The Carnelian Tyranny: Savino’s Revenge

by Cheryl Koevoet

  In the weeks and months that followed, they went out whenever their work and school schedules would allow and, after only six months, he knew he wanted to marry her. He would never forget the sheer happiness of the day she said yes, and they began to plan their lives together. He had managed to keep his secret of where he had come from and who he really was right up until that point. It was a secret burden and one that was his alone to bear.

  But then, on that fateful weekend only a month before the wedding, he had decided to round off his experiment. He had never meant to be drawn into the vortex, but fate decided otherwise. Once he had been returned to Carnelia, he could not stop thinking about the anger she must have felt at his abandoning her. Worst of all, for the rest of her life she would believe that the man she loved and almost married was an absolute, despicable charlatan.

  And since the day of his inopportune return to Carnelia, the hope of ever seeing her again had been completely obliterated. Knowing she was out there thinking ill of him was the worst sort of pain he would ever have to bear. He never should have continued that project. If he had left it well alone, he never would have been transported back to Carnelia. He could have stayed with her for the rest of his life.

  His head dropped to his knees and he wept.

  Garon, why, oh why, did you ever bring me back here? I was happy with her and she loved me! Why must my life end in such a horrible way…?

  In the morning, Darian led the men out of the Blue Boar Inn where they had lodged for the night. A couple of them were a little worse for wear after drinking too much ale the night before. But all were thankful that they would soon be home in just a matter of hours. And, at the same time, they also feared what they might discover upon their arrival.

  The night before in the tavern, they had heard the rumors from the village townsfolk that since Savino had been crowned king, the entire region had suffered under a cloak of terror. When Darian had heard how much his dreadful cousin had already ruined his beloved Crocetta, his heart sank. Worst of all, no one in Andrésis seemed to know what had become of Princess Maraya. Word of the slaughter near the Mychen Forest had already spread like wildfire throughout the country and the Count da Rocha had been given the dubious title of Savino the Tyrant. Hundreds of innocent townsfolk from Crocetta and the outlying areas who dared to speak out against him had been put to death, branded as traitors and martyred in the streets by his tyrannical regime.

  If the situation was truly as bad as he suspected, then there would be no counter offensive. With so few men and not enough arms, it would be a suicide mission to try to take back the citadel. He couldn’t risk the lives of the few men that were still left on such a foolhardy attack. He would make an appeal to the kings of the south, begging if he had to for their assistance. Most likely he could recruit Alessio’s cousin, Bertoldo, to muster his naval fleet to help them take back the city.

  The men rode on for hours in silence, stopping only to water the horses and to rest for short periods of time. Darian’s days of traveling, fighting and mourning had already taken a considerable emotional and physical toll on his body. With no knowledge of whether or not the love of his life was even still alive, his mind teeter-tottered back and forth until he felt his nerves completely unraveling. When he saw that they were less than an hour from Crocetta, he motioned impatiently to his men to pick up the pace.

  I do not know if there is any use in fighting back, Garon. I want to believe that she has somehow managed to survive, but my hope is wearing thin. Please help me; please help all of us to find a way. Somehow…

  As they reached the iron gates of Beauriél, he knew that his soul would have no rest unless they checked the house and grounds. The men trotted their horses down the long driveway, stopping next to the dry fountain in front of the house.

  Noticing that theirs were the first tracks in the snow, Darian’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. He dismounted and hurried up the steps, discovering that the door had been forced open and was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and peered inside. The holiday decorations still hung from the staircase railing and the house appeared just as it had on the night of the party.

  The foyer seemed darker than usual. Glancing up, he saw that snow had covered the roof of the glass atrium. “Hello?”

  No answer.

  “Is there anyone?”

  He turned to leave, pulling the door shut behind him. But with a broken lock, it wouldn’t stay closed. He hurried down the steps and crossed the driveway to where the men waited, shaking his head sadly. They mounted again quickly.

