The Fiery Arrow

by Bo Burnette

  “And Philip?”

  Thane’s eyes were steel. “Yes, and Philip.”

  “And if I will not tell you what you want to know?”

  “If you will not, then I will kill him.”

  “Why would you kill him? What could you possibly gain?”

  “You know nothing of the harm Philip’s line has done to me.”

  “That’s absurd! Whatever harm his forebears may have caused you, Philip himself did none of it.”

  Thane stepped so close his voice was only a whisper. “Well, then, I suppose you can be my excuse. If for no other reason, I will kill him because of the pain it will cause you.”

  “And you think I would tell you these things then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because—why would you still defend the one you do not love when you have lost the one you do?” He paused, letting his statement sink into Arliss’s mind.

  She shoved away from him and stepped back.

  Her foot plunged into nothingness. Flailing, she tried to grip something—the platform—the sides of the mound—anything, anything that would stop her fall. Yet there was nothing she could do, nothing to hold onto. She braced herself for the impact fifteen feet down.

  But Thane grabbed her left forearm. Her book dislodged from her hidden pocket and tumbled to the ground by the river. As she watched it fall, she slammed against the rocky mound. Pain shot through her side as a rib cracked loudly enough to be heard.

  Grunting, Thane hoisted her up and laid her upon the dais. “Goodness, Arliss, be careful. A fall from this height could stun or kill a man—or woman.”

  Arliss tried to speak but found she could not. Her side burned. Her face tightened with anger. Why had he pressed so close to her earlier? He’d made her back away. Yet he’d also saved her life. Perhaps that meant something.

  No, she told herself, it doesn’t. He’s evil. Tell him nothing. Tell him nothing.

  Philip lay on the floor of his cell, alone with his thoughts centered on Arliss—what was being asked of her, and what was she telling? Would they spare her the treatment he had received earlier that morning? She didn’t know about it. And it would be better if she didn’t.

  The memories from that morning rushed back into his head. Shouting. Screaming. The leader, the Master, pacing the stiff chamber. Blows, pain, blood.

  That Cahal fellow was a real fiend. Even after the scuffle in the forest, he hadn’t learned his lesson. Philip had promptly fixed that. But then…the Master…the pike slamming into his head…

  Still, he hadn’t let anything slip. Unless Arliss broke down during her interrogation, these ruffians would know nothing of Kenton’s army—or his current absence from the city. If their captors knew Reinhold was without a ruler and without much of an army, they might attack straightaway.

  He clenched his eyes shut. Please, Lord, let Arliss stay strong. She could not accidentally divulge that knowledge. Despite her rashness, she had a loyal streak in her, a steadfast strain. Plus, she had a decent head on her shoulders. He hoped they could both keep their heads that way.

  His temples pounded as he lay on the hard-packed dirt floor. Arliss’s cell floor last night had been stone, so he knew this dungeon lay somewhere else along the walls of the fortress’s wide mountain bailey. His stomach burned with hunger. He hadn’t had even a halfway decent meal in over a day. The sagging bread and unfiltered river water didn’t amount to very much, especially after the beating and questioning he had just been through.

  Boots clamped in the hallway, and the door jiggled open. Cahal stepped in, smirking. “Time for the midday feast, sirrah!” He dropped the squashed mass of bread on the dirt floor. He bent and set down the glass of water, letting it drop the last foot to the ground. It hit, toppled a moment, and tipped over, creating a patch of mud on the dusty ground.

  Philip stood, gripping the metal cup. “Would you mind getting me another cup of water, Sir Cahal?”

  “I already brought you some.”

  Philip’s jaw tensed. “Really? Yet not a single drop made it to my lips.”

  “That is not my problem.” He shrugged and started away.

  Philip grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back into the cell. “I may be in this prison, but I’m not your subject. I’m your ward. So that makes it your duty to keep me alive, eh?” He shoved Cahal closer to the wall.

