The Crown of Stones: Magic-Borne

by C. L. Schneider

  But Janus wasn’t having it. “I supported you. I trusted you.” Spry without the weight of his fur cloak, the old man made fast work of the large room. He reached the side of the bed and gaped at what was left of his former King with outright revulsion. Slowly, Janus lifted fierce eyes to Malaq. “I made you High King, and you repay me by committing murder under my nose? How many assassins do you have in the Rellan ranks, Your Grace? Is this,” he flung a hand at Jarryd, silent and gore splattered on the other side of Malaq, “what comes through your doors in name the peace?”

  Malaq’s reply bordered on desperate. “I had nothing to do with this.”

  “Prove it,” Janus demanded. “Turn over your assassins. Such unsavory types can be hard to control. If this one acted of his own accord, his poor judgment shall be dealt with. You need not be sullied by this heinous crime.”

  “I have no assassins,” Malaq insisted. “This was an isolated incident, an accident.”

  “A moment ago you called it butchery!” Janus snapped. “Which is it? You, Malaq,” he said earnestly, “have the potential to be the greatest King Langor has ever known. You cannot allow one man to ruin what you have worked so hard to achieve. Kane is a traitor. His actions threaten your reign and the salvation of our realm. Convict him for his crime. Separate yourself from this murderer, and I will ensure the name Malaq Roarke goes down in history.”

  “He’s not a murderer,” Malaq replied. “He’s my friend.”

  “Kings cannot afford to have friends,” Janus balked. “Such nostalgic indulgence is a weakness reserved for the populace.” He stepped closer. His tone softened. “Your dream of a unified land can still be realized. You can lead the realms into a glorious new age. But for that to happen, your friend must live out the remainder of his existence in the bowels of this keep.”

  Malaq grimaced at the thought. “No…”

  “Have him executed if you must show mercy,” Janus relented. “But he is a confessed king-slayer, for the gods’ sake! Arrest him or you are done. I would sooner relinquish the realm to military rule than have a coward sit on the throne.”

  Malaq’s face was a pale stone wall. His fists were clenched and trembling. His lungs were working hard, struggling to deal with the panic flooding his body. But he was nodding like he saw the truth in Janus’ words—like he was considering giving in to the old man’s demands.

  I moved up behind the three of them. “Malaq, you can’t.”

  Jarryd caught my eyes. “It’s all right, Ian. I told you. I’m not running.”

  “And I’m not letting you go back to prison. The pain they gave you last time will be nothing compared to what they’ll inflict on the man condemned for Draken’s murder.”

  Jarryd expression was grim, but resolute. “I’m sorry for what this will do to you, Nef’taali. To both of you,” he paused to glance at Malaq. “But I don’t regret it. I did this for all of us. For King Raynan and Neela, for Kit and Liel…for my father. For every life that black-souled bastard had a hand in ending. I did this for my son,” Jarryd snarled, with such ferocity, Malaq winced and took a step back.

  I could almost see the words running through Malaq’s mind: he knows. “I wouldn’t have gone through with it,” he said. “I wouldn’t have given him the child, Jarryd. You can’t think I would ever—”

  “I don’t.” Jarryd unsheathed his other knife and tossed it to the floor. His hand axe and dagger followed. Lastly, he pulled the belt of knives off over his head. It fell slowly from his grip and hit the floor with a resounding finality. “Counselor Janus is right. Mirra’kelan is yours, Malaq. Peace is within your grasp.” Holding out his arms, Jarryd offered himself in surrender. “Don’t let me ruin it for you.”

  Malaq stared at Jarryd’s bloody outstretched hands.

  Janus whispered a curse of impatience. He hollered back at the open door. “Guards!”

  “Wait,” Malaq begged. “Counselor, please. Give me some time.”

  “Time for what?” Janus demanded. “To whisk your assassin away to safety? To cover his crime? If you are truly not involved, then turn him over. The witch, as well,” he added. “It’s likely Troy spelled the unlucky bastard into doing the deed for him.” Janus swung his ire in my direction. “Oh, how you had me fooled. Convincing me you came for the good of Langor, when this whole time you were waiting to strike. How many more have you persuaded to kill for you?” His rheumy eyes narrowed. “It was never your father we should have been worried about, was it?”

