Destroy: (The Blades of Acktar 3.5)

by Tricia Mingerink

  Frank slipped past Keevan, pressed against the door to the Tower a moment as if listening, and eased it open.

  Keevan followed on his heels, ignoring Patrick’s attempt to step in front of him. Inside, two torches burned low in sconces along the wall. Long tables filled the bulk of the room, the benches around them empty.

  Frank slunk across the room, sword drawn. At the base of the stairs, he halted and waved Keevan forward. When Keevan reached his side, Frank pointed. “Someone’s been here before us.”

  An eleven-year-old boy, dressed all in black, lay bound and gagged next to the stairs. Rolling over to face them, the boy glared, wiggled, and made a series of muffled yelling noises.

  “The rider said the Blade trainee Jamie would try to do what he could to delay Respen.” Keevan gripped the hilt of his sword tighter, a chill racing into his fingertips. A boy that young shouldn’t look that ready to kill. “Let’s keep moving.”

  He and his men circled the boy and headed up the stairs. Except for the tromp of their boots on stone, the Tower remained silent. Almost dead.

  Keevan shivered. Would Respen be at the top? Or was this whole place already abandoned? What if it was a trap and only death waited above?

  Still the stairs wound upward into the darkness. Keevan’s calves ached with each step. He panted for breath, but he forced himself to keep going.

  At this moment, Keevan no longer wanted revenge. He wasn’t even too concerned with justice. He just wanted it over.

  On the third floor, he called a halt. It would do them no good to arrive winded to the fight. Respen wouldn’t give them time to catch their breath.

  Once Keevan could hear his men’s breathing over his own, he motioned them for to keep going. He’d dallied long enough. Nearly five years too long.

  When they reached the fourth floor, the clash of steel against steel poured down the stairway from the fifth floor.

  The fight had started without them.

  Keevan broke into a run, taking the stairs two at a time. He hurtled through the open doorway at the top of the stairs and skidded to a halt.

  Respen stood against the far wall, knife raised. In front of him, Leith Torren lay bloodied and shaking on the floor, a blond-haired girl bracing herself over his body protecting him from the knife.

  Keevan pointed his sword at Respen, knowing that he couldn’t get between Renna and the knife in time. If Respen decided to throw it, Keevan’s cousin would die. “Drop your knife, Respen Felix. You are under arrest.”

  Beside Keevan, bows creaked into full draw. Keevan hadn’t even realized his men had followed him on his mad dash up the stairs.

  Would Respen drop the knife? Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t. If he raised it higher and gave Keevan’s men a reason to release. It would be a quick and easy end if Respen died right here in the Tower.

  Respen’s dark eyes lifted to Keevan’s. There was something there, like looking into a rattlesnake’s eyes the moment before it strikes.

  Then Respen’s gaze dropped back to Renna. The knife fell from his fingers, striking the floor.

  Keevan stared at the knife, lamplight winking along its edges. That’s it? He and his men hadn’t even had to fight. Could the war have been won in the time it took a knife to fall?

  A mass of Blades still struggled against the far wall. Some of them must have joined Torren, but Keevan couldn’t tell which ones. He turned to his men. “Tie all the Blades up and lock them in the rooms below.”

  Soldiers streamed past Keevan, though Brennen and Patrick remained at his side, training bows and arrows at Respen.

  Four more men eased past Keevan, ropes in hand, to tie Respen. They circled, making sure they didn’t get between Respen and the arrows.

  Working his way from the group of Blades, the Blade trainee Jamie Cavendish strode to Keevan and saluted. “Thank you for bringing the army, sir. Those two Blades there, they helped us.”

  “Understood.” Keevan swept his gaze over the two Blades. One was little more than a boy with brown, wavy hair and slim shoulders. He was crying, struggling as Renna knelt beside the body of a Blade. The other Blade Jamie had pointed out stood still as Keevan’s soldiers tied his hands. Sweat dampened his curly, blond hair.