  “The princess we are to keep alive and well. I have no orders to keep you that way.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have any problem with me leaving this cell.” Philip released his shoulder and stepped to the doorway.

  Cahal drew his dagger and plunged it toward Philip’s upper back. Philip ducked, grabbing Cahal’s wrist and twisting it around his back until he dropped the dagger.

  Philip pinned both of Cahal’s arms to his sides and slammed a boot into his chest. Spluttering, Cahal tumbled to the floor.

  Philip dashed out into the hallway and studied the layout of the fortress. He stood on the opposite side from the cell where Arliss had been kept last night. That dungeon appeared to be carved into the mountain itself. The building with his cell had been built from wood and stone—a two-story structure which bordered the mountainous fringe of the dell and met with the outer wall at the front of the fortress.

  Cahal approached, his boots clobbering the ground behind him. “Tá an príosúnach éalú!”

  Guards on the opposite end of the glade saw him and shouted. They ran and leapt the thin stream which separated them.

  Philip ran to the stone mound, his legs pumping as he darted a glance at Arliss’s interrogation. Anything could have happened in the past few minutes. Anything.

  On the ground before him lay her thick leatherbound book. At the top of the dais, the Master was bending over a body, removing her torn outer dress. Philip’s breath lodged in the middle of his throat as he stifled a shout.

  As if to assure him, Arliss’s chest fluttered with a faint breath. He collected the book and vaulted up the rocky stairway.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: REALMS BEYOND REINHOLD

  “What are you doing, you scum?” Philip shouted up the stairs. He leapt the last three steps and strode across the platform to Thane, his fists clenched. He couldn’t let Thane harm Arliss, even at a cost to himself.

  “I’m saving her life, imbecile.” Thane didn’t bother to look at Philip, but instead focused on Arliss. He wrenched off the rest of the blue woolen fabric and tossed it aside.

  She groaned softly as the dress came off. Beneath it, her white chemise was in little better state. Her pocket sagged in tatters. She must’ve stuffed the book inside it.

  Philip stuffed the book beneath his arm.

  “Help me,” Thane ordered. “Take her head.”

  Still scowling at him, Philip did as ordered and gently lifted her shoulders and golden head into his arms. Thane snatched up her legs, and together they began to make their way down the staircase. The book felt like it was trying to escape from Philip’s clamped armpit. He clenched his arm tighter as he tried to carry both the princess and the thick book at the same time.

  “What did you do to her?”

  “I did nothing to her. She was stupid enough to push herself off the dais, and I happened to be close enough to rescue her.”

  Her eyes fluttered open and her eyebrow curved as she gave Thane a suspicious glance. Still she said nothing.

  “How close?” Philip demanded.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  Thane ignored him as they reached the bottom of the stairs. The two guards roused by Philip’s escape still stood at attention, rather befuddled by the whole situation. Thane nodded at them as he shifted Arliss’s weight, carrying her legs as if they were the most awkward bundle in the world. “Here,” he said. “Can you hold her on your own a moment? I need to find a place to lay her down.”

  “I can hold her on my own as long as needed.” Supporting her by the shoulders with one arm, he slipped the other
under her knees and accepted her full weight.

  “Good,” Thane snapped as he strode toward the guards.

  The moment he had stepped out of earshot, Arliss opened her eyes and looked up at Philip.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. At least, more than he thinks at the moment.”

  “Did you tell him anything?”

  “Philip, he knows so much already. He knows all about who I am. He even knows who you are—rather, who your father was.”

  He frowned. “What did he say?”

  “He said that he had some quarrel with your ancestors, and he wants to take out his revenge on you. But—Philip, I know who he is.”

  “What do you mean? How?”

  “Aédán was right, he is Thane. He lived on the Isle of Light before our people fled, twelve years ago. He was one of us, but he did not flee with us. He escaped alone.”

  “And why has he come back?”

