark brown eyes were softening with emotion on seeing her Daddy again, and whose lips were slowly drawing into a smile, was exactly the girl he had wanted her to become. She looked amazingly strong. And he was proud.

  She ran into his embrace just like she always had when he came home.

  “They say you’re going in,” he said.

  “I’ve had enough of this war, Daddy,” she said. “I’m going to end it.”

  “I know you’ll be careful,” he said, moving some of her blonde curls away from her eyes. “I’ve worried about you your entire life. But somehow tonight I feel at peace.” He kissed her forehead, and his golden beard tickled her nose.

  “You be careful too,” she said. “You’re just a man, and those rockets out there don’t care if you are the high general.”

  He chuckled. “I will. I’ll see you soon in the castle courtyard for the celebrations.”

  “You’ve always believed in me,” she said. “I know that’s how I’ve come so far.”

  The young guard Arin led those who wanted some fresh air out into the night at Three Falls Pool.

  The sleepy refugees breathed deeply of the cool outdoor air, and instantly regretted doing so, for it smelled of smoke and death. Some of the more perceptive among them noticed marks in the snow where bodies had been dragged off. Sylvia spotted an arm beneath the surface of the rose-tinted water, but she told no one else.

  Princess Tori gripped her stuffed rabbit toy and worried for her fellow princesses: her mother, aunt Alessa, and future sister-in-law Elaina, and her noble brother, who would soon be king. Though this month had been the worst of her life, she secretly relished the adventure of the whole ordeal. “Has my brother taken the castle yet?” she asked Arin.

  “Soon, Your Highness,” replied Arin. “Before the dawn, if all goes well. Your mother wants everyone to be ready to journey back to the castle once it’s safe. Princess Alessa will escort us home.”

  The other children had either lost family members in the war, or had loved ones actively involved in the combat. They felt neither security nor closure, but they hadn’t lost hope.

  Neither had the common pe
ople of Arra. At the day’s market, word had quickly spread that the city’s liberation was at hand. As darkness fell and the sounds of battle grew closer, civilians waited nervously in their homes, with eyes on the doors and windows. Few would sleep.

  Lairen the farmer, Elaina’s former guardian, had reluctantly hosted a small band of enemy soldiers in his two spare bedrooms. Masha, the dressmaker, was holed up in her shop, ready to defend her inventory and her priceless sewing machines. Wives and children of Arran soldiers battled fear—conscious that each distant boom could mean the loss of the most important man in their lives. As Talidale suspected might happen, some in the city failed to heed the queen’s message about staying out of the fray, and were organizing themselves to join the battle when the time was right.

  Meanwhile, in the castle, the Destaurians herded the Arran servants into the basements and sub-basements to get them out of the way. With gunbows aimed at them, the captives sat patiently on the chilly floor as the night wore on.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “ W hat in the world are these?” Jaimin held up the odd shirt and greaves Nastasha had handed him and examined them from different angles. With the battery in the tiny electric lantern running low, it was hard to see much in the tent.

  “There are only three sets like them,” she replied. “Two are in the castle and are probably in the hands of the enemy now; this one my father had in his office.”

  “Looks like your chain mail, but it’s as light as paper.”

  “It is chain mail, but it’s made from a carbon-titanium nanofabric,” she said. “My father commissioned these seven years ago. They were only recently finished. It’s nearly impossible to tear the material, even with the strongest jab of a sword, or the violent punch of an arrow’s tip. And it’s much easier to move in silently.”

  Nastasha helped Jaimin remove his plate armor and don the new suit. His head stretched the turtleneck collar on its way up, but it finally popped through. He pulled his black curls out onto the surface of the shirt. “I bet it can’t stop your blade,” he said.

  Nastasha fingered the hilt of her potent sword, Ivinar. “That will never be tested.” She handed him a uniform to put on over the mail, and a light helmet. She too wore a loose uniform over her armor, mainly to contain her mass of blonde hair and prevent it from becoming a liability in combat.

  Once Jaimin was fully equipped, they stepped outside the tent.

  “Ready, Your Excellency,” Xander told Nastasha.

  Behind Xander, dozens of Arrans and Audician soldiers had moved up and were crouched in the brush, ready to infiltrate the castle.

  “You should address the troops,” Nastasha told Jaimin, quietly.

  “What do I say?”

  “Speak from your heart,” she told him. “These young men are ready to sacrifice everything for you. Some may not survive.”

  Jaimin walked among the soldiers, looking into their nervous eyes as he passed. Some of them smiled with admiration. Others didn’t know what to make of this very young leader inspecting their ranks.

  “My brothers,” Jaimin said, “we have our task: tonight we retake our castle, our anchor of peace and prosperity. It was taken from us by stealth, and by stealth we’ll reclaim it. Our friends from the north, we welcome your blades and bows. We will never forget how you have stood by our side, making this conflict your own. Let the divine spirit guide our every step. Let’s finish this tonight. And let none of us fall.”

  “Huy,” said one of them, and this was echoed by the others.

  “Nice,” Nastasha whispered to Jaimin, as he rejoined her.

  “I honestly don’t know where I came up with that.”

  “I’d kiss you for luck, but you’re taken,” she teased.

  General Valeriy would press forward with the assault on the castle from the outside, while Nastasha led the covert strike from within.

  Nastasha and Xander led the way into the cramped tunnel, followed by Jaimin and Kotaret. The walls were brick, but the ceiling was only compressed dirt, held up by thick wooden pillars and supported further by bracing beams. As they progressed, a huge boom rattled the forest floor high above them, jarring the passage walls and causing a few clods of dirt to fall.

