Heir of Lies (Black Dawn Series Book 1)

by Mallory McCartney

  Chapter Ten

  Memphis

  Memphis hated traveling by horseback. His legs were numb, his pants having chaffed burns onto his inner thighs. His shaking hands gripped the reins as his steed followed the breakneck pace, the hooves around him rolling like thunder.

  Brokk rode beside him, looking worse than he felt.

  The hours had quickly bled in to having no meaning. The scenery was a churning organism of blurred colors, rolling hills, dense forest, and more rolling plains. It was wild and unbound, the cool wind pricking his skin into numbness.

  His breaths came out in misty puffs as the sun quickly sank into the horizon. The chill in the air sank into the marrow of his bones, and Memphis could practically taste the change in the air. Arching his shoulders inwards and gritting his teeth against the wind, every tactical training class and lesson kicked into high gear within him.

  Because as much as Brokk liked to turn a blind eye to the facts, being able to protect innocents meant being prepared to handle situations like this one. Being able to beat men like Cesan meant being a talented soldier.

  Mud flecked his mount’s side, and they ploughed through soft earth, chunks flying around them. Brokk raised his eyebrows as he steered his mount closer to his left side, their gallops falling into unison. Memphis felt the presence on his right before he looked. Tadeas must have looped around the side to the back of the group, then cut through the middle.

  The King of the Shattered Isles grinned wolfishly at them. His pale green hair flew behind him, his eyes shining with mischief. He dipped his head in acknowledgement before pushing his white mare faster, ripping forward with a speed and grace Memphis had rarely seen. Dread clawed through him, swift and unrelenting.

  Why had Roque decided to trust him? The King bled with dark authority, arrogance, and cunning. Voices slammed against Memphis’s iron walls locked around his mind, begging to be let in. It would be easy to let those guards down and find out the truths he wanted.

  Growling under his breath, he squeezed his legs against the horses’ heaving sides. Shooting forward, faster. Memphis wasn’t going to be the monster half of the world saw them as - that his parents had seen him as.

  He hadn’t been back to the capital since all those years ago as a young boy. Lost, wandering the bustling streets filled with art merchants, traders, and remnants of Camden’s, Roque’s father’s, loyal men. Memphis remembered the rumors that had floated around his mind, secrets at his disposal. Secrets that he hadn’t understood then but had kept locked away, the memories tugging at him now.

  That day, before he was taken to the Academy, the world was buzzing about the death of Camden, how he had mysteriously dropped at his dinner table. No health problems. No sign of tampering. Nothing. His court had frantically scattered, disappearing on the wind, leaving conflict between governments.

  Leaving Roque to play the savior, to brandish the Academy with welcoming arms after years of fighting against his father. Memphis hadn’t forgotten that one emotion roaring through Camden’s guards that day.

  One of betrayal.

  Sluggish memories came into his mind’s eye, fear slithering through him. That day, almost eleven years ago, Memphis had overheard Camden’s men stirring, anger burning deep toward Roque Fae and the murmurings about how the prince had finally chosen his path. His love over his blood ties. It was like unblocking a dam, the emotions, the clipped conversation slamming into him. He had looked around, wondering if the panic was evident behind his eyes, if anyone had seen his revelation. That Roque had somehow managed to kill his own father.

  Had Memphis just as blindly played into the Faes’ motives? Like so many others, he had been cut off from his family, scared and dangerous. That Academy had never been just a school for him but a lifeline. A place where he could learn control. He had buried those memories down into an iron vault, not thinking of Sarthaven until now.

  Because if Roque Fae was willing to have spun lies and killed his father for the Academy, how far was he willing to go to protect it? How much loss would he justify for the greater good?

  Memphis knew, without a doubt, that Camden had deserved his end. He had cast the world into a madness that wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

  Chewing his bottom lip, he wondered how much Roque was willing to sacrifice to rise to be King.

  The thought clung to him, loud and ugly. Its claws sank deeply, erupting chaos as scenarios ran through his mind. He could feel every mile behind him, the distance between Emory and him searing into him.

