Markus swallowed hard, “that cannot be. He must’ve… he must’ve gotten it at the house, when he was cleaning or something.”
Stiller arched a brow and Markus grew uneasy.
“You don’t think I had anything to do with this?”
Stiller sighed, “I don’t.”
“But who does?”
“The undertaker is a member of the community and the brother of one of the community council members. He was the one who brought it to my attention, in the presence of the others. Now they do not think that you can be trusted.”
“But he could have had this for so many reasons…”
Stiller sighed and peered out of the carriage, “You don’t understand Markus. We have been through a lot as a community, many of our own has betrayed us, our trust in strangers is fragile. I have already stayed too long here. I just wanted you to know that the men have withdrawn their support. You’re on your own.”
He made a move to leave and Markus grabbed his hand frantically.
“What about you? You know I had nothing to do with this.”
“I’m sorry brother. There is only so much I can do, I cannot be found anywhere near the palace, my face is outlawed in the city. It’s not a risk I can take alone.”
Markus searched Stiller’s face, he could tell that he meant what he said and that he was sorry that things had turned out this way.
“It’s not too late, you don’t have to go to the ball.”
Markus shook his head, “I have to. With or without your help, I have to finish the mission.”
Stiller nodded solemnly, “May El’s light be with you.”
Markus sat in the carriage after Stiller had left, feeling a weight of determination descend upon him. This stubborn streak had often been the cause of troubling actions in his youth. His father had endured much worry over it too. And it was at this moment that it chose to show up.
“Curse my Riboni blood” he muttered.
The greater part of him feared going ahead without the support of the community. Stiller and his men were now on the path of peace, but they were more skilled than he would ever be in combat. Yet another part of him, smaller but imbued with a passion for serving his God, pushed him past his fears.
Cad stuck his head in to the carriage window, “what’s going on?” he asked.
Markus shook his head, wrapping his hand around the pin Stiller had given to him.
“I’ve got it. We must hurry or I’ll be embarrassingly late.”
Cad hesitated but then nodded and returned to his place at the helm of the carriage.
As the carriage lurched forward again, Markus drew his hand down the length of his face.
Whether this was planted, or a direct accusation made by a dying man, it may have just cost him his entire reason for being here.
Balls and other acts of frivolous celebrations were unheard of in Ilksvard. Ilks considered parties of any kind a waste of time, more so they thought it to be one of the many pursuits of people that dulled their senses and their ability to reason. So, when Markus entered the ballroom of the palace it was an immediate sensory overload. Bright lights filled the open space, dropping from golden chandeliers, reflecting from shiny crystals and gold trimmings. The room seemed to dance on its own accord by the lavish ornaments that made up its decor. In addition, music thrummed around him, it was full and stirring, as strings met percussion in an upbeat rhythm that rivaled his own heartbeat. He felt Cad next to him; he knew he stood closely to calm him. The over stimulation was a lot for his advanced senses, and he considered turning around and returning to his quiet mansion on the hills of Arduway.
“This hardly seems like the kind of party you would throw for an Ilksvardian noble,” Cad grumbled.
Markus shut his eyes and took a deep breath, “it’s alright,” he said finally, “he has to cater for all sorts of nobles tonight.”
“Quite correct Lord Cort.”
Markus almost jumped, as the prince slipped up beside him, holding a golden chalet in his ringed hand.
Markus bowed slightly, “Prince Haddin, I did not see you there.”
“People hardly ever do,” the prince replied.
His voice was like velvet yet grating on the nerves. Markus eyed him carefully, taking in his unusually prim features, something about his face made it hard to read him.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Markus said.
The prince nodded, his golden hair staying in place perfectly where it fell just over his shoulders.
“The pleasure is all mine. My apologies if the music is a bit too loud. But you know how we Dravians love a good party.”
Markus nodded, “it may take some adjusting to, but it’s fine.”
“Well then,” the prince said, “let us talk in my chambers, it is much quieter there.”
Markus nodded, before shooting a glance in Cad’s direction. Cad looked uneasy.
“I see that you get right to it.”
The prince smiled, a vacant stretching of the lips that barely reached his eyes.
“See you are getting to know me so well already. I think we can look forward to a prosperous friendship Lord Cort.”
Markus nodded, his lips set in a thin line, he hoped that his discomfort would be chalked up to his race and not the fact that the prince made him uneasy. Nevertheless, he followed him out of the noisy ball room to the much quieter hallways leading to his chambers.
“How have you been managing since your father’s death? It must be quite daunting to be thrown into such a position,” Markus asked, trying to inject some conversation into the awkward silence that had descended upon them as they walked.
The prince’s perfect mask stayed in place, “Oh well, I have been adjusting quite well you know. Father taught me well, so I can be ready for any situation. I do miss him I admit.”
“And your brother, the crown prince?”
Ah there it was, an emotion he could identify. It flitted briefly across the prince’s face, but he would know it anywhere; contempt. It seemed that Prince Haddin and Prince Drayton had some animosity between them. He wondered if that had anything to do with his absence at court.
