The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge

by Cheryl Koevoet

  “So we’ll all be cramped together in this small space for more than a week, I guess?” he asked, eyeing the four wooden bunks in close proximity to each other.

  “Oh, this is nothing,” Celino answered with a wave. “You should see where those guys on Navy submarines have to sleep for months on end. You’d never catch me in one of those coffin beds!”

  “Coffin beds?”

  “The captain gave us the best quarters on the ship, Marcus,” Adalina commented. “We have no right to complain.”

  “I wasn’t complaining,” he replied sheepishly, feeling his face growing warm. “It was more of an observation, really.”

  “Why don’t we go get some fresh air on deck?” Celino suggested, opening the door of their cabin. The air below decks smelled of rotting fish and brine, and it was already making them feel a little queasy.

  “Gladly,” Mark said, happy to escape the tiny room. He smiled at Adalina. “Ladies first.”

  Grabbing her cloak and throwing it over her shoulders, Adalina gently lifted her skirts and climbed the creaky stairs. The ship was moving faster now, pitching against the waves as it rose and fell in a hypnotizing rhythm.

  When Mark emerged topside and took a deep breath of the brisk sea air, he started to feel a little better. The waves crashed loudly against the hull as sea birds cried high above them. They were peaceful, reassuring sounds after the chaos of the past couple of days.

  Far in the distance, the majestic Crocine Mountains rose up out of the water, but soon the ship would be surrounded by nothing but ocean. Shivering in the icy wind, Mark leaned over the railing on the starboard aft, marveling at the breathtaking panorama as they clipped through the inky blue waters.

  When Adalina moved up close and stood next to him, he casually snuck a sidelong glance at her. With eyes the color of dark chocolate, a pert nose and full lips that were always curved into a gentle smile, he couldn’t help but stare.

  Long, dark strands of hair whipped wildly around her, lightly brushing against his face. She wore no make-up, no lipstick and no mascara. In striking contrast to the photo-shopped supermodels he’d seen on the magazine covers back home, Adalina was a natural beauty.

  The sun was just disappearing behind the horizon, filling the sky with pinkish-purple streaks of light and slight tinges of orange. It was the perfect, romantic setting and he had no clue of what to say.

  Celino enjoyed Adalina’s fascinated stare out over the ocean, touched by her child-like joy at the mere sight of a sunset. And yet, somehow as he watched her appreciate the incredible beauty all around them, pangs of regret stabbed him in the gut.

  He had enjoyed tutoring and mentoring both Adalina and Darian over the past few years, but they had also become a constant, painful reminder of all that had been missing from his life. At the seasoned age of fifty-three, the realization of just how swiftly the years had passed since he had received his PhD from Caltech was sobering. And with all the important scientific research he’d accomplished and the discoveries he’d been making, there had been no time for anything else.

  Starting a family was something he had kicked down the road for far too long. He had never been a sentimental sort of guy, but the fact that a wife and kids never entered the equation weighed heavily on him. With profound sadness he realized that he had been married to his career all along. And with one foot in the grave, his chances of ever becoming a husband or father now seemed slim to none.

  But as he watched the young prince and princess together at the railing, a strange, fatherly instinct overtook him. Sensing that they had key roles to play in both the history and future of the country, he felt somehow ordained to protect them. For the first time in his life, someone else mattered more than he did.

  “Take a good look at the land, my friends. It’ll be the last you’ll see for at least a week.”

  After the long, frantic chase through the forest, Darian turned to see that the two warriors who had been chasing him had disappeared. In fact, there wasn’t a single person in sight. He slowed Obsidian down a little but didn’t stop, just in case anyone was still following him.

  It was nearly twilight when he finally felt safe enough to stop for a rest. Scanning the shadows of the woods, he saw no one. His leg ached and it was starting to throb. He glanced down at the bloody mess covering his right thigh.