  There was something about his gaze and his stance. The younger Blade wasn’t much of a threat. He was like Jamie, not hardened yet. But Keevan wasn’t sure he should trust this older Blade, at least not until he figured out his motives for switching sides at the last minute.

  Renna shot to her feet and swept across the room toward him. Blood smeared across her hands and arms, though none of it looked fresh enough to be her own. When she lifted her gaze to his, Keevan caught his breath.

  Her eyes, furious and burning as they were now, were Uncle Laurence’s eyes.

  “Sir, what are you going to do with these two Blades? They fought Respen. They’re on the side of the Resistance.”

  Keevan shook himself. Their first time speaking in nearly six years, and she was asking after those Blades? “They’re still Blades. They’ll be locked in a cell until a proper inquiry can be held.”

  It wasn’t like they’d joined the Resistance. Keevan couldn’t turn them loose without investigating where their true motives and loyalties lay. It wasn’t wise.

  Renna scowled and shoved a strand of hair out of her face, not even noticing that she’d smeared a streak of blood across her forehead. “Please, at least lock them in a separate cell from the other five Blades. They’ll kill Martyn and Ranson if they are locked up together.”

  “Very well. I’ll instruct my men.” Keevan gritted his teeth. He should’ve already thought of that, though he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with any of the Blades, on his side or not.

  Well, except for the Blade lying on the ground shaking with every breath. Keevan knew what he had to do about him, much as he didn’t want to. A promise was a promise.

  Renna was still staring at him as if waiting for something. He searched her eyes, but he couldn’t see any sort of recognition. Had he really changed so much over the years that Renna would no longer recognize him?

  Then again, if Renna hadn’t been the only girl in the room, he might not have recognized her either.

  “You don’t recognize me, do you?” He waited, but after a moment, she shook her head.

  What would she think when he told her? He’d tormented her as a child. Maybe it had been childish pranks, but it wouldn’t have felt that way to her. She hadn’t recoiled when she’d heard the monster rasp to his voice, but would she flinch when she learned he was the cousin who’d been a monster to her?

  “I’m your cousin Keevan.”

  She flinched, and it took all of Keevan’s self-control not to wince. Yes, she still remembered. All too well.

  The silence tightened, but Keevan didn’t dare fill it. Should he apologize for all the things he’d said and done to her years ago? He’d have to someday, but now didn’t seem the right time. Not while a war still waged outside this Tower.

  She straightened her shoulders as if also deciding there were more important things right now than the past. “I’m glad you’re alive. Now, could you spare two of your men? Leith needs to be carried to somewhere I can tend him.”

  Keevan risked another glance at Torren. Blood pooled on the floor around him, his body so thin his ribs and the sharp points of his elbows jutted against his skin.

  Torren’s sharp gasps, the blood…it seemed all too familiar from that moonlit night when Keevan had gasped and choked on his own blood, and Torren had fled.

  But Torren wasn’t that Blade anymore, and Keevan wasn’t that boy. It was time to move on. To give mercy, undeserved as it was.

  Because, truthfully, Leith Torren had won the war before Keevan had even stepped a toe in that room.

  Keevan waved to Frank and Oran. “Please stay with the lady and aid her as she requires.”

  Frank nodded. He didn’t question why Keevan was placing his own bodyguards in charge of R
enna and this wounded Blade, even though Keevan might need men at his side when he tried to end the fighting outside.

  But this was the least Keevan could do for Renna to make up for the terror he’d been as a boy.

  He’d done all he could for Renna. Now to do his duty for his country. Keevan faced Respen and the four soldiers holding him. “Bring him along. Time to stop this war.”

  Keevan didn’t wait for them to reply. He set out down the stairs he’d sprinted up only minutes ago. Brennen fell into step behind him, but Patrick fell back. When Keevan glanced over his shoulder, Patrick had situated himself behind Respen, his arrow still nocked to the string, though the bow wasn’t drawn back. If Respen tried anything, Patrick was ready.

  Keevan didn’t look back again. He didn’t have to. His men were capable enough that they wouldn’t let Respen try anything, much less succeed.