  “Do you hear that?” Nastasha asked. There was a rushing sound a bit further down the passage. The sound grew fainter, and then they could hear it no more.

  “Was that the ceiling?” Jaimin asked. “Let’s not be crushed.”

  “We shan’t be,” Nastasha said. “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t have let you come along only to be suffocated.”

  “She’s my fiancée,” he clarified.

  “Of course,” Nastasha said. “Forgive me.”

  Their torches soon lit up a spot where blasts had indeed brought down part of the ceiling. A waist-high mound of soft dirt and clay blocked the way.

  Nastasha stepped onto the pile to see if it could be climbed, but her boots sank into the loose soil.

  “Stand aside,” Jaimin called. The soil was moist, which was exactly what Jaimin needed. With his mind, he gave the water in the soil a gentle, steady push. The dirt at the top of the pile flew onward down the passage, as if blown by a wind. Emboldened, Jaimin applied more mental effort and dispersed more material far down the corridor.

  “Careful! You’ll get tired!” Nastasha said.

  “Not from this,” he assured her.

  “I wonder who built this passage,” Nastasha whispered, “and when. Surely it’s been here for ages. Perhaps they reinforce it from time to time.”

  They continued on. Another close blast above brought down more material from the ceiling, but not much. “Is the moat going to come in on us?” Jaimin asked.

  “I don’t think we’re quite under the moat yet,” Nastasha said. But if it should happen to come pouring in, you just push it right back up where it belongs, all right?”

  “I…uh…let’s just hope it doesn’t.”

  Where it dipped under the castle’s moat, the tunnel sloped steeply down. Someone had thoughtfully installed cross-ribbing on the floor to prevent people from slipping. After about thirty more meters, the floor began to slope upward again, and the dirt-packed ceiling gave way to brick.

  “We’re beneath the castle now,” Jaimin said to Nastasha.

  “Yup. Feels like home,” she said.

  The tunnel ended sharply in a “T”. Passages led off to the right and left.

  “I’m excited,” Jaimin told Nastasha. “I’m shaking, look! Is that wrong of me? Am I thirsty for blood?”

  “There’s pleasure in defending what you love. Feel my heart.” She pulled his hand to her chest. Beneath the steel links of her armor, he felt her heart pounding. My life is yours, she said to him in her thoughts.

  “Remember,” he said, “we stay together.”

  “Mark,” Nastasha said into her communicator. Jaimin turned to Xander behind him and announced, “Mark.” The message shot back down the line, and all knew to count at least two hundred seconds before emerging through their assigned secret doors.

  Nastasha led Jaimin, the royal guards, and some of the troops off to the right, toward the west wing of the castle, while Kotaret and Captain Rosner led other soldiers off to the left toward the residences and assembly halls.

  Nastasha and Jaimin took far more than two hundred seconds to direct the men and help them open their assigned secret doors, so before they even got to the west wing they knew they had lost the element of surprise. Their destination was also the farthest: Jaimin’s bedroom.

  Jaimin unlatched the concealed door in the back wall of his bedroom’s closet. Xander and three other guards emerged through the coats first, followed by Nastasha and the prince. No Destaurians were in the room, but from the rumpled sheets and blankets it appeared someone had been sleeping in Jaimin’s bed.

  Jaimin quickly scanned his room. “They’ve taken some of my treasures,” he whispered.

  “Not so,” replied Nastasha. “The night of the attack
, I secured them for you.”

  “You do love me,” Jaimin joked.

  Not fair, Jaimin, she replied in her mind.

  Suddenly, the door of the bedroom flew open, and an enemy soldier ran in, perhaps looking for refuge. Nastasha and Jaimin ducked behind the bed and let the royal guards handle the situation. Seeing the room full of Arrans, the man threw his hands up in fear. “Please, spare my life!”

  “Where’s your general?” Xander demanded, grabbing the man by the shirt and holding his sword to his neck.

  “Downstairs! In the dining hall!”

  “Liar!” Xander shoved him up against the wall. “Where is he?” The man’s attitude changed abruptly. He screwed up his face in contempt and spat in Xander’s eyes. Furious, Xander drew his blade silently across the man’s throat and tossed him to the floor. The man’s legs twitched as his neck bled out onto Jaimin’s bedside rug.

  Xander peeked out the door and saw four more enemies running in their direction. He signaled to the other royal guards, who hurried out into the hall, swords drawn, and engaged the threat. Jaimin and Nastasha heard bashing and clanking, and horrible screams cut short. Within ten seconds, one guard declared the skirmish over: “Clear!”

  Nastasha and Jaimin stepped out into the hall, trying hard to ignore the gruesome remains of the fallen enemies. “Is everyone okay?” Jaimin asked the guards.

  “All good, Your Highness,” one replied.

  “Clear my sister’s room next,” Jaimin instructed them. He, Nastasha, and Xander kept watch as the guards searched Princess Tori’s room and found no enemies there. After that, the guards entered the royal suite at the end of the hall. Immediately there was shouting from inside.

  “Where’s Lazlo?” Jaimin heard his guard shout. “Where’s your general?” There was another ruckus, and then moaning, and then silence. A guard signaled from the doorway that it was clear for Jaimin and Nastasha to enter the royal bedchamber. When they did, they again forced themselves not to look at the hacked-up Destaurians dead on the floor.