“Cal!”
Lyra knelt beside him, afraid of what she might find. A wave of relief allowed her to breathe again when she found him still alive. She looked at Garrett, who stood over her.
“He’s alive, but unconscious.”
She turned toward the portal and found that it still remained, but was now barely a foot in diameter, too narrow for anyone to pass through. Regardless, Cal was in no shape to do anything about it now.
“Help me move him to the pavilion. We all need some rest.”
23
“Are you sure you’re fit to travel?”
Cal nodded. “Yes, Lyra. I’m just a bit more tired than usual. The stamina augmentation I used last night sapped my energy for a while. There’s always a price to pay when using magic.” He closed his eyes, rubbing them. “I just need to take a few more breaks than usual until I recover.”
Lyra’s gaze flicked toward Garrett, who shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I understand this magic stuff even less than you do.”
She sighed. “Fine. Let me know when you’re ready. We’re almost there, now.”
It had been a long, but eventless, day.
Morning light had woken Lyra, but Cal remained in a deep sleep until mid-morning, making the intervening hours agonizingly slow. Thankfully, the camp remained quiet with no enemy soldiers appearing while she and Garrett waited. Once Cal did finally wake, he was ravenous. He finished the last of the food from the floating pack, forcing Lyra to restock from the abandoned supply wagons while Garrett refilled their water skins.
The daylong trip took even longer with frequent stops to give Cal time to recover. The heat and humidity didn’t help their cause, leaving their shirts damp and water skins empty.
“Let’s go.” Cal said, returning Lyra’s focus to the present. He began walking down the road at an even pace. “I think I can make it the rest of the way now.”
She caught up to him. “Where did you send them anyway?”
“What?” He turned toward her.
“The portal. Where did it take them?”
Cal shrugged, and he glanced toward the evening sky. The bright globe of the mysterious planet hovered over the western horizon, providing enough light to make the pale path of the gravel road easy to follow.
“I’m not sure. When I stepped through the portal, I found myself in a dark land, the sky filled with heavy clouds, the ground mostly barren. I was there for but two breaths of the thick air before I turned and slid back through.” Cal frowned. “I was shocked to find us under attack. I don’t understand how things turned so sour so quickly.”
“You were gone for much longer than that. Ten, perhaps fifteen minutes.” Garrett noted.
Cal appeared surprised. “Really?” His eyes narrowed in thought. “Perhaps time works differently there than it does here…wherever there is.”
Lyra looked at Cal with a raised brow, trying to determine if he was serious. She glanced toward the sky again and found the planet edging below the horizon.
As they had for most of the day, the trio walked in silence. Having reached the road after sunset, not even a single wagon passed them during their journey to Sol Limar.
Crickets chirped in the surrounding woods, their evening serenade keeping time with Lyra’s footsteps. Something moved in the nearby brush and Lyra jumped. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she stared into the shadows, her hand straying to the blade strapped to her thigh. The animal moved again, scampering deeper into the woods. She released the breath held in her lungs and continued onward.
They rounded a bend and the torchlit gates of Sol Limar came into view. As they approached the gate, the dark silhouette of the city wall emerged against the starlit sky, now bereft of the added light of the strange planet, since it had fallen beyond the western horizon.
“Hold!” a shout sounded from above. “The city is closed until dawn.”
“This is Captain Pularus,” Garrett shouted. “Open the gate and let us in. I must meet with the king.”
Lyra spotted the guard who had shouted from atop the wall, a dark silhouette against the starry sky. He leaned forward, looking down.
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“I need something from the pack, Lyra,” Cal said.
She turned her back toward him as he dug in the pack. A pale blue light appeared as he withdrew the glowing stone.
“See for yourself.” Cal handed the rock to Garrett, the blue aura lighting his face.
“It does look like Captain Pularus. However, I have orders.”
Garrett sighed. “Get your senior officer, and open the damn door!”