  Dizzy from the pain, he gently grasped the protruding arrow, wincing as fiery streaks of pain shot through his leg. He had to find shelter and treat it as soon as possible. Remembering a cave just a few miles to the northeast, he rode off with a sense of urgency, trying to reach the mountain before it got dark.

  An hour later, he rounded the mountain, hearing the sounds of a river rushing somewhere in the darkness. In the light of the moon, he spotted the gaping mouth of the cave and dismounted, trying not to aggravate the arrow still lodged in his leg. He led Obsidian inside just a few paces and secured him to a large boulder using some rope from his saddle.

  Shivering, he removed his bed mat and rolled it out across the dirt floor of the cave. Unstrapping his sword from his waist, he grabbed his sack of supplies from his horse’s saddle, tossing it onto the mat. He limped outside and rummaged through the thin layer of snow, searching for dead tree branches and twigs. Trying to avoid the arrow sticking out of his leg, he hobbled around, his fingers cooling rapidly from the snow.

  When he had gathered enough to last him for most of the night, he hopped back into the cave and got the fire going by striking two hijpen stones together. He sat on his mat, stretching out his blood-soaked leg to examine the wound.

  The arrowhead had pierced the upper layers of skin and tissue, but it had not penetrated the bone. The tension in his body eased when he saw that he would not have to push the arrowhead all the way through his leg.

  Taking a deep breath, he placed a stick between his teeth and pulled the flesh apart, biting down hard on the wood. He broke off the wooden stick of the arrow as close to the skin as possible, nearly passing out from the pain.

  Removing his dagger, a cloth and a small bottle from his bag, he poured grain alcohol over the wound, biting down hard as the excruciating sting on his open flesh socked him in the gut. Then he used the blade to carefully work the arrowhead from his leg, clamping his teeth on the stick as the pain radiated throughout his groin.

  When the piece of sharp stone was finally free of his skin, he glanced at it with disdain before tossing it away. He spit out the stick between his teeth and inhaled a full breath of cool air. Feeling lightheaded once again, he poured more alcohol over the wound, sending a fresh wave of pain rushing through his body. He screamed, not caring if anyone heard.

  As the pain began to subside, he looked at the gaping slit of flesh and knew it needed stitches. With no way to sew the wound shut, he ripped a large piece of cloth from an extra shirt in his bag, winding it tightly around his thigh and forcing it shut.

  He grabbed some food from his bag and sat by the fire, warming himself as he ate. Lying down on his mat and pulling the blanket up over him, a wave of exhaustion overcame him. Too fatigued to fight it, it was only a matter of seconds before he drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 23

  DESPONDENCY

  The air was crisp and cold when Darian woke up the next morning. A horrible, throbbing ache plagued his right thigh, making it difficult to walk. He had to get going if he still hoped to rescue Mark, Eman and Alessio. For Marisa’s sake, he prayed they were all still alive.

  After gathering up his things and giving Obsidian the last piece of fruit, he led the horse down to the river’s edge to drink. Realizing that the poor animal hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since the day before, he stroked his head softly, apologizing to his faithful partner without words. Animal neglect was just another facet of unfairness in the face of war.

  The sounds of the stream gurgling and bubbling as the water rushed over the rocks soothed him. He listened to the distant snow birds whistling in the forest and studied the silent beauty
of the winter wilderness surrounding him, wondering when his life would be as peaceful as the mountains and forests he’d often enjoyed under less dire circumstances.

  He thought about the horrid events the day before when they had been ambushed. The cowardly strategy of the warriors to attack and kill as many as possible and then retreat angered him. He should have known that Savino would strike in this fashion. The ambush strategy was standard warfare for the tribal warriors and he was a fool for not having realized it sooner.

  “Idiot!” he shouted, pounding his fist against a nearby tree.

  Pain radiated from his knuckles as he bent down, dunking his flask into the icy water. If anything had happened to Marisa or the others while he was gone, he would never forgive himself. He never should have left her.