  Just find the truth.

  Dusk clung to their surroundings, washing the world in a dreamy haze. Deep violets and blues chased away the golden hues of the day as the forest thinned before them. A sharp whistle cut through the air, and their horses slowed from a gallop to a canter, and finally slowing to a walk.

  Hissing through his teeth at the momentum change, his muscles ached deeply.

  Tadeas’s voice boomed over them, “We will camp here tonight. We are about an hour from Sarthaven.”

  They snapped into action, his group dismounting first. The teachers from the Academy flanked together, talking quietly. Professor Iasan, tactical training. Professor Whilms, ability assessment. Professor Remre, weapons specialist.

  Memphis froze as he looked at the most ruthless teachers of the Academy. It made sense; they had no idea what would be waiting for them in the capital. They needed them here with a potential battle looming. Yet, the back of his neck tingled with foreboding.

  “Well, you look like you have seen about ten ghosts in the last minute.”

  Brokk limped up to him, his horse much more relaxed around his presence than a couple of hours ago. Memphis loosened his feet from the stirrups, lowering himself onto solid ground. Hot pain laced through him as he practically fell off, his mount whinnying nervously.

  “Next time, I am shifting to travel.” Brokk clapped his shoulder.

  “Must be nice,” Memphis muttered under his breath, which made Brokk chortle. The happiness was quickly lost as Brokk fell in stride with him. “I don’t trust this lot. What are we going to do?”

  “We are going to play the faithful students of the Academy. But I agree. It’s time to find out what is really going on here. I’m not sure...I think you might be right about Roque.”

  Brokk raised an eyebrow at him. “Why the change of heart?”

  Two men from Tadeas’s group gathered their mounts, whispering to the horses in soothing tones as they led them to the babbling stream at the forest’s edge.

  Memphis rubbed his frozen hands together. “I remembered something I had...attained with my ability before I was brought to the Academy. When I was a kid. I just think there is more to Roque than our best interest.”

  Brokk nodded but didn’t push for more. Tents were being pitched around them and fires being lit, as the chatter of the camp broke out. No one noticed them as they slung their packs over their shoulders and navigated to the far corner of the camp.

  Absentmindedly Brokk grabbed a tent and poles, murmuring, “Do we deal with Roque when we get back?”

  Sighing, he shrugged. “We have to be careful about how we go about this. Emory is our best friend.”

  “I know.” Brokk said.

  Memphis felt heat flush his cheeks. The memory of Emory’s lips against his ignited him, hope bubbling in his chest. When they made it back, he daydreamed of what he would say to her. He didn’t care if she was a princess; titles were nothing compared to belonging to another human. Emory had enraptured him in every sense of the word.

  “Memphis! Brokk!”

  Turning, Memphis saw flaming red hair cut through the crowd. Alby, a bit out of breath, ran up to them grinning. “Am I ever glad to see you both here. Come on, let’s catch up.”

  The three of them turned, Alby chattering away, as Memphis shot Brokk a glare, his ability wrapping around him as he stated in his mind, “We will talk more later.”

  Brokk waggled his eyebrows at his tone, making Memphis s
hoot him a vulgar gesture that made him bark out a laugh.

  Falling into step with Alby, the three of them set out to make camp.

  ***

  Embers floated up, twisting and churning through the bleak night, as they sat around the fire. Propping himself up against a decayed log they had found, Memphis eyed the other side of the camp warily. Tadeas’s men were roaring with laughter, having broken out some ale. On their left, the teachers and seniors from the Academy watched their animated chatter with darkened gazes.

  It would seem they weren’t the only ones who didn’t trust the King from across the Black Sea.

  Brokk passed him the dried-out meat and water jug they had acquired from Tadeas. An hour before, Tadeas had hungrily taken in his best friend like a prized possession, ignoring him and Alby. Memphis exhaled through his nose as he took a deep swig.

  Running a hand through his flaming hair, Alby whispered, “How far do you think Cesan will go?”