  As he dug his heels into his horse’s belly, he motioned the men onward. The small company galloped back up the driveway toward the main road, and once they started their final leg to Crocetta, Darian drove Obsidian into a furious gallop, pushing them all just as hard and fast as they could go.

  He had to know if she was still alive.

  Marisa slipped through the city streets as inconspicuously as possible, pulling the hood of her cloak up over her head to cover it just in case someone might recognize her. On her way up to the citadel, she heard people gossiping about a man who was openly speaking out against Savino and his tyrannical regime in the citadel square. She quietly followed behind as they went to listen.

  The streets were crowded with hundreds of warriors out on patrol, but she had no fear. The evil men couldn’t see her and the rest most likely wouldn’t even recognize her. When she heard a man shouting at the crowds from a wooden platform, the hairs on her arm stood on end. She knew that voice.

  Moving up closer, her eyes widened when she saw that it was Eman, crowds of people jostling all around him to listen.

  “Most beloved people of Crocetta, turn from your evil ways and repent to Garon. He has not deserted you in this most desperate hour. If He feels distant to you, it is not because He has moved away, it is because you have moved away from Him. The oppression in our midst happens not because He has turned his back on you—it is happening because you have turned your backs on Him. Despite your evil nature, His choice is to love you, but to each of you He gives a choice.”

  Eman’s eyes scanned the faces in the crowd, connecting with each one individually and touching them on a deeply personal level.

  “Are you discouraged? Are you tired and weak? Do you mourn for your future? Do not despair, but, instead, call out to Him, pray to Him and He shall renew your hope. If you but ask, He shall lift the heavy burdens from your shoulders. The time of this dark reign of tyranny shall be limited, but His glorious kingdom shall last forever. If you pray to Him now with an open heart, He shall hear your prayers and answer them, too. The One who speaks to you now does not come in a spirit of condemnation, but as one who comes to save you from the fire!”

  Mesmerized by his words, Marisa couldn’t pull herself away. It was almost as if he knew what was going on inside her. Suddenly realizing that he was speaking English, she was baffled at how the people around her could understand him. She gazed into the sea of faces, noticing that the people seemed to be in utter fascination of him. All who stopped to listen knew in their hearts that he was speaking the truth.

  “I shall not forsake my appeal to you, as long as I have breath in my body,” he continued, pointing up toward the citadel. “The wicked man that sits on the throne is flesh and blood. He shall die one day soon, but the love of Garon lasts forever. Choose this day whom you shall follow and know this—whomever you follow shall direct your steps for the rest of your life.”

  Flakes of snow began to fall, lightly at first before they steadily grew larger. The people remained where they were, each of them visibly touched by Eman’s words.

  Marisa peered down at the amulet and saw that it was no longer pulsing but had instead become a steady, bright beacon of light. She put her ring next to the stone but had to look away because both gems were so bright that she couldn’t stand to look at either one of them. Suddenly, a chill ran down her spine, and something told her to get out of there quickly.


  Go now!

  Slipping back into the crowds, she hurried up toward the castle, remembering what she had to do and hoping she could find Arrie before it was too late. As she approached the citadel gate, she stopped, this time unable to look away from the heads of the unfortunate souls adorning the rampart walls. In all of her eighteen years, she had never seen anything so bloody and so horrible. The visual reminder of why she couldn’t give up until Savino was dead would be burned on her retina forever.

  One head in particular caught her eye. Deimos.

  She felt a sense of vindication when she thought about all the evil that man had done in his life only to wind up here. But the rest of the heads had all belonged to the men who had fought for her and her kingdom. They were the ones she was mourning and would be the ones she thought of when she killed Savino.

  She could do it if only she could get close enough. But how? He always had large warriors around him, guarding him all the time. Even with the amulet it would be risky, but at this point, bringing his evil reign to a screeching halt would be worth sacrificing her life. She neared the rampart tunnel and was just about to enter when a warrior appeared above her, shouting to the crowd.

