Prophecy Of The Sun (Age Of Oryn Book 1)

by Liam Reese

  “How dare you,” he hissed at Croenin as soon as they were behind closed doors. “How dare you take advantage of my trust in such a way. I let you enter my house, treated you well. I’ve told you things I’ve told no one else, and you don’t have the respect to do the same for me?”

  This wasn’t quite the admonition Croenin had been imagining. He thought Lothaire would be angry at him for fleeing with a deserter of the Faero Ursi, not only because he hid the fact.

  “I will not be made a fool of in my own castle,” he stated firmly. “You will sit and tell me your entire story, and then we will discuss what your punishment shall be.”

  Croenin told him a mostly true story, about leaving his village after the death of his grandmother only to be attacked and left for dead by highwaymen. He told Lothaire how the Faero Ursi had taken him in, trained him in the reading and writing of decryti, as well as in how to use a weapon. He told him of being sent on a failed mission to recover a girl from a castle, leaving out the fact that the king their also ruled through his own sícharae, and then of his return to the Faero Ursi, his short time under Clythair, and his escape with Captio.

  “And then, after much walking, we arrived here,” he finished. “I apologize for my lie. I feared for my safety.”

  “You think I would have betrayed you?” Lothaire asked, scowling. “You have greater abilities than anyone in this castle besides myself. You’re too useful to betray.”

  Wow, thanks, Croenin thought to himself sarcastically.

  Lothaire continued. “But Clythair is also useful, as you can imagine,” he said as he turned his back to Croenin, looking out the window over the vast landscape before the castle. “An alliance with the Faero Ursi would serve me well, and if I could have their master at my disposal, I could obtain for myself an army all in one swoop.”

  That’s smart, Croenin thought in spite of himself. Lothaire would woo Clythair as a fellow Rassmenteau, and try to bend him to his will. If he, or, Croenin realized, his heir, could put his own stooge in Clythair’s place when the time came, the Faero Ursi would be beholden to the king in Rassement.

  “I see you already understand me all too well,” Lothaire said, glancing back over his shoulder at Croenin. “This is too good an opportunity to pass up, dear boy, even if it comes at the expense of your friend.”

  Croenin started at that. “You can’t let him take Captio!” He blurted before he could stop himself.

  “Oh? Why not? The man is a traitor. Clythair himself told me.”

  “He isn’t. He didn’t—”

  “He poisoned the old master, I was told.”

  “That’s not true!” Croenin exclaimed.

  “Clythair is the one who poisoned him. Captio is the true master. Jovius was grooming him to be the—”

  “Stop. Even if all this is true, I do not care. It is not my jurisdiction to handle internal matters of the Faero Ursi. What’s more, Clythair being the master is much better for me and for Rassement. Your friend will be executed by his former brothers, and you must not mourn for him. Come here, look with me.”

  Croenin reluctantly did as he was told, standing slowly and walking over to the window to stand next to Lothaire.

  “What do you see?”

  “I see endless grasses and wildflowers. I think that might be a forest in that direction,” he raised a hand.

  “Have some imagination, boy. All that you see is only a fraction of what was once held by the king of Rassement. The land there, the villages you can’t see, the people you can only imagine, they will all be back under the rule of one man by the time I am gone from this world.” He turned, placing both hands on Croenin’s shoulders. “And I need to know if you’ll be loyal to me as I complete this task.” He stared intently into Croenin’s eyes. “I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself, dear boy. Don’t be foolish.”

  Croenin met the lionlike man’s intense gaze and swallowed. What would Captio want me to do? He asked himself. Captio told you to escape, he heard the voice in the back of his head say. That was true, but there was no longer any danger to himself. Captio had turned himself in. In that case, what should he do? You should save Captio, the voice said. Croenin sighed inwardly. He had to save the man, but he couldn’t if Lothaire thought he would try to undermine him in his desire to rule.

  “I am completely loyal to you,” Croenin lied.