  Securing his bag to the saddle, he mounted Obsidian, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through his leg. He started off through the snow at a brisk pace, the muffled clopping of the horse’s hooves building his resolve with every step. Determined to get there as soon as possible, he dug his heels into Obsidian’s belly, urging him on. If he kept going and didn’t stop, he could reach Abbadon in just a few hours.

  He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

  By the time Marisa awoke the next day, it was already late morning. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, still feeling sleepy. “I guess I was pretty tired last night,” she muttered, throwing back the covers with a yawn.

  “You needed your sleep,” Alessio answered from where he sat at the window, staring out across the snow-capped mountains. “Yesterday was a trying time for us all.”

  “Do you know how the rest of the family is holding up?”

  “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “But I think it’s safe to assume that everyone is still here. Savino’s only keeping us alive for one reason.”

  “Which is?”

  “To attend his coronation.”

  “Why?”

  “He’ll try make a big show of it, proving to all the other kingdoms that he’s got our blessing.”

  “When did you last see the others?”

  “I saw Cinzia, Cozimo, Eman, Tino and Helena yesterday afternoon from a distance. I wasn’t allowed to talk to them. They seemed okay.”

  “Do they ever bring you anything to eat?”

  “Yes, but I have to ask for it.” He rose from his chair. “I wanted to wait until you were awake.” He opened the door slightly, giving the warrior outside the door a quick nod before shutting it again.

  “I need to find out if there’s been any word on Darian.”

  She grabbed the brush from the table, trying to tame the wavy strands of hair. Then she folded it into a long braid down her back and stepped into her shoes.

  “When they come with the food, you can slip out. But, Risa, for all our sakes, please be careful.”

  “I will.”

  When the guard came in to bring her uncle’s breakfast, she exited through the open door, brushed past the soldier in the hall and hurried down the corridor to the main staircase. Since the Knight’s Hall seemed to be the center of activity, she decided she would try there first.

  Just like the day before, she didn’t see any of the normal household staff around the palace and began to wonder what had happened to all of them. Had Savino brought his own staff from Abbadon and dismissed all of the royal servants? Or had they been permanently disposed of?

  Hearing the clatter and commotion one floor below, she snuck off down the hall, tiptoeing even though she knew it wasn’t necessary.

  A thin, middle-aged man with a graying, pointy beard was walking down the corridor, coming straight toward her. She ducked behind the large sofa in the vestibule, recognizing as he passed that it was Lord Gaspar. She quickly got up and followed him as he entered the Knight’s Hall. She moved up behind a pillar as he approached Savino’s throne and bowed.

  “Gaspar, your news had better be good,” Savino warned.

  “It is, Your Majesty. Most of our men have returned from the attack at the Mychen Forest and I am pleased to report that the campaign was a tremendous success. The majority of the enemy force is either dead or wounded.”

  Marisa’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “Are there any survivors?”

  “Just some stragglers here and there, but their numbers are too few and they remain too unorganized to retaliate. Our men are returning to Crocetta as we speak.”

  “And Matilda?”

  Gaspar nodded. “We have just received word that your sister has been located. She is returning with them as we speak.”

  “And…what of Prince Darian?”

  There was a long moment of silence when Gaspar took a deep breath. “Dead.”

  “Noooo!” she screamed.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Most certain, Sire.”

  “Very good.” Savino smiled, nodding triumphantly.

  “No,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand as she collapsed against the pillar. Pressing her cheek against its cold surface, her body began to shake with sobs.

  “I am feeling the need to celebrate this achievement,” Savino gushed, motioning to the footman. “Bring us some wine.”

  The footman disappeared into a side chamber, reappearing a moment later with a crystal decanter. He poured two glasses and gave them each one. Savino lifted his goblet into the air.

  “Ap eirie.”

  “Ap eirie.”

  Watching both men take their victory sip, a low growl escaped from Marisa’s lips, her sorrow rapidly turning to anger.

  “So, tell me, how did it happen?”