The man gasped and disappeared. A minute later, the squeak of a winch accompanied the groan of the massive door swinging open. Torchlight flickered inside the opening, revealing two armed guards. Garrett led them inside and stopped before the man with the torch as anxiety reflected on the face of the guards standing behind him.
“Sergeant Wakes,” Garrett said as he shook the man’s hand.
“Well met, Captain. What are you doing out there so late?” He glanced at Lyra and Cal. “Where are your men?”
“I’m returning from a mission, Burl. I can’t say anything more than that.”
Wakes nodded. “Very well. Do you need an escort?”
Garrett patted the man on the shoulder. “Thanks, but we’ll be fine. I’d hate to be the thief who thinks we’re easy targets.” He patted the pommel of his sword.
Burl nodded. “Right you are, sir.” He stepped back and turned to the two guards. “Why are you standing there, you slugs? Close the gate and return to your posts!”
Garrett led them into the sleeping city, the tapping of their boots on the cobblestone echoing in the narrow streets. A dog barked a street or two over, reminding Lyra of Gilo and Striah. She missed the two dogs, missed the loving pets they had been before the magic corrupted them. Where are they now? Are they still alive? Have they hurt anyone?
They turned a corner and the dark visage of the Citadel appeared, its shadowy towers clawing upward in an attempt to pluck stars from the sky.
Upon reaching the gate to the Citadel, Garrett whispered to the guards on duty and they opened the gate without argument.
He led them across the plaza, up the stairs, and through the door with only a nod to the guard posted there. Torches in sconces lit the dark receiving hall, flickering and creating orange islands of light that illuminated the doors and tapestries adorning the walls.
Garrett crossed the hall and led them down a dimly lit corridor with two guards stationed at the next intersection.
“Mandrick,” Garrett said to a man with a shaved head. An angry scar ran across the man’s cheek, up to his forehead, interrupted by the black patch over his eye. “I need you to go wake Hamilton. I have orders to report to Tallinor upon my return.”
“Yes, Sir.” The guard nodded, turned, and disappeared down the hallway.
Garrett nodded to the other man, a massive brute, tall and muscular. The man gave a nod in return, but his hand remained on the pommel at his hip.
A minute later, Mandrick returned. “Go on. The Kings’ Advisor went to wake him. You are to meet in his chamber.”
As Garrett led them down the corridor, Lyra examined the tapestries hanging on the walls, finding herself in awe of the detail woven within them. She wondered how much they were worth. In her previous visit, she had been too overwhelmed to pay them any attention.
When Garrett reached the third door, he stopped and knocked. A moment later, it opened.
“Come in,” Hamilton said while holding his dark red robe closed with his free hand.
Garrett nodded and led them inside.
King Tallinor sat at his desk, writing on a sheet of parchment. Garrett, Cal, and Lyra stopped in the middle of the room and waited in silence, the moment seeming far longer than it actually was. Once finished, the king set the pen into the well and stood.
His hair was a mess, his rising-sun crown nowhere to be found. Li
ke his advisor, he wore a floor-length robe made of rich red velvet. As it was the middle of the night, the man seeming tired was understandable. However, Lyra expected that there was more to his weariness than the late hour.
“Thank Issal that you returned alive, Captain. I pray you have good news?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Garrett bowed. “The immediate threat has been…dealt with.” He gestured toward Cal. “This man…and this girl, acted with selfless bravery against a nightmarish enemy led by powerful magic users and backed by five thousand giant soldiers. They would have been unstoppable. Even worse, they did something to their voices…when these giant men spoke, their voices would evoke an intense fear. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Garrett shook his head. “I’m afraid that nothing short of a miracle could have saved us, Sire. Thankfully, these two provided one.”
Tallinor turned toward Cal. “I owe you my gratitude, Master Arcanist. The entire kingdom of Kalimar owes you thanks – as do Vinacci and Hurnsdom.”
Cal nodded, not any sort of bow. “Thanks, but a threat remains until the men who hatched this scheme are dealt with as well.”
