Brandt smiled, recognizing the voice. “Hello, Parker. I hope you don’t mind an extra passenger.”
“Brandt?” Parker stepped into the light of the glowlamp. “What are you doing here at this hour? Who’s with you?”
“Tsk, tsk, Parker.” Pretencia said. “After all the years we spent together, I lose a few pounds, grow a beard, and you don’t recognize me?”
“King Dalwin? You…you live?”
“I believe so. However, we best set sail soon or that may change. I also hope your galley is well-stocked. I’m starving and have much eating to do. But first, I believe I could use a bath.”
Epilogue
The mid-day sun shone through open windows. People walked past, eclipsing the light as their shadows slid across the table. The Aspen Inn was quiet, displaying nothing of the energy when Ikonis had last visited the tavern with the prince. He looked across the table and found Percy staring out the window, seemingly watching the passing foot traffic, but Iko knew better.
After setting his potatoes aside, Iko picked the jackaroo leg off his plate and took a bite. The juice from the meat forced him to wipe his face with the back of his hand. He chewed slowly and listened carefully as the barkeep and a regular patron shared gossip at the nearby bar.
“…as you can see, the blast caused a lot of damage,” said a man with missing teeth and graying hair. “It might take years to clean it up and rebuild.”
The barkeep leaned close to the man, lowering his voice. “I heard worse.” His eyes flicked from side to side, and he said, “Nearly a week has passed, and nobody has seen the king, queen, or the heir prince. Word is that they were all killed in the explosion.”
“No.” The other man shook his head. “My cousin is a porter at the citadel and he tells me the queen lives, but has yet to regain consciousness. Might never regain it. The king and the prince…well that’s another story.”
“One of the king’s own guards told me that General Budakis was killed in his own bed, murdered. Two members of the elite guard were murdered as well. Yet, they say there was no sign of a break in. They suspect it was someone who lived in the citadel.”
“What’ll happen, now?” The patron took a drink of his ale, emptying it.
The barkeep shook his head. “If the queen recovers, I guess she will take over. If not…it will be either the younger prince or his sister, who were sent off to live elsewhere. Good thing, too, or they might be dead now as well.”
“And what of this Empire we keep hearin’ about?”
The barkeep snorted as he picked up the tankard. “Your guess is as good as mine. There’s been talk of war for months. Now, with the king gone…”
“Methinks it’s a bad time to be a soldier.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” The barkeep turned and refilled the mug with ale before setting it back on the bar. “Kantar is an awful long ways from Sol Polis. If the Empire’s arm is that long and they are behind the king’s death, what prevents them from attacking us…or taking over the entire continent?”
“I guess we’d be right back where we were twenty years ago.”
“True. That’d be bad for Unchosen for sure. However, not much would change for the rest of us.” He glanced around the bar. “This place was here before King Brock took over. I bet it wouldn’t matter to most of us either way, so long as the rules are fair and the taxes don’t go up.”
Ikonis finished his meal, wiped his lips and fingers clean with his cloak, and spoke as he stood.
“I have what I came for,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”
Percy gave a nod, flipped his hood up, and rose to his feet. Iko repositioned his hat, keeping it down to cover his face, and slipped outside with Percy a step behind him.
Iko paused, his gaze turning toward the castle overlooking the city. A gaping hole existed in the top floor and the ceiling had collapsed to fill it. The memory of the explosion replayed in Iko’s mind, the shock of the blast, the heat from above. Debris had fallen down upon him while he dangled from the rope. Bruises on his shoulder and cuts on his hand remained as markers from the event. It had been a near thing, but he held on and made it to the ground safely. The commotion created had offered him the opportunity to escape. Nobody was watchng the western wall when he used a grappling hook to scale over it and fade into the night. For six days, he hid in Percy’s rented loft in Lower Kantar. Finally deciding that the manhunt had run its course, Percy made a trip to the harbor to secure them passage. Now, with a solid meal in their stomachs, it was time to leave the city.
The foot traffic was heavy and they melted into it, catching a cluster that headed toward Southgate. Caught in the wake of the crowd, Iko and Percy flowed through the city, passing several Kantarian soldiers along the way. Nobody seemed to notice two nondescript travelers. The only Kantarians who could identify Iko as Kony were those who had met him. Most of those people were now dead.