  Lothaire smiled fondly and patted him on the shoulders. “Good, that is what I want to hear.” He let his hands drop from the young man’s shoulders. “But those are just words. You still must prove yourself.” He turned away once more. “Your movements shall be restricted once more.”

  Croenin’s heart sank. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.

  “Unless otherwise instructed,” Lothaire said firmly, “the servants’ quarters and this office are the only areas of the castle in which you are allowed. When in this office, should I be forced to leave, one of my guards shall watch you.”

  That was new. He isn’t taking any chances, Croenin thought as he looked out of the window.

  “You may be sullen about it now, but know that I am letting you off easy. Most who betray me by lying to me would be forced to leave this castle immediately with scarcely more than the clothes on their back. Go now, back to the servants’ quarters. I have much to do.”

  With that, Croenin left, mind awhirl with how he could help Captio when under his own form of imprisonment.

  10

  He was seated across from Clythair the next night, when Lothaire arranged a feast in his guest’s honor. Croenin had been given a new, velvet tunic for the occasion, and he was uncomfortable, both from the scratchy inside material and because of the gloating looks the master of the Faero Ursi cast his way throughout the night. He couldn’t scowl, or Lothaire would chastise him later, and the forced politeness he kept up as the feast dragged on was wearing on him. He hated seeing the branded man think that he won, and he hated that Lothaire was entertaining a murderer, twice over Croenin realized during the dinner, at his own table. Just as he picked up a sugar plum from the arrangement at the center of the table, he heard a voice in his ear.

  “The north tower is currently unguarded,” Ayne whispered as she poured him more mead.

  The maids of the ladies were serving tonight, rather than the usual kitchen staff, no doubt to impress Clythair with their beauty and fine dresses. Croenin could feel Ayne’s smirk as he tensed up, and he froze, trying to figure out what to do.

  “Fake an illness,” she whispered again as she put down a small saucer of spiced wine for his bread.

  He looked around. Everyone seemed occupied with their own conversations, and he decided to take a chance. He gagged and covered his mouth with his hand. The lady next to him asked if he was alright, and he nodded, forcing himself to gag once more for added effect. He had caught Lothaire’s attention by now, and the large man waved for one of the maids to help him. Ayne immediately stepped forward, and helped to escort Croenin from the room.

  “That was too easy,” she whispered once they were out of earshot, grinning.

  “Yeah, it was,” Croenin whispered back. “They’re probably suspicious.”

  “Even if they are, they most likely think that you are just trying to get away from having to spend an evening with Clythair.” She took him by the hand. “Come, Rozaelle and Bruta are waiting.”

  “You talked to them?” Croenin frowned. He hadn’t officially introduced the girls to the sister he originally intended to kill.

  “I did and convinced them not to fight me right then and there.” She stopped and looked at him, concerned. “I’m not some murderous monster, even though things may seem that way. I want to prove myself to you and your friends by helping you.”

  Croenin nodded. “Let’s go, before we lose our chance.”

  Ayne began to lead him to the servants’ quarters, and he stopped, pulling back.

  “Wait, aren’t we going right to Captio? You said the guards weren’t there now. We should
go and—”

  “We can’t go back that way. We’d have to pass back through the main hall and the feast to get to the spiral staircase. Come, if you pass through the courtyard just before the servants’ quarters, there’s another set of steps. That’s the one I usually use when I bring food from the kitchen to Mylesant.”

  Croenin followed his sister once more, looking up at the domed, crystal ceiling over the courtyard in awe and wishing he’d let himself stop here before he risked his life to save his former master.

  “What is the plan?” He whispered as they ascended the narrow steps.

  “Bruta said that she could get us into the room, but we can’t bring him back down the way we are going up. Rozaelle said that with your help, she could help Captio lower himself to the roof of the castle.” Croenin was about to interrupt, but she stopped him. “Don’t ask me how, but from there, they’ll both make their way down and to the stable, where their horses should be waiting. That is my own job in all this. Once I take you to Bruta and Rozaelle, I must leave to ready the horses.”