The prince grunted, “my brother is tough, he is the warrior among us. I know he will find his way back to us.”
The prince’s presumptuous smirk made Markus uncomfortable. It didn’t take an expert at reading people to know that the prince did not really believe nor hope for that outcome.
“Here we are,” Haddin said, sweeping his hands in front of him to dark stained double doors.
Markus followed him inside, and Cad followed like his shadow, true to his role.
Chapter 13
Shadaya looked down from where she had perched herself on the sturdy branch of an Oakwot tree. Oakwots were large burly trees with branches that stretched far from its trunk, remaining firmly connected, no matter how far out it grew. They were the strongest trees in Saharia and popular on the outskirts of Dravia, some even grew in the dark forest and flourished there. If one wasn’t careful an Oakwot branch could lead them right in the heart of the cursed forest.
Shadaya had found a spot on such a branch overlooking the Kint pass. It was a narrow stretch of road between the city and a Dravian village called Neticka. Neticka was the base of operations for Dravia’s distasteful slave trading. She always remembered her father speaking poorly of the place, the people were cruel and hungered for riches. They were the kind of people who would cut off their own limbs if it meant a payment in gold or silver. Her father had always warned that greed was often at the root of cruelty, and that this simply meant that the secret to peace was true contentment.
Shadaya waited patiently, the tail of her coat whipping in the chilly night air. It would only get colder as the year’s end neared, some days it would get so cold that the slightest bit of moisture on the surface of things would turn to ice. Legend said that it was the curse of the darkness in the air that surrounded Dravia. Shadaya checked her disguise now, growing
anxious to see some movement along the pass. The hood of her dark cloak was pulled low over her new mask which despite its adequate facial coverage still did not give her comfort tonight, so she had added a black scarf which she now wore over her nose and lips. The gravity of what she planned to do tonight impressed upon her the necessity of a good disguise. So much so that she had returned to Henry for that updated mask which he had been so excited to gift her. He did not fully support what she wanted to do, but he had used his magic to help her locate the soldier’s route tonight. He had warned her that the updated mask was not as potent as the potion but was to work as a channeler for her own magic. As Shadaya had not mastered much of what Henry called her ‘special gift’, this meant that tonight she would have to depend on her skills as a fighter more than she did on magic. She was confident she would not miss it.
She waited, partly in anticipation of the confrontation that would ensue, if Henry was correct. And partly in anxiety, wondering if she had what it took to take on more of the king’s guards than she ever had before. Not to mention, the men would be on guard while performing such a task. Tonight, she could be risking more than her reputation, but her very life. She took a deep breath and slowed her heart rate down, this was the key to a firm stance and perfect form in battle, but also an alert mind.
She heard it then. The squeaking of carriage wheels and the steady footfalls of horses coming around the bend. She perked up, readying herself, counting the seconds until they would be beneath her.
“Now or never,” she whispered.
Shadaya landed lightly atop the carriage and it swayed under her weight. Immediately, the carriage was drawn to a stop, time seemed to slow as the driver shared a glance with his escort.
“Look sharp Boz,” said the driver.
His voice was gravelly and gruff, like it was being grated against stones in the hollow of his chest.
Shadaya took a deep breath and hunkered down a bit, but the carriage was so unsettled it shifted under her weight again. Instantly the escort riding beside the carriage looked up.
“Up there!” he shouted, reaching for his bow.
Shadaya managed to leap off the side as an arrow zoom passed the spot where she had been standing.
The driver and the escort sounded an alarm, a nerve-wracking horn that made her wince as she lowered herself onto the side of the carriage to avoid the arrows being launched at her.
She heard the neighs of horses as the scouts ahead turned their horses around and those behind sped towards the carriage. Shadaya counted six men, one driver, two scouts and two rear guards, in addition to the escort. She took a deep breath and drew her father’s sword, springing to action. She would have to take the driver out first before the others caught up, that would make this fight a lot more manageable for her and keep him from riding off with the captives.
She leapt off the side of the carriage, flipped backward with her sword held out and landing in a crouch. She then rolled beneath the now immobile carriage and threw a small dagger from below. The archer cried out as it pierced his hand. This gave her enough time to get her feet on the other side of the carriage and knock him off his horse. The driver stood up now with sword drawn, an angry sneer spreading across his face.
He jumped down and their swords met. Shadaya was aware of the hoof beats hurtling towards her as their swords clanged against each other in the quiet cold night. The man fought well, but he was slow. Shadaya swiftly blocked his sword, then swept her foot behind his leg. He fell off balance and sunk low, taking away the height advantage he had over her. Still holding his sword with the hilt of her blade, she slammed her elbow into his nose. He staggered back but barely groaned as blood gushed from his nose into his beard. She booted him backward against the carriage, relieved him of his blade and knocked him unconscious. Two down, she thought.
Quickly, she rushed for the carriage. Prisoner carriages opened at the back. These were just cages covered in cloth with narrow slits for ventilation, Dravians were resourceful, but not so invested in the comfort of prisoners. Despite her eagerness to look inside the carriage and confirm Reeva’s presence, Shadaya slowed down cautiously; something did not feel right. As she approached the back, not a sound was coming from within the carriage. She froze now, counting her own steady heart beats and the rest of the guard finally rode up to her. Her time was up.