  “People of Crocetta! Your sovereign ruler, His Majesty, King Savino, will be addressing you shortly. Make way for His Royal Majesty!”

  She dashed back into the crowd and ducked behind a large tree, curious to hear what he had to say. She pulled down the hood of her cloak even further, shielding her face from nearly everyone except those who were standing right in front of her.

  As the crowds grew larger, she studied the multitude of weary faces. Although Savino had only ruled for a short time, he had already ushered in a set of unfair laws and an unfair regime.

  Forced to pay high taxes on goods resulting in hyperinflation, the people of Crocetta were already struggling to provide enough food for their families. In a minimum of time, Savino had made many enemies, but, with his army of ferocious warriors, nobody dared to oppose him. His display along the castle walls immediately quashed any ideas of a revolution from the people’s heads and almost overnight Crocetta had become the seat of terror, tyranny and social disorder in the land.

  There was a bustle of activity up on the rampart wall as Savino emerged, strolling grandly in his expensive garments. Six large warriors surrounded him as he held up a hand to silence the crowds.

  “People of Crocetta, with the commencement of my reign, our country enters into a new and exciting era. Gone are the imperialist imposters of yesterday; gone are their ‘ideals’ and ‘morals’ that have so corrupted these lands. My father tried without success to erase the Crimson oppression from Crocine existence. But, where he has failed, I shall succeed.

  “The iniquitous Fiore regime has fallen at last. The grand and glorious da Rocha dynasty has risen. Only a few days ago my army removed the last remnants of this foul and nefarious order by wiping Darian and his den of thieves away with a single stroke.”

  Gasps and sniffles escaped from various places in the crowd. The citizens of Crocetta who had long suffered under Gregario’s oppressive rule now stared at his unwelcome spawn with renewed dread in their hearts.

  “Although Maraya and Darian are dead and gone, three Fiores still remain. And I am asking for your help. Today I am announcing a bounty on the heads of Marcus, Marino and Adalina Fiore of one hundred thousand Carnies apiece.”

  Marisa froze. Maraya is dead and gone? Three Fiores remain?

  “Whoever can bring me a member of the Fiore family, dead or alive, shall be given the reward. Persons caught harboring said criminals shall suffer a similar fate of those who have crossed me before. These criminals shall be brought to justice and must pay for their crimes—”

  “You wicked fool!” A man shouted from the crowd. “Your reign shall not be of long duration! You fool the foolish with your smooth speeches but to the One to whom you must bow down, you do not fool.”

  “Who said that?” Savino shouted. “Show yourself! I demand to know!”

  Marisa’s eyes scanned the crowds to the source of the outburst. Standing on the same platform normally used to auction cattle in the citadel square, Eman’s chin rose in defiance as he stared at Savino, pointing at him accusingly.

  “Apollyon! For all your cruel deeds, you shall give an account to the One with the power to destroy your very soul. Garon is the rightful judge of your hateful actions and wicked words!”

  “That god does not exist! He is nothing but a myth, created by weak cowards such as yourself to keep people slaves to your oppressive, antiquated systems of belief! Kneel before me! Or you shall die!”

  “I bow only to my Father, the one, true King.”

  “You shall regret what you have done here!” Savino screamed. “These words you have uttered here shall be your last! Take that man to the dungeon! Now!”

  The crowds gasped at the exchange while red flames erupted from Savino’s mouth as he spoke. People watched in horror as two warriors grabbed Eman by his arms, yanking him off the platform.

  “These people are witnesses to your cruelty, Savino,” he shouted. “They shall never forget what happened here!”

  Not bothering to lift his body off the ground, the warriors dragged Eman over the cobblestone streets, past the crowds and up through the rampart tunnel. In a blinded rage, Savino turned on his heel, marching back up to the citadel.