  They were soon at the entrance to the north tower, where the two girls were waiting silently.

  “We must hurry,” Bruta said. “There are guards coming soon, I can sense it.”

  Croenin glanced at Ayne, who was leaving, before turning to the raven-haired girl. “Go ahead, open it.”

  Bruta put her hand to the door, and a faint green glow filled the dim space, glinting off the opal walls. She pulled her hand back and pulled the door’s oryn handle, hissing as it burned her.

  “Careful,” Croenin breathed, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Captio waiting for them inside.

  “Don’t celebrate just yet,” the slender man said as he stood. We still have to get down.

  “I have that figured out,” Rozaelle said, and Croenin noticed for the first time that she had her laundry basket at her feet. “I made a makeshift rope from linens no one should miss for a couple days. I eyeballed it, but it should be long enough to lower us to the next level of roof, and then we can climb down from there.”

  Captio looked dubious, but nodded. “Alright, let’s try it. How do we anchor it?”

  “Croenin is our anchor,” she said, and both looked at her, alarm apparent on their faces. “He’s about the same size as you are.” She shrugged. “And besides, do you have a better idea?”

  “What if you tie it on the door handle?” Croenin asked.

  “There is no handle on this side,” Captio said, running a hand over his face. “It’s a cell, not meant to be left. It seems you will have to be our anchor.”

  Croenin stood still as Rozaelle tied one end of her rope to his waist. Once she made sure it was tight, she had him sit and brace himself in the small space.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” she said to Captio. “I can go first.”

  “No, I’ll do it. There’s no sense in you risking your life, for if this plan failed and we were caught, I’d be destined to die anyway.”

  With that, he grabbed hold of the rest of the linen rope and removed it from the basket, throwing it out of the small, round window behind him.

  “It’s a little short, but I don’t mind the fall. Are you ready?” He asked Croenin, who tightened his grip on the stone walls.

  “Ready,” he replied, holding his breath as Captio began his descent.

  Bruta and Rozaelle watched from both sides of the window in tense silence, and after what seemed like an eternity, Croenin felt the pressure on the rope let up and saw the girls relax.

  “He did it!” Bruta breathed. “He’s down.”

  “Go, Rozaelle,” Croenin said. “And keep him safe.”

  “I will,” she smiled, and started her descent.

  “Where will they go?” He asked Bruta when the redhead was a good way down.

  “Back to our small keep in Toque Staetym.”

  “Won’t the Faero Ursi find them?”

  “Not if Roz is with him. She has her ways of keeping him safe.”

  “Why won’t you go?”

  She turned from the window to face him. “In case you need me here. You might have your sister on your side, or you might not. If you ever need a determining factor, I shall be the one.”

  Croenin nodded, silent. When he felt the rope go slack, he stood and began pulling it back into the small space. Bruta moved back to the window to help him, and as she looked out, she gasped.

  “What is it?” Croenin asked, and when she didn’t answer he went to the window himself.

  Below, Clythair stood, flail drawn, in front of Captio and Rozaelle.

  “We have to get down there,” Bruta whispered.

  “But how?”

  “Tie the rope to the outside of the door.”

  “It’ll be way too short, then. We’ll have to fall about fifteen feet!”

  “Croenin!” They heard Clythair’s voice echo from below. “Come and join us!”

  “We have no choice,” Bruta said.

  “It’s a trap,” Croenin countered.

  “It may very well be, but we can’t just leave them to be killed.”

  Bruta quickly tied the makeshift rope to the door’s outer handle and began her descent with Croenin following. Clythair waited till they dropped down, Croenin fearing breaking one or both legs, to speak, mocking them.

  “You thought you could leave this place without me knowing?”

  “How could you have known?” Captio asked, stepping back as the large, branded man stepped toward them.

  “You were just downstairs with Lothaire,” Croenin gasped, still catching his breath after the harrowing climb down.