  Brokk snapped his attention to Alby. “Who knows, Alb? Cesan has made his decision, and we have to go through with ours.”

  The unsaid words hung in between them all.

  Staring into the flames, Memphis tried to find his answers in the flickering oranges and pulsing embers. The tides of Kiero were churning. Now, a battle loomed, caused by two friends over spite and power.

  How many would die before the Faes were sated?

  Turning his gaze upward, he took in the starless night. Deep, never-ending clouds had whisked away any trace of them. It felt like the entire world was holding its breath. Maybe it was. In the end, it wouldn’t matter.

  Memphis knew he should tell Brokk about that day in Sarthaven. About the whispers of Roque and Camden. Rolling his shoulders, he said, “I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

  Brokk raised an eyebrow, sensing his turmoil. Alby nodded, saying goodnight, and Memphis grabbed his pack and weapons, stiffly making his way to the tent.

  Groaning, he threw the flap back and lowered himself onto the floor, pulling his jacket tighter around him, using his pack as a pillow. Breathing deeply, his eyelids fluttered closed, and his body slowly uncoiled, muscle by muscle. The voices of the camp became a distant hum, as Memphis fell deeper into his exhaustion, but his ability was waiting for him at the other end.

  It was like sharp talons shredding his barricade, his dark desires throwing all he had into the action. Memphis flinched, his eyes flying open, and a cold sweat broke out over his skin. He felt each wall dissipate, breaking to his will. His world tilted sickly, and he was pulled under.

  He was a hunter prowling, swiftly and surely. It took him seconds before his ability curled around Tadeas’s mind.

  No. no. NO!

  He was scrambling, trying to throw those walls back up. His ability shattered through Tadeas’s mind with ease and precision. The King was talking adamantly to his companions and had no idea that Memphis was swept into the depths of his consciousness, searching and reaping.

  He was obliterated in the current of memories and thoughts, pushed under them. His power shifted through the unnecessary details like a bloodhound on a scent. He now had one intention, and he would not fail. Emotions and images flew by him until a name started echoing through him. Roque. Roque. Roque.

  Memphis was slammed into the memory, and everything he knew bled away.

  Roque slammed his hand on the oak table, breathing hard, looking completely unhinged. Tadeas raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms. “How are we going to trust one another, Roque, when you won’t break away from the mistakes of the past?”

  He laughed darkly, shaking as he sized him up. “What happened with my father has nothing to do with the situation at hand. You waltz in here, expecting not only me, but my family and my school, to bow to your every demand?”

  Tadeas became very still. “We have bowed to Kiero’s demands for years. I have watched my people, people that I love, be shackled, enslaved, and destroyed. I’m not asking for your bleeding government. I’m asking for your trust. Allow us to build together, Roque. You and I both know how precarious your situation has now become. Do not allow one man to destroy it.”

  Roque frowned, staring at the polished oak as if he would find his answers. “He is my best friend.”

  “Who has now put your world at stake.”

  Roque raised his gaze. “There are innocents in Sarthaven. They will get caught in the crossfire if I go through with this. Cesan is too cunning and knows me too well. He will expect me to uphold my word in giving justice with a fair trial.”

  Tadeas smiled sadly. “No one said achieving the greater good was going to be easy. People will die, but it won’t be for nothing. We need each other as allies. Cesan will expect a trial, but what he won’t foresee is our allegiance. Let me end him.”

  Roque snarled. “And what do you expect in return?”

  Tadeas smoothed the front of his jacket, clucking his tongue. “As I said, I want our trading routes reinstated. I am here to compromise, not to threaten you. We can both keep our secrets and uphold our life, Roque.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  He smirked. “Sailors gather a lot of information on their travels. Let’s just say you are a hot topic amongst the Shattered Isles.”

  Roque paled, chewing his lower lip. “I don’t want to enter another war.”

  Tadeas nodded. “Leave it to me. We will bait Cesan, and then it will be done.”