  “I think he intends to take over Reinhold. Why else would he question me about my father’s army? And why else would he be raising an army of his own?”

  “But where did he get—”

  Thane’s voice shot across the wide bailey of the fortress. “Come, son of Carraig, bring the princess over here.”

  How did Thane know his father’s name? The mysteries were piling up thicker and thicker around this hidden fortress.

  Philip walked to where Thane stood, close to the front wall of the castle. He motioned for Philip to follow him into the long structure that joined both the outer wall and the side of the mountain. The same building which housed his own prison cell.

  Cahal loitered inside the simple stone building. Philip’s muscles tensed.

  “Open the door for us, Sir Cahal.” Thane lifted the candlestick he had retrieved.

  Cahal gaped at the procession and the princess lying in Philip’s arms.

  “Now, guard.”

  “The door to Sir Orlando’s chambers?”

  “Yes, that door!” Thane growled. “Now hurry up about it!”

  Cahal yanked the door opened.

  As they entered, Philip couldn’t help but offer a smug “Thank you, Sir Cahal.”

  The chamber within was undoubtedly the most beautiful room Philip had seen in the entire fortress, if not the only one. Fine silk covers draped over a simple bed without frame or curtains, and beside it stood a small table with an ornately carved lamp. Old wax clumped up the sides of the lamp, but Thane now offered its wick the flame from a candle he was holding. The lamp flicked to life, its curious curves and contortions magnifying the light throughout the entire room. A full-length mirror spanned the height of the far wall.

  “Here, on the bed.” Thane pulled back the outermost cover.

  Philip set Arliss down gently. She let slip a small smile as he released his careful hold on her. He inhaled tightly. She was beautiful—really, truly. She was also an idiot. But her quest was begun with good intentions.

  Now, in this place, he was all she had to protect her.

  Thane’s face turned suddenly sour. He raised his voice and glanced at the door. “Come, now, seize him!”

  Cahal and the other two guards entered the room and grabbed Philip’s shoulders, herding him through the door. Cahal snatched the book from beneath Philip’s arm and tossed it to Thane.

  As Philip was dragged away, Thane sat on the bed, a pained expression creasing his hard-set face.

  The same muggy wetness pervaded the room, but the bed felt cool and dry beneath the silken covers. It seemed the loveliest thing Arliss had ever felt—or, at least, the loveliest thing since she left the city. How many days ago was it? Two? Three? Ten? Her brain spun from the pain in her side and the gnawing hunger in her stomach.

  “Well, are you all right or not?” Thane demanded.

  She opened her eyes and shifted her weight. Pain pierced her ribs. “I’m fine, but I’m hungry.”

  Thane threw his head back and laughed—a true, lilting laugh. “You just fell off a cliff and fractured a rib, and all you’re thinking about is that you are hungry?”

  She sat up, sucking down the pain with a massive breath. “I hope you don’t think the pitiful excuses for food I’ve been served have been anything like a real meal.”

  “No, indeed.”

  “Look, Thane.” She leaned forward earnestly. “If you have these sort of fine room decorations, then you must also have equally nice food from wherever that came from—wherever you got this bloody army, no doubt. As you see, I catch on quickly.”

  Thane appeared thoughtful. “Indeed, you do.”

  “So, why? Why me? Why am I here?”

  “You encroached on my borders.”

  “No, I pushed the limits of my borders.”

  “That is debatable.”

  “I don’t think so. Just because you want to own the realm of Reinhold doesn’t mean you already do.”

  Thane motioned around the room as if to signify the sheer size of the fortress. “What do you think this means? While you have built your fortress—your city on a hill—I have build mine within a hill. You build upon rock and stone. I have built within rock and stone. Did it ever occur to you that when a person builds a castle and seizes an area—and is utterly unchallenged—he owns that area for all intents and purposes?”