  When they finally exited the Tower, screaming and shouting and screeching metal cut the air. Were Keevan’s soldiers holding their own? If not, Keevan marching out with Respen wouldn’t do much good. Respen’s army would simply overwhelm Keevan’s small group of men and take Respen back, if Patrick didn’t put an arrow into him first.

  They didn’t meet any resistance as they crossed the wooden bridge and entered the passageway connecting Nalgar Castle’s two courtyards. To their right, knots of fighting men surged back and forth across the opening into the cobblestone courtyard. In the dark, Keevan couldn’t pick out which ones were his men, and which were Respen’s.

  Instead of trying to push their way into the mob, Keevan led them across the passageway to the narrow, dark stairs leading into the king’s chambers. The guards had long since deserted their post to join the fighting.

  How many times had Keevan trudged up here as a child, trying to get his father to look up long enough from his paperwork to notice him?

  At the top, Keevan took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Much of the room remained as he remembered it. The same burgundy rugs covered the floor with the same dark wainscoting on the walls. The desk had been moved away from the window, though it was the same desk where his father had spent most of his life.

  Keevan glanced at the closed door to the bedchamber beyond. Did Respen even sleep in the same bed where he’d murdered Keevan’s father? A shudder raced down Keevan’s back, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know if Respen was that much of a cold-blooded snake.

  His soldiers fanned out. Several of them drifted into the shadows, searching for threats, while others lit the lamps.

  “You think you have won.” Respen’s voice slithered through the darkness behind him.

  Keevan turned. Respen stood between two guards, Patrick a few steps behind him. Keevan raised his eyebrows. “Of course. Haven’t I?”

  A twitch of a smile crossed Respen’s face. Keevan gritted his teeth. Respen was captured. His hands bound, an arrow aimed at his back. He shouldn’t be smirking.

  Respen yanked his arms free of the guards and paced a few steps away, his stride firm, as if he didn’t remember the arrow trained on him. “Yes, you have defeated me. You will probably kill me. But how long will you manage to hold on to Acktar? I held it for nearly five years. I doubt you will do any better.”

  “I’m the Eirdon heir.” Keevan fisted his hands at his sides. He shouldn’t talk to Respen. He should be above this.

  Respen snorted and turned to the window. “You are the scarred son of a pitiful king. Your father was the one who let Acktar fall apart. The people wanted a strong king, and that is what I gave them. But what do they want now? They want revenge, and you will not be able to give it to both sides. This country has only begun to destroy itself, and when it does, you will fall with it.”

  Was Respen right? Was Keevan’s reign already doomed?

  He swallowed against the ache in his throat. What if he failed at this too? After all, he had failed at everything else he’d ever done. He’d even failed to die. This time, it wouldn’t be one girl who would be hurt. It would be the whole country.

  “Keevan?” Brennen nudged his arm.

  Keevan shook himself. He couldn’t let Respen’s words slip into his head. Keevan had four years of practice leading at Eagle Heights. He straightened his back and met Respen’s gaze. “That’s where you’re wrong. The country never wanted strength. They wanted justice. There’s a difference.”

  Pulling his dagger from its sheath, Keevan strode to Respen, gripped his elbow, and yanked him to the window. Respen didn’t resist, even though he stood an inch or two taller than Keevan.

  Keevan shoved Respen against the window and pressed the dagger to Respen’s throat. Letting go of Respen’s arm, he reached past him to unlatch the window and push it open.

  The roar of battle pummeled the air. In the faint light coming from the torches spaced along the walls, Keevan could barely make out the tumble of fighting men. “Bring a lamp over here.”

  Footsteps scuffed behind Keevan, then beams of light burst around him and Respen.

  Keevan stared down at the war filling the courtyard below him. Even if his voice hadn’t been damaged, he couldn’t make a noise loud enough to be heard over that clamor. But now, it would only be pitiful to try.

  Something in the movement of the fighting below caught his attention. Did those men have their hands in the air? Parts of the courtyard stilled.

  A bugle sounded, and men craned their necks looking for the source. Their faces tipped upward. More of the fighting halted.