  “Counselor,” I said with urgent sincerity. “I am not your enemy.”

  “You think I would believe you now?” Janus let out a heated laugh. Turning back to Malaq, he made himself clear. “This is your last chance. Hand over Draken’s killer and you will enjoy a long and fruitful reign. Protect him, and you will rot in a cell alongside him.”

  Malaq stood mute and frozen, trapped between Jarryd and Counselor Janus. I rushed up and spun him around to face me. He shook his head. It was a helpless, resigned gesture that was not at all what I wanted to see. “Malaq…you can’t.”

  “You have to,” Janus pushed. “You know what must be done.”

  “Yes,” Malaq said. “I do.”

  I got right up in his face. “I won’t let you send Jarryd back to prison.”

  “You won’t let me?” Malaq hissed. “I rule here, Ian. Not you.” Thrusting with palms out, Malaq gave me a hard, unexpected shove; propelling me back into the bookcases lining the wall. Shelves of leather-bound books tumbled down, knocking me to the floor.

  “My King,” Janus insisted. “You must act now!”

  With a growl Malaq turned a brutal stare on Jarryd. “This is on you. Not me.” His hand went to the dagger in his belt.

  Jarryd stood firm. “So be it.”

  “Gods forgive me.” Malaq pulled the blade. He drew his arm back.

  I scrambled up. “Malaq, no!” I took a running leap. But before I could reach him, Malaq struck. He stabbed fast; a determined, violent thrust that pierced his target’s heart dead center. His voice shook as he whispered, “I’m sorry. It was the only way.”

  Losing momentum, my heroic dive fell short. I hit the floor as Malaq yanked his blade out with a pained cry. Shock turned time sluggish, and I watched the blood draining out like a fall, darkening the front of his clothes for what felt like minutes before Counselor Janus crumpled to the floor beside me.

  I rolled out of the way of the widening pool of red and looked up at Malaq. He didn’t even notice me. He was staring at the Arullan warrior perched in the threshold of the open door. Bow drawn, arrow notched, Ordree appeared unconcerned with the gory scene she’d happened upon. She exchanged a grim nod with Malaq, lowered her weapon, and pulled the door closed behind her on the way out.

  The three of us had yet to make a sound. Blood was everywhere, drenching the sheets, running across the floor, pumping from the bodies. Nothing of substance was on Jarryd’s end of the link. I sensed slight surprise at the death of Janus, but no guilt. There was only the quiet relief that comes with fulfilling a long overdue promise.

  If you don’t kill Draken, I’ll find a way to do it myself. That was the vow Jarryd made to me years ago in the woods of Kael. And he’d made good on it, far more than my own vow to do the same. Jarryd had accomplished what I’d failed to do. What right did I have to be angry? How could I condemn his choice when we’d asked him to do the impossible, to put aside a life’s worth of hatred and resentment for an ideal? But it’s not just Jarryd we’re asking.

  There will be more of this. Much more, before Malaq’s vision of peace comes to pass.

  I wondered, as I watched him, glaring at the instrument of Janus’ death in his hand, if Jarryd’s actions had brought Malaq to the same conclusion. Or was he thinking how he’d killed the one man on the counsel he could count on? Perhaps, he was grieving for the death of his only brother.

  I
didn’t envy any of those thoughts. But I didn’t want mine either, as I tried to decide if Malaq had at all pondered turning his blade on Jarryd. And what I would have done if he had.

  The first to break the silence, Jarryd’s voice, as he regarded Malaq, was a confused whisper. “Why?”

  Malaq’s echoed like thunder. “Why? To fucking protect you. That’s why.”

  Jarryd shook his head. “You didn’t have to.”

  Malaq responded with a fast punch to Jarryd’s face. “Of course I had to,” he raged, as Jarryd hit the floor. “What choice did I have? What choice did you leave me with? You put your own personal vendetta before the good of all Mirra’kelan!”

  Wiping the blood from his mouth, Jarryd stood. “I gave Mirra’kelan closure. Not all of us can move forward as fast as you.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Malaq took a menacing step.

  I pushed him back. “It’s done. Jarryd made his choice. You made yours. It’s time to clean up the mess.”

  “Is that what he is, Ian, a mess to be disposed of?” Malaq’s revulsion was plain. “Janus trusted you. He trusted us both.”