Shadaya turned around and planted herself behind the carriage. The rear guards rode up to her, their swords were already drawn, aiming for her neck as they rode toward her. She waited until they were close and dropped backward, allowing their blades to pass inches from her face. Crouching low, she turned with a triumphant smirk as they fought to turn about their horses. Now the prisoner transport showed a sign of life. It rocked as though the people inside were moving. She hoped Reeva was in there.
With renewed motivation Shadaya ran towards the carriage and leapt forward, using the step to the back to propel her upward. She landed on the top of the carriage and using a dagger cut the sheep skin covering along the ridges of the cage. The scouts had arrived, and all four men were surrounding the carriage on their horses. An arrow whizzed past her ear almost out of nowhere and Shadaya ducked again, just in time to dodge another. More archers. Did they have reinforcements she had missed. Frantically, she dropped unto her stomach as more arrows flew up to meet her.
With her face pressed against the roof she took deep calming breaths, the last thing she needed was to panic. Her grip on her sword tightened. Just as she had summoned the will to get up and face her attackers, a sharp pain shot through her side as cold steel pierced her leather habit. Shadaya cried out and rolled to the side. The sheep skin cover was marked with her blood where she had been stabbed. Wide-eyed with confusion, her vision blurred by the pain, Shadaya moved swiftly to the back of carriage and leapt off. She landed awkwardly and the shock of it shot up her leg. She almost cried out as she gripped the wound in her side. She was lucky, it hadn’t pierced her too deeply but had nipped her side, just enough to make a bloody mess of her tunic. It stung and bled but she could not let it slow her down. She was outnumbered and from her wounded side it was possible that this was all a set up. Now she missed Henry’s potion, his voice seemed to echo in her mind.
“You’ve got what it takes, you just have to learn to access it.”
She rolled her eyes, that was vague advice that was not useful at all right now.
As if in response to her thought, the back of the carriage was torn open and more soldiers leapt out, only they were not just any soldiers, they were from a special order within the Dravian army. Specially trained warriors for stealthy missions such as ambushes or assassinations. They used a wide variety of weapons suitable for close combat. So Shadaya knew that even though a few of them had swords drawn, they had a lot more up their slim fitting sleeves. She swallowed hard as she counted four of them, all looking smugly satisfied with their ruse. It would not take more than four to subdue her.
Yep, she thought, she had definitely been set up. She fought to keep her cool, but she knew that the odds were against her. There was no way she could take on the Order and king’s guards on her own.
She backed away as the soldiers advanced on her. In one last burst of courage, she extended her bloody gloved hand and made a come-hither gesture.
The men charged forward, and she dived towards them. Twirling her blade as she reached for her baton strapped to her belt. With the two weapons she managed to hold them off, but it wasn’t long before she had to accept that she was fighting a losing battle.
Shadaya staggered backward, taking a hard kick to the gut, beads of sweat were pouring down her face, drenching her scarf. It wasn’t long before she was down on her knees and staring up at the threatening sword of one of the men, the others standing around her.
“Surrender or lose your head,” came the cold command.
She reached deep, trying to grab hold of the tiniest sliver of power she possessed. It was her last resort. She could remember Henry�
�s direction, it was a like a tine thread waiting to be unraveled, she only needed to focus hard enough to find it. She growled in desperation just before she felt an unusual burst of energy flow through her. The thread! Desperately, she grabbed for it. She grabbed and she pulled hard, in her mind it was like something was unraveling before her. But to her dismay, the figurative thread seemed to unravel too fast, falling in a heap at her feet. She felt the same surge recede, taking with it what felt like the last reserves of her strength.
It was at the exact moment when she was about to release her grip on her sword that the man before her jerked involuntarily. Eyes wide with shock, he reached up and gripped his neck as blood spurted from where a small blade had planted itself. Her vision blurred briefly, as her own will fought against her body’s attempt to give up.
Shadaya did not know exactly what had happened, only that she had summoned enough strength to roll out of the man’s way as he fell forward. Someone else had joined the fight… and maybe they were on her side. She rolled unto her back and groaned, willing herself to get up. With a roar of determination, she pushed herself upward, extending her sword just in time to counter a sword reaching for her neck. She leapt forward now, immobilizing two of the dragon warriors, by slicing at the backs of their legs. She was never keen on taking another life.
When she regained her focus, she noticed that she was no longer fighting alone. Her rescuer was covered from head to toe in black, his entire face was wrapped in cloth leaving a wide enough slit for his eyes. He moved with the grace of a skilled fighter, not in any style she recognized but impressive nonetheless. She was grateful for him taking some of the attention from her, this allowed her to regain some level of control over the fight. They fought hard, and though they were complete strangers, they were in sync. A lull in the fight brought them back to back with each other.
As they circled around, swords held out, Shadaya spoke.
Shadaya: Out of Darkness (Gemstone Royals) Page 13