The king shifted toward his desk and scooped up the sheet of paper. “This is a writ, one of several copies that will go out to every city within Kalimar tomorrow. It declares the Ministry as outlaws, the church as an enemy of the state. Along with it, my army will depart tomorrow for Sol Polis. We will take the city from the Ministry and arrest any members who remain.” He slammed his fist on the desk. “I’ll not be subject to their duplicity again!”
“But, it is not the Ministry at fault,” Cal argued. “It was The Hand of Issal, one of numerous sects within the Ministry. They are more aggressive than the other groups. They believe that the Ministry should be both church and state, governing people’s lives while also guiding them in the ways of Issal. In recent years, their movement gained momentum, a majority of Ministry members siding with them. They’re the ones who brought me to Sol Polis. While I agreed to go because they offered to fund my research, I had no idea they would use it in this way. My dream was to use magic to enrich people’s lives. Their goal was to use it to enslave them.”
“That may be so, but your argument does nothing to convince me to change my course.” The king shook his head. “How will I know which Ministry members have a traitor’s heart and which have a benevolent intent, like yourself?”
“I made you a throne.”
The king’s brow furrowed. “A throne? What does that have to do with anything?”
“I Infused magic within the throne. With it, you’ll be able to discern truth. Any false statement will become immediately obvious.”
Tallinor nodded slowly. “That would, indeed, be useful. Where is this throne?”
“You’ll find it within my manor, about three miles east of Sol Polis.”
“The throne helps our cause, but it will only help to ferret out conspirators who present themselves within my court.” Tallinor shook his head. “I cannot take the chance of this type of aggression taking place within my kingdom. The writ will go out tomorrow, as will my army. The Ministry will have to find another place to operate.”
Cal stared at Tallinor for a long moment, appearing unhappy.
The king put his hand on Cal’s shoulder. “This is nothing against you or Issal. It is simply the most effective means to protect my kingdom.” He lowered his hand and shared a sad smile. “Kalimar owes you a great debt for what you’ve done. What can I do to repay you?”
Cal looked at Lyra, their gazes connecting. An uneasiness arose within her when she saw the sadness in his eyes.
“If the Ministry has no place here, then neither do I. Issal granted me magical abilities, and I must do what I can to use those abilities to help mankind and to spread his message. While I must leave Kalimar, I want a better life for Lyra.”
“What?” Lyra blurted.
Cal ignored her, focusing on the king. “My wish is for you to take her in and treat her as one of your family.” He turned toward her, sharing a sad smile. “If anyone has ever deserved to live in a palace, it’s Lyra.”
The king turned toward Lyra and nodded. “Very well. I’ll welcome her in and treat her like my own daughter.”
“What are you doing, Cal? You can’t make decisions for me. It’s my life.”
Cal took her hands and stared into her eyes. “You’re right; it is your life. However, my life will now be dangerous. I crossed The Hand, and their network runs far deeper than you might think. Anywhere I go, I’m a risk to those around me. Do what you wish, Lyra. However, I won’t allow you to do it with me anywhere near you. I’m sorry.”
Lyra’s lower lip quivered. Deep inside, something within her cracked. A tear streaked down her cheek as she struggled to find the words. No longer able to bear it, she turned and fled from the room, running down the dark corridor, past the guards, through the receiving hall, and outside before collapsing on the stairs. No longer caring who saw it, she cried in earnest, allowing her emotions to run freely, driven by the devastation of her broken heart.
24
Lyra opened her eyes, blinking and rubbing the crust of her dried tears away. She stared up at the pale yellow canopy above her, at the sheer cloth hanging down all four sides. The soft bed hugged her body in a pleasant embrace. After thinking her bed at Mystic Manner was amazing, she realized that this bed put that one to shame. Until now, she would have doubted such luxury existed.