  “I know. I liked the man. I’m sorry he’s dead. But it won’t be long before someone less sympathetic than Ordree comes in and demands to know what happened.”

  Malaq straightened his tunic and smoothed back his hair. “I walked in on Janus. He had the knife in his hand. He was standing over my brother’s body. He killed Draken. I killed him. Janus has no living family, no one to bear his shame. There will be no questions asked. Not after he spoke out against Draken at the meeting a few days ago.”

  “This isn’t right,” Jarryd said. “It was my fault, not his.”

  “I know whose fucking fault it is,” Malaq shot back. “You killed Draken in cold blood.”

  Jarryd didn’t even flinch. “And how is that worse than anything he’s done?”

  “It’s worse because you’re my friend. Because I didn’t think you were capable of…this.” Malaq threw a disgusted hand at the bed. “I expected better of you.” His voice turned to ice. “I want you gone.” Swiftly, Malaq turned to me and cut off my unspoken protest. “I can’t trust him, Ian. My people aren’t safe with him here.”

  “He is your people, Malaq. You’re High King. We’re all your people now.”

  Malaq ran a slow hand over his goatee. He let out a sigh that shook his broad shoulders. “It felt possible. Out there, in front of them…” He eyed the balcony doors. “They believed in what I was saying. If only for a moment, they believed; in me and in each other. I’m not a fool,” he said wistfully. “I expect opposition. Winning the war doesn’t mean the battle is over, but this…” Malaq’s sad, gray eye roamed over the carnage a moment before settling on Jarryd. “You knew I wanted him alive. You knew I wanted him to stand trial.”

  “Draken has been standing trial in the minds of my people for years,” Jarryd replied. “We’ve seen the evidence. We’ve heard his side. All that remained was to carry out the sentence.”

  “That wasn’t for you to do,” Malaq argued.

  “Then who was it for?” Jarryd asked.

  A single word exploded from Malaq’s throat. “ME!”

  As his ear-splitting declaration hung heavy in the room, it hit me. “That’s why you kept holding me back. All this time, your pleas for me to back off, your requests that I let you take care of Draken in your own time…deep down, it wasn’t about legitimately ascending the throne. It was about you taking his life. You, Malaq. You and no one else.”

  His confession came with a distant, weary nod. “I wanted him to know it was me. I wanted Draken to look into my eyes as the light left his. To understand that everything he had was mine. I wanted the bastard to know that the orphan, the cast off, the one who came close to never drawing a single breath, who was nearly put out to die by his own grandfather—the one who never had any business surviving—I was King now. And I would spend my life striking his cruelty, his oppression, his very name, from these halls.”

  “You still can,” I told him. “Draken’s reign is over. Long live, King Malaq.” I paused, letting that sink in. “But I need Jarryd with me. You have my word. He won’t hurt anyone else.” I locked strong eyes on Jarryd. “Will you?”

  “No, of course not.” Jarryd stepped up to Malaq. “I’m sorry if I’ve denied you the fulfillment of what’s burned in you all these years. But the fire is out now. I put it out…for both of us.” He rested a hand on Malaq’s shoulder. His other hand fell on mine. “For all of us.”

  Malaq closed his one eye briefly. When it opened again, it was trained on me. “Get him out of here. Clean him up. Watch him. And find those goddamn tablets. Because when the attack comes, I’ll wait one day before I let Elek and his machines loose. That’s all I can give you, Ian. You have one day to end this war better than you did the last.”

  THIRTY SEVEN

  The malachite key vibrated against my chest.

  Jarryd felt the sensation a moment later. “It’s working.” Those were his first words in nearly an hour since I’d thrown a cloak over his bloodied clothes and secreted him out of Draken’s bedchamber. “I didn’t think it would be this simple.”

  “We haven’t found it yet,” I reminded him. “Besides, while you were washing up, it took me four spells and way too much magic to tie this damn key to a locator spell. Someone didn’t want our lock found. But whatever concealing spell my ancestors used, time has weakened it. Not enough to make what we’re after stand out. That would really be simple,” I added, getting him to grin. “But enough to give me a trail.”

  And it was getting stronger.