  Wondering if she should follow him into the castle, Marisa decided to wait until things cooled down a bit. She slipped into the street and made her way back toward Celino’s house with one burning question occupying her thoughts.

  CHAPTER 30

  TRIBULATION

  The group of seven men and one boy were only a short distance from the citadel square when they noticed heavy crowds starting to dissipate. The townspeople were returning to their shops and homes with an intense weariness in their faces.

  Spotting an old woman covering her face and weeping softly, Darian began to fear the worst. “Something has just happened here,” he said. “We need to find out what.” He stopped a man carrying a pitchfork. “You there, what is your name?”

  “Ponzio, Sire.”

  “Ponzio, we just arrived in the city. Did the palace just make an announcement of some sort?”

  “Aye. His Majesty King Savino decreed a few moments ago that Her Royal Highness Princess Maraya is dead.”

  “Dead!” He felt his legs buckling under.

  The man nodded sadly. “He is also offering a bounty of one hundred thousand Carnies for the heads of Marcus, Marino and Adalina Fiore. Oh, and he just ordered the shepherd preacher, Eman, to be thrown in the dungeons for speaking out against him.”

  He struggled for composure. “Thank you, Ponzio. Be well.”

  “Be well, Sire,” the man said, nodding as he hurried off.

  “Oh, Marisa—no, no, NO!”

  He collapsed onto the cobblestones as waves of sadness fought against a rising tide of anger. In the end, grief won. Releasing the emotions he had fought so long to control, he buried his face in his arms and wept. The men looked on in pitiful silence at the mighty Prince Darian who had quickly been reduced to a trembling heap of pure misery.

  Marisa crept down the alleyway behind Celino’s house and spotted two warriors guarding the side door. She passed in front of them without a problem and moved up closer to the house.

  Nearing the window, she cupped her hand around her eyes and peered inside. There didn’t seem to be any activity inside and she could only hope her family was safely tucked away downstairs. It was too risky to enter through the front door where three warriors blocked the entrance. She would go find Arrie first and then come back to the house.

  Slipping around the corner and making her way back to the castle, she pulled her hood down further, hiding her face from the crowds. Dodging the hordes of people and warriors still jamming the city streets, her mind was occupied with finding Arrie. She prayed silently that her red-haired cousin had not already been put to
death by her other, blond relative.

  With her hood down low over her eyes, she didn’t see the group of men on the opposite side of the street circled around a tall dark-haired man, down on his knees and weeping.

  “Get in there, you old fool!” The warrior shoved Cozimo into a cell next to Arrie’s, slamming the door shut. He moved back over to the wall and turned around, keeping his eyes fixed on both of them.

  “Cozimo! You are alive, my friend!” Arrie exclaimed. “I am so happy to see you! Have you any news of the others?”

  “Aye, I have news.” When the old man looked up at him, his eyes were clouded with sadness. He glanced over briefly at the warrior before turning back to Arrie.

  “What is it?” he demanded. “What has happened?”

  “Princess Maraya is—dead.”

  “No!” Arrie said, shaking his head in disbelief. “It cannot be true—it cannot!”

  “That snake has killed her.”

  “No,” Arrie whispered, his eyes filling with tears as he remembered the spirited young woman they had found on the road only months before.

  “Aye, ’tis true.”

  “First Darian and now Marisa? I cannot take anymore.” He sank back against the wall, his heart breaking into a million pieces just as if she had been his own true love.

  “Why are we staying down here?” Cinzia asked. “They might find us here and kill us.”

  “If Celino hadn’t shown Marisa this hideout, we would’ve been dead long ago,” Alessio reminded her. “I’ll check in a little while to see if the warriors are still there.”

  “But what about my Arrigo?” Cinzia began to cry.

  “Darlin’, he’s a wise, resourceful young man.” He put an arm around her, pulling her close. “I’m sure he’s still alive. In fact, I can feel it.”

  She looked at him, unconvinced.