  Keevan gathered as much breath as he could and put all his strength into a shout. “I am Keevan Eirdon, true prince and heir of Acktar, and I have captured the traitor Respen. All of you who supported Respen, surrender now and you will not be harmed.”

  Keevan’s shout wasn’t loud. His voice wasn’t strong enough to carry. But, amazingly, the courtyard below him fell into a deep silence, broken only by the ring of swords and knives clattering against the cobblestones as they fell from surrendering hands.

  Justice. That was what Keevan had told Respen. The country needed the kind of justice that managed to be both fair and merciful.

  As General Stewart had once pointed out, Keevan couldn’t execute everyone who’d supported Respen, not without killing half the country. Perhaps it was deserved, but that was where mercy came in.

  If Keevan could learn to be merciful to Torren, then surely he could figure out a way to bring the same mercy to the rest of Acktar.

  As Keevan swept his gaze over the crowd of faces turned toward him, he didn’t see enemies and allies. All he saw were citizens of Acktar. All of them, no matter which side of the war they’d been on, were his people.

  He would give them his best. Every part of his heart and soul if he had to.

  God willing, it would be enough.

  15

  Keevan hauled himself to his feet and tottered to the next man in the Great Hall. The wounded men filled the hall, spilling into the cobblestone courtyard. And, like before, Keevan was going to visit each and every one of them.

  If only the task didn’t seem so endless and Keevan’s muscles and eyes weren’t so tired.

  General Stewart strolled between the rows of men and fell into step with Keevan. “Respen is locked in the North Tower dungeon. Do you want us to imprison Respen’s generals and captains there or somewhere else?”

  Keevan halted. When his father had been king, the Tower had been the main prison. The North Tower dungeon had only been used for less dangerous criminals. Putting Respen there was bad enough, but putting all his generals and captains in one place where they could possibly plot together…

  No, Keevan would rather Respen remain isolated.

  “We’ll lock them in the Tower. You’ll have to search each room to make sure there are no hidden weapons the Blades left behind.” Keevan searched the Great Hall until he spotted Renna. “Give me a few minutes first. I’m not sure where Renna left Torren, but we probably should move him before we send men over there.”

  General Stewart nod
ded. “Very good, sire.”

  Keevan picked his way across the room and reached Renna’s side as she finished tying off a bandage around a man’s abdomen. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

  Renna stood. The rings around her eyes looked nearly as deep as Keevan’s.

  He lowered his tone, though the wounded men around them were in no shape to eavesdrop. “I plan to use the Tower to imprison Respen’s generals and captains, but I believe it would be best if neither my men nor Respen’s saw Leith Torren.”

  Renna scrunched her fingers into the tattered end of her shirt, leaving bloody fingerprints on the fabric. “Leith’s resting on a table in the common room. He can be moved, carefully. He has several cracked ribs, and one that’s broken all the way. Where would you like to move him to? I probably should go with you. I…”

  Her gaze fell to the rows of wounded men still waiting for care. Other healers and volunteers worked among the men, but it wasn’t enough. There were too many wounded, and too few healers.

  “My men and I can take care of him. We’ll move him to a room in the guest apartments.”

  Renna bit her lip. “Actually, can you move someone else too? Turns out my sister Brandi joined the army. She’s wounded.”

  Keevan sucked in a breath. He’d failed his cousins yet again. What had Brandi been thinking? Had he really hurt her so badly that she was desperate enough to do this?

  This was his fault. So much for being a wise king. He couldn’t even be a wise cousin.

  “I’ll move her too.”

  “Put them in the same room. It’ll be easier for me to care for them.” Renna pointed across the Great Hall. “Jamie is sitting next to Brandi.”

  Keevan spotted Jamie’s shaggy brown hair. As he set out across the hall once again, he waved for Patrick and Brennen to join him. They reached his side a few feet away from where Jamie sat next to a still, small form sprawled on the stone floor. A bandage wrapped around the figure’s head, and if Renna hadn’t told him, Keevan wouldn’t have known it was Brandi.