  Having followed the vibration through multiple upstairs corridors and down the main staircase, the ‘scent’ increased as we reached the first level. The crowd did as well. Arullans and Kaelish were wandering around the labyrinth of halls, both looking lost. A troop of Rellans were conversing outside the armory. Langorians, soldiers and castle workers alike, gave us all a wide berth as they grumbled and cursed under their breaths. Regardless of Malaq’s warm reception, some weren’t happy with the changes he proposed. I only hoped the realms stayed patient long enough to give him a chance.

  After several more minutes of tense stares and congestion, the vibrations led us away from the crush of people to an isolated corridor. The noticeable downward slant to the floor took us swiftly away from the chaos. Sound melted into the background. The way was empty of people, intersections, and doors. But it wasn’t abandoned. Flaming torches decked the widening walls. Painted shields, silken drapes of gray and crimson, and decorative weapon displays lined the corridor. Bronze sculptures of soldiers and skin bears stood guard beneath twisted metal candelabras as we traveled deeper beneath the keep.

  The pitch leveled out. The stone flooring gave way to a crimson rug. We followed the lengthy covering around several bends before ending at a set of arched double doors, whose height was so great they nearly touched the ceiling. The craftsmanship was incredible. Cut into each slab of wood was the meticulously detailed depiction of a Langorian warhorse rearing up on his hind legs. Eyes wild, manes flying, the front hooves of both horses were positioned so, when the doors were closed, the animals appeared to be fighting

  Guards stood on either side of the entrance. Sporting red leather armor on their hefty frames and scowls on their bearded faces, their boots were polished and their hair neatly braided. Backs stiff, hands resting on their sword, their eyes locked onto us as we approached.

  I stopped in front of them. “What room is this?”

  The Langorian on my right grunted. “This is a room you’re not entering. I don’t care what liberties our new King says to grant you.”

  “Disregarding a direct order,” I winced. “Not smart.”

  “Neither is letting the wolf into the den.”

  “Wolf?” I grinned. “That’s a new one.”

&nbs
p; The guard’s thick lip curled. “You have many names, witch. I was just being nice.”

  “Well, let me return the favor.” I shoved a fist into his unarmored throat. Seizing his broad shoulders, I slammed the man’s disagreeable face down into my knee. Then I spun him around and shoved him head first into the door. A second shove and he was out.

  Jarryd’s pulse spiked. I spun and grabbed his arm, stopping his knife a breath before it met skin. “No blades.” I relieved him of the weapon. “We’re on the same side. Remember?”

  “Tell him that,” Jarryd replied, as the second Langorian swung.

  Wide, I thought as he tried to snag us both in one hit. I jumped back, Jarryd ducked. As momentum sent the Langorian staggering, I smashed the hilt of Jarryd’s knife across his serpent-marked face. Jarryd kicked him to his knees, grabbed him from behind, and wrapped an arm around his throat. As I watched Jarryd cutting off the man’s air, I wanted to trust he would stop.

  I couldn’t risk it.

  With a hard punch, I knocked out the guard. His body folded. Jarryd dropped it to the floor. His anger hit me like a fist a breath later. I shoved it right back.

  Slapping Jarryd’s knife into his open palm, I reminded him, “Our war isn’t with Langor anymore. You need to be better than this. Better than them.”

  Jarryd shoved his weapon away. “How can you forgive what they’ve done?”

  “Who says I have? But I’ve hated the Langorians since I was old enough to say the word. I’m getting damn tired of it. Maybe, some of them are tired of hating us, too.”

  We dragged the unconscious guards out of the way and trussed them together, back to back, with their own sword belts. It wouldn’t hold long, but I was hoping we wouldn’t need long.

  Pushing open the weighty doors, we paused at the threshold. I had no doubt where we were. It just took a moment for the view to sink in. Draken’s throne room was like none I’d ever seen before.

  The vast chamber, carved right out of the mountain, was more of a cavern than a room. The bowled ceiling was high, dotted with clusters of raw quartz that sparkled like the night sky; white against the dark. A great distance separated the walls. Those flanking us were scored with tall, slender alcoves, cut into the rock twenty feet apart. Each niche was occupied by a high-backed wooden chair with massive black curtains hanging in between. The rich, flowing draperies all boasted the same gold embroidery: a giant serpent swallowing its own tail.