When she sat up, her gaze swept across unfamiliar surroundings. The bed was in the center of a room many times the size of her room at Mystic Manor. A sofa and a table stood to one side of the bed, a nightstand, a vanity, a chair, and a tall mirror were on the other. There were three entrances to the room: a door beyond the sofa and table, a narrow door beside the vanity, and a pair of glass-paned doors that led to a balcony lit by the morning sun. Looking down, Lyra realized she was in her shift. The last thing she remembered was crying on the stairs outside the Citadel. She must have fallen asleep outside, and someone had carried her in.
Swinging her legs off the side of the bed, she pulled the curtain aside and padded across the room, toward the vanity. A curled note was tacked to the narrow door beside it. After tearing the note from the tack, she read it.
Good morning, Lyra. I expect you might desire to wash away the grime of your travels. A hot bath awaits you. –Hamilton
With the note in one hand, she turned the knob and opened the door.
“…be interesting having someone new to talk to.”
The girl speaking turned toward the door. Sunlight streamed through a high window, its warm rays shining down upon a goddess.
Without a hint of modesty, the girl stood from the soaking tub and smiled at Lyra. Her eyes shone the color of emeralds, her smile lighting the room as much as the beam of sunlight highlighted the golden tones within her brown hair. Although she appeared to be about Lyra’s age, the girl had blossomed into womanhood, her flat stomach accentuating a full chest and round hips. Water rained into the tub, running off her glistening body.
“You’re awake,” the girl said with a smile.
“You’re quite observant,” Lyra replied. “Where am I, and who are you?”
“I’m Tirialle and you’re in my father’s castle, of course.”
“Your title is Princess Tirialle,” a woman’s voice noted, “and the Citadel belongs to Kalimar and its king, who happens to be your father.”
Lyra turned toward the voice and found a middle-aged woman seated near another door. With long brown hair pulled tight into a bun, the woman’s steely eyes shifted toward Lyra, her gaze bypassing the spectacles resting near the tip of her nose. The woman stood and smoothed the white apron that covered the front of her black dress.
“I know, Glynnis,” Tirialle rolled her eyes as she settled back into the tub. The girl turned toward Lyra. “You’re name is Lyra, right?”
Lyra nodded.
“Miss Lyra,” Glynnis crossed the room, toward the firep
lace. “Let me add some hot water to your tub while you discard that filthy shift.”
The woman donned a pair of leather gloves and removed a steaming kettle from the coals. She turned and poured the hot water into the other copper tub, adding it to the water already within.
Lyra glanced down at her shift and bit her lip, her stomach twisting at the thought of being naked in front of the woman and the girl – especially the girl. Not seeing any way around it, she quickly disrobed and climbed into the tub. She then grabbed the soap cake resting on the table beside the tub, wet it, and began rubbing it on her body until it was covered in white lather.
“I’m happy you’re here, Lyra.” Tirialle smiled, appearing to mean it. “You might not know this, but growing up as the only child in a castle can be quite boring.”
“You’re not the only kid,” Glynnis noted as she settled back into her chair.
“Yes, there is Donte, but he’s four years younger and…he hasn’t been the same since the accident.”
“Donte?” Lyra asked.
“He’s my half-brother.”
“What’s a half-brother?”
“You don’t know? It means he has a different mother, but we both have the same father.”
“Your mother is…okay with that?”
The girl laughed, the sound as appealing as her looks.
“My mother died giving birth to me, so she doesn’t really care…at least, I don’t think she does.”
“I’m sorry she died, Princess.” Lyra’s voice softened. “My mother died the same way. Although I never met her, my father used to tell me stories about her, and how I reminded him of her.”
“I’m sorry for you, too, Lyra.” Tirialle replied in a somber tone before her smile reappeared. “Look at that. We already have something in common.”
Lyra smiled, finding herself unable to dislike the princess.
“By the way, you can call me Tiri. No need for that Princess stuff.” Tirialle rose to her feet. “I need to get ready. Father is leaving soon, and I must see him off.”
Rogue Legacy: The Secret History of Issalia Page 14