They exited the city and walked along the gravel road that led down to the harbor. As they had when Iko first arrived, the palm trees swayed in the ocean breeze and the seabirds circled overhead in search of food, oblivious to the rumors that swirled. Iko agreed with the men in the tavern. Regardless of the machinations of mankind, the world continued existing. An empire fades and a kingdom takes over. A king dies and a prelate replaces him. Nothing changes but a few laws. The citizens adapt and forget the past. Still, if Iko’s actions could help erase the taint of Chaos, it could no longer threaten humanity, no longer tempt mankind with god-like abilities. The only god was Issal, and in Issal’s name, Ikonis would see the end of Chaos.
Iko and Percy stepped onto the docks and headed toward their ship. Five silvers had secured them passage with the promise of five more when they reached Wayport. A heavy price, but one that was required to ensure silence.
When they stepped aboard, Percy turned toward Iko. “I’ll go talk to the captain.” He held a pack out, which Iko accepted. “You go down and get settled so nobody sees you. It’s the first cabin on the left.”
Without a word, Iko headed toward the narrow stairwell Percy had indicated. He found the door to their cabin unlocked, slid inside, and sat on the lower bunk with the two packs beside him. A deep intake of breath preceded a long sigh.
“I’ll be home in a week, Mother,” he said aloud, knowing that neither she nor anyone else could hear him. “You will be proud of what I have done, although it broke my heart.” He recalled his friendship with Broland – a painful lie. “Still, it is time for me to be at your side. This is a war we can win…a war we must win.” Even said aloud, the words, the very purpose of his existence, tasted acrid as they passed his lips.
He reached into his pack and withdrew a journal. Opening it, he turned to the last entries. General Budakis had rough handwriting, the lines jagged – a telling sign of his condition. Iko had to admit that the man knew how to plan for combat. His defense and counter attack plans against the Empire were solid, if not inspired. Those plans were now in the hands of the Empire, and the man who had crafted them was dead. Iko put the book down and looked upon his hands as they shook. A tear slid down his cheek and landed on his wrist. He had been groomed for war since he was eleven, dueling since he was thirteen. In the past three years, his skill with a sword was unrivaled by anyone he had faced until Broland. Even then, the prince was barely a match for Iko. In reality, however, war strategy and duels are not the same as murder.
The lives he had taken stained his heart. He had killed good people who had the misfortune of believing in the wrong thing. Chaos was a disease he wished to cure. The dark magic was responsible for the ruination of his childhood and the loss of loved ones. Growing up in a prison, toiling from dawn to dusk every day, and watching the people around him die had hardened him until he thought himself impervious to pain. Killing Lorna, Burke, Budakis…and Broland had cracked that shell and pain leaked from it – deep-seated pain he had buried years prior.
His father had been a big man, a strong man, and a leader amon
g the prisoners. Iko recalled his father lifting him in his thickly muscled arms, hugging him and telling him that he must remain strong. The man had given young Iko a gift, a ball he had fashioned out of brambles that grew in the prison yard. When Iko threw it too far and the wind carried it to the canyon wall, his father ran to retrieve it. The man never made it that far.
The image of his father’s back with arrows jutting from it remained etched in Iko’s memory, the moment feeling as if it had happened yesterday. Vinay Eldarro died with his son kneeling beside him, crying hysterically until a guard scooped Iko up and carried him to a bunkhouse. The man who had shot Eldarro apologized to the boy, but hate filled Iko’s heart, and he attacked the man, wishing to do him harm but lacked the ability to do so. Subsequent years of labor, growing, and training had resolved that problem, and now that Iko could fight back, he found himself wishing otherwise.
The tears began to flow in a steady stream as he fell to his knees and prayed for Issal’s guidance.
Note from the Author
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Best Wishes,
Jeffrey L. Kohanek
Books by Jeffrey L. Kohanek
Runes of Issalia
The Buried Symbol (May 2016)
The Emblem Throne (October 2016)
An Empire in Runes (April 2017)
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Rogue Legacy (February 2018)
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Wardens of Issalia
A Warden’s Purpose (May 2018)
The Arcane Ward (Sept 2018)
An Imperial Gambit (Dec 2018)
More coming in 2019…
The Arcane Ward (Wardens of Issalia Book 2) Page 28