  “As far as he knows, I still am.” Clythair grinned.

  “What?” Croenin asked, frowning.

  “I’m surprised none of you noticed, especially you Captio. You’ve had experience before with my kind.”

  “Your—” Captio started, but stopped as Clythair began removing his gloves.

  “I could never get the hands right,” he said. “Yet I got them well enough for you and Jovius not to notice.”

  The small group stared at his too-short fingers with their green-tinged nails. His hands looked like the paws of some unknown monstrous beast, the knuckles too big and some of the fingertips crooked. As they watched the rest of him began to transform, his form thinning and lengthening, his ruddy skin paling. They heard his jaw crack as it pushed forward, and his face began to widen, his features migrating to opposite ends. He was more hideous, Croenin realized, than the creature that his mother had summoned. The beastly Aes Sidhe loomed over them, his face set in what they could only assume was a grin. Croenin glanced at Captio, whose jaw hung slack. The girls stood in tense silence, both pale in fear.

  “We’ve waited for this for far too long to let anything go awry,” the pale beast boomed. “I’ve been in place for years, waiting in case someone tried to stop our plan.”

  He grabbed Croenin by the neck, lifting him. Captio rushed forward, and Clythair withdrew his flail once more, striking him full in the face. Croenin let out a strangled cry as the man dropped to the ground, bleeding profusely. He watched as Bruta and Rozaelle rushed to him, Rozaelle ripping her dress to wipe away the blood. He could do nothing but struggle to breathe as all went black.

  He awoke lying on his back much later, in an unfamiliar room. He began to panic as he looked up, seeing that the ceiling and walls around him were the familiar black and grey marble of oryn. He was in a dome of oryn.

  “Breathe,” he heard Ayne’s voice close by, and he sat up.

  “What is this place?” He croaked.

  “Here.” She handed him a skin of water. “Drink,” she said, waiting for him to do so before she continued. “He put us here, the Aes Sidhe.”

  “Clythair.”

  Ayne’s eyes widened. “That was Clythair?”

  Croenin nodded. “He’d been watching me, apparently, making sure that I did everything according to the Aes Sidhe’s plan. But where are we?”

&
nbsp; “Somewhere below the castle. Unlike with you, he didn’t knock me out before dragging me here. I’m assuming it’s the Aes Sidhe version of a dungeon. We’re surrounded by oryn, no way out.”

  “There has to be a way out.” Croenin stood, looking around him and noticing for the first time that there was no door. “Wait, how did—”

  “It vanishes when he leaves,” Ayne said, voice flat.

  “What’s the point of this? He’s just going to lock us away?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sure this isn’t the only thing he has planned for us.”

  Yet, as time passed, it seemed to Croenin that this was their fate. He and Ayne grew hungry, and when no one came to give them food or water, began rationing what little water they had. They grew haggard, each huddled in their own respective corners of the room as they tried to ignore their hunger.

  “Clythair!” Croenin heard Ayne rasp.

  “What are you doing?” He sat up.

  “Clythair we’ve had enough!” She looked at Croenin. “I’ve lived with nothing but pain for most of my life. I was free of it for a short time, I refuse to live with pain again if I don’t have to. Clythair!”

  “Stop it, Ayne!” Croenin moved toward his sister and grabbed her. “He’ll probably kill us if he can hear us!”

  “Why would he do that?” She asked him. “It wouldn’t fulfill the prophecy. We would have to kill each other.”

  “She is right,” Clythair said, chuckling as he entered the room.

  He was in his human form once more, though not in his Faero Ursi uniform. On his head he wore the circlet that had been Eudys’ and then Lothaire’s.

  Croenin gripped Ayne tighter, half in fear and half in anger at his sister for summoning the Aes Sidhe.

  “What do you mean?” he hissed, causing Clythair to laugh.

  “She is right in that me killing you won’t fulfill the prophecy. Here,” he said, producing two hunks of bread in two bowls of beef stew. “Eat.”