  Memphis collided back into the present so hard he rolled over and emptied the contents of his stomach. Gasping for breath, he threw up his iron walls, sealing them tight, and the well of voices quieted until it was just him.

  But then he noticed how silent it was outside the tent.

  The hairs on his arm rose, and Memphis silently stood, slinging his pack over his shoulder and unsheathing his weathered sword. Everything made sense. How hard Tadeas pushed them to reach the capital, how loud they were being. It was practically ensuring Cesan would come sniffing. To fall into the King’s trap. Only for Tadeas to kill him with no chance of justice.

  Rage ripped through Memphis at how fast Roque had risked them all, had bent to the claim of being King.

  What did Cesan know?

  What was Roque afraid of being found?

  Cursing, he pushed the thoughts down for now. The firelight danced outside, and he could see Brokk and Alby’s silhouettes, their voices a low murmur.

  Settling into what felt like a restless sleep, Memphis sighed. Closing his eyes, a sound cut through the night so suddenly, the hair on his arms stood on end. Eyes flashing open the howling was distant at first, a low humming in the night. Lurching out of the tent, Memphis’s heart leapt into his throat. His breath was misty puffs in front of him.

  Brokk and Alby were standing as well, swords out, faces drawn. Squinting into the bleak night, he tried to make out what was making the sound. On the horizon, nothing stirred. Bringing his sword in front of him, he exhaled slowly, gripping the handle with white knuckles.

  The sound of hundreds of thundering footsteps filled the night as his heart dropped into his stomach.

  It was the same effect as losing all sense of clarity. The lurching panic and then helplessness, as you grappled to hold on to anything. The screaming started first, at the north end of the camp, as Memphis took in what was causing the chaos.

  Their bodies were like sleek armored plates, gleaming and muscular. Their elongated torsos were like serpents, twisting and flexing as they propelled forward with long black legs. Their bald bodies shimmered like water against the fading firelight, reflecting their drooling maws and inky teeth. Their orange eyes gleamed with madness as they cut through tents and bodies.

  Memphis had heard of creatures of dark ancient magic before; ones that were told to children as myths to scare them. But as he saw the first monster rip the throat out of one of Tadeas’s men, this was the furthest thing from bedtime stories of old.

  Terror gripped Memphis as Brokk threw himself forward, shifting in o
ne motion, and his colossal paws rumbled, shaking the earth. Alby in one motion, became invisible; roars rose from the creatures as he assaulted them, unseen.

  Everything moved in slow motion. Memphis felt himself take in the numbers of monsters as they poured into the camp, their rage and might crashed into their own.

  It was a battle of tyrants.

  Yelling, Memphis bounded forward, his ability already two steps ahead of him, reacting to his fear. Wielding it like a sword, Memphis slashed his ability into the minds of the monsters, his talons sinking into their wills. Simultaneously, Memphis held their bodies, ten at a time, as Brokk made his killing blows.

  Blood trickled from Memphis’s nose when, screaming, he let go, moving with his blade. Slashing, his steel cut into the side of the creatures closest to him, blackened blood spurting over his face. Ducking, Memphis parried another onslaught of attack, raising his blade as talons swiped toward his chest. Panting, his ability reacted, unbinding the creatures mind as it fell, twitching in front of him.

  He was a darkened duet of body and ability, the two forces creating a lethal harmony.

  Their inky talons and severed bodies filled his senses as he heard the King of the Shattered Isles roar.

  Memphis’s consciousness slid into Brokk’s, “Brokk. The Isles.”

  They were one unit, had always been one. The giant wolf before him flung himself onto one of the creature’s backs, his talons digging into the black flesh. The anguish of the monster’s cry split through Memphis, adding to his adrenaline. This was too convenient. Too easy. These creatures born from the night had known where they would be.

  Memphis ran. Blood curdling screams surrounded him, and to his left, a man was crying. To his right, a student was screaming as a monster slowly tore into his arm socket, his blood spurting over them both. The smell of smoke clung to his lungs as bile seared his throat, spilling through his lips. But through his panic, Memphis didn’t stop.