  Arliss rolled her eyes. “I have read a few books in my life. I’m not an idiot. Which brings me back to what I was talking about earlier. Where does it all come from—the men, the lamps, the weapons, and the food which I am waiting for you to bring me?”

  He went to the door and signaled a guard. “Luncheon for the princess and me, forthwith.” Then he returned and sat upon the bed, resuming his focused glare.

  “Arliss, you say you’ve read books. Surely you can figure out where it all comes from.”

  She looked down, searching the depths of her memory. “I’m afraid I can’t. To be quite frank, I do not know what in the castle library is fact and what is fiction. To me, they are all wonderful stories, even though some may be more history than legend.”

  He shook his head. “Your father never taught you anything.”

  “He certainly did teach me! He taught me the bow, the sword, and the pen.”

  “You sound grateful indeed to the one from whom you just ran away. I’m sorry to tell you, but your father’s education was terribly lacking in two subjects—true history and real geography.”

  She hesitated. “I know that our clan escaped oppression from another clan with much more land and power. That was why we took refuge on the isle.”

  “Correct.”

  “And there was some sort of war or at least a battle about the whole thing, involving a third clan that was as big or bigger than the oppressive one.”

  Thane lifted his hands. “And what do you question?”

  “But that was so long ago—”

  A knock sounded on the door just before it swung open. A guard rolled a table set on wheels toward the bed. Cheese, bread, smoked fish, a flask of dark wine, and a pitcher of cool water with which to wash it down. Arliss's mouth began to water, and her stomach groaned. She couldn't wait to curb her hunger.

  After the guard left, she pointed to some curious round berries. “What are these?”

  “They’re olives.” Thane shook his head. “This is what I mean about your education. If I told you all about this world you live in, you would be shocked mute.”

  She tore at a hunk of bread. “I’ve been through a lot of shocking things these past few days. You might be surprised.”

  “What if I told you all you take as legend and lore is actually history? Would that make a difference? You see, I have been flipping through this book—” he lifted the leather volume from his lap so she could see it “—and it is no collection of stories. Yes, there are legends and outdated prophecies and apothecarial instructions, but much of this book is the story of our realms.”

  The wedge of cheese Arliss had just swallowed felt as if it lodged in her th
roat. She gulped. “How is that possible? If you’re telling the truth, then the old realms from the stories are all still in existence?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Ikarra? Anmór?”

  Thane closed the book. “You are pressuring your mind too much for one who has suffered such an injury. Come, have some rest. I will leave you.”

  “I want answers.” Arliss licked her lips.

  “If you will not give me the answers I want, I will not give you any answers either.”

  Then he left, gliding through the door like a dark specter before she could say another word to him. She poured some of the water into a glass. If she told Thane what he wanted to know, he might perhaps tell her what she desired.

  And, perhaps, he would keep his promise to free her and Philip.

  CHAPTER TWENTY: BODY AND BLOOD

  The instructions flowed through Elowyn’s mind with every step she took through the ominous forest. Although the sun still had several hours to reign in the heavens, the thickly clustered trees blocked and filtered its light, allowing a few scattered rays to penetrate the leaf-covered ground. Elowyn’s ever-subtle footfalls still crunched the fallen leaves as if they were burnt paper.

  Nathanael trudged beside her, but she barely noticed. Erik’s instructions flowed through her mind, repeating themselves.

  For half a day, journey through the forest. Start at Arliss’s secret clearing, which lies just within the forest exactly across from the city in a straight line. That much had been quite easy.

  Your half-day’s journey will bring you to the riverbank. You must either swim across or create a bridge. We found no ford within a hundred paces in either direction.

  Elowyn’s indigo traveling dress still dripped with water from the dicey crossing.

  Then, you will come to a part of the forest where all the trees seem dark and sickly. Here you must beware. Prepare torches, and make ready the Lasairbláth.

  Elowyn stifled the uneasiness that rose in her chest. Dark trees—dark as midnight, dark as hate—already surrounded her.