  “Well, Sire, apparently he was easily targeted by one of our best sharpshooters. One arrow to the heart and another to the side sent him into eternity. Unfortunately, in the panic that ensued, his body was trampled beyond all recognition.”

  She fell down onto the floor, her body wracked with uncontrollable sobs that rose to the surface, one after the other as the men continued to congratulate each other, making toasts and gloating over his death.

  “Ah, that is fantastic news indeed. My cousin brought down by a humble arrow. Who could have imagined that the mighty Prince Darian could be so easily toppled?”

  Lifting her gaze to the one who had killed her reason for living, her eyes seethed with hatred for the blond young man she had once considered marrying. In one swift stroke, he had dashed her hopes and terminated any chance of building Crocetta up into a country worth ruling.

  “Now that only leaves Maraya.”

  From somewhere deep, she mustered the strength to raise herself up off the floor. She moved up close to Savino, glaring at him with eyes he could not see.

  “What are you planning to do about her?” Gaspar asked.

  “Yes, what are you planning to do about me?” she asked, circling around him slowly, her tear-stained face torn by anger. She wanted to kill him. She’d never killed anyone in her life, but she had no problem with killing him right there. If only she had brought her grandfather’s dagger. But unfortunately, she’d left it back at Celino’s.

  “If she is still alive, we shall deal with her last, after all the Fiores and Macarios are dead. We must dispose of her in a way that will not make her a martyr in the eyes of the people.”

  “Better to kill her last,” Gaspar agreed.

  “We are well on our way to building the most invincible army of all Carnelia. With Darian dead and the Crimson Knights exterminated, there is no one left to oppose us.”

  “Indeed, Your Majesty.”

  Her shoulders sagged in near surrender, her anger transforming into hopeless despair. If Darian really was dead, then there was nothing left to fight for.

  Nothing left to live for.

  You have everything left to live for. Follow your destiny.

  Somehow she couldn’t hear what they were saying anymore. She watched Savino as he gestured animatedly while he talked, but it was almost as if someone had muted their conversation.

  What destiny, G
aron? My destiny was killed ruthlessly in the Mychen Forest. I have nothing left.

  Trust Me. Have faith.

  Slowly, she backed away from them, putting distance between herself and those horrid, depraved men.

  Not looking where she was going, she backed right into a warrior. She let out a loud shriek but was relieved to discover that it was Talvan. Noticing her tear stained face, the copper-haired warrior briefly met her gaze before turning his attention to Savino.

  “Ah, Commander Talvan,” Savino piped up. “Has there been any news on Princess Maraya?”

  “My men have not located her yet, Your Majesty.”

  He sighed impatiently. “Talvan, I am quickly growing tired of your subordinates’ incompetence. In case you have forgotten, my coronation is tomorrow and I do not wish to be upstaged by anyone, least of all her.”

  “The men remain on the lookout for her, Sire.”

  Savino’s face was stern. “My patience is at its end, soldier.”

  “We must assume that she is either dead or has fled the country. Or, she and her brother are in exile somewhere. In that case, it will be more difficult to locate them.”

  “Is there any news on Adalina’s whereabouts?”

  “No, Sire.”

  “And what about Marino? Has he been located yet?”

  Talvan shook his head. “No, Sire. And, now, if you will forgive me, I must debrief the men who have just returned.”

  “Fine, go.” Savino waved his hand to dismiss him.

  Without a word, Talvan turned, his towering, sturdy frame leading Marisa down the vaulted corridor toward the royal reception rooms. Peering into a chamber, he saw that it was empty. He held the door open for her, closing and locking it once they were inside.

  She turned to him, sobbing into his breastplate as his brawny arms engulfed her. “Is he really dead?”

  “It would appear so, Your Highness.”

  At the finality of his words, the realness of Darian’s death sank down deep into her very soul. The pain that coursed through her knowing she’d never see him again was worse than any physical pain she’d ever experienced. Her throat constricted tightly, making her feel as if she was choking.