Stolen Crown

by Shawn Wickersheim

  And exploded.

  Sizzling chunks of meat rained down across the room as Garett tumbled out of the gory mess and landed neatly on his feet beside him. He used a sleeve to wipe the ichor from his face and when he saw Kylpin staring down at him, he flashed a grim smile.

  “That might teach it to leave me alone.” Garett’s eyebrows suddenly arched, and he pointed. “Sword!”

  Kylpin ducked the swinging blade but another blow came in high once he straightened and it grazed his cheek. The cut wasn’t deep, but it was enough to remind him of a lesson he’d taught Tyran years ago.

  Keep your head in a fight or you may lose it.

  With enemies on either side of them, the chances of surviving the brawl quickly went from bad to worse. And with the potential use of the Hellgate as an escape route no longer viable, Kylpin was rapidly running out of ideas. The only option left was for them to scale down the outside of the tower with no climbing gear.

  Or continue fighting and pray to the gods that Josephine had somehow survived her trip to Hell and had put an end to Lord Ragget.

  Neither inspired much hope, but Kylpin had come this far, it seemed a shame not to see it through to the bitter end. The only bright spot now seemed to be that the tentacles tended to avoid the fire mage, so he, Edgar and Philson crowded around Garett and together, they fought their way over to one side of the room where they could find some cover behind the line of columns. Only Denton remained where he was, standing firm against both the advancing Knights and the hungry tentacles.

  For a moment or two, Kylpin watched, mesmerized by Denton’s blade work. For a stout man, he was surprisingly light on his feet, and his sword slashed through Knights almost as easily as it cut through slimy flesh. Metal and gore piled up around him and still he fought on, occasionally making a cry, or a grunt, but otherwise he fought in an eerie teeth-clenching silence. Kylpin decided he would rejoin Denton, decided if he were going to make a last stand he’d make it next to that man. Just as he was about to dash back across the room, Philson dragged out his pipes and began playing a lively tune. The melody seemed oddly familiar to Kylpin and then it came to him. It was another variation of the song Josephine had taught them earlier.

  The Knights responded to the tune by ignoring Denton and charging straight toward the Hellgate. Perhaps sensing the change in the battle’s direction, the nine remaining tentacles regrouped. Four wrapped around columns while another four reared in front of the Hellgate. The last shot toward the ceiling and then suddenly reversed course, coming back so quickly it caught Denton by surprise. The blow struck him square in the chest and knocked him backwards. He slammed into the wall beside the doors and collapsed in a heap.

  The front ranks of Knights were only yards away from the Hellgate when the tentacles wrapped around the columns snapped taut. The tower shuddered and there was a deep groaning from far below. Suddenly, a hideous, spade-shaped head about the size of a small cabin emerged from the Hellgate. The demon looked like some gigantic and demented cross between an ant and a squid with a shiny black carapace hood and dozens of cold, ice-blue eyes. It gazed dispassionately at the approaching Knights, opened its fanged maw and screamed. The cry stopped the Knights cold, shattered every window in the room and forced Kylpin to his knees. He grabbed for his ears, but even covered he couldn’t escape the hideous noise.

  With a determined expression etched into his lean face, Philson stayed on his feet and kept playing. Once the demon’s scream ended, the Knights resumed their reckless charge. Kylpin’s joy at seeing the Knights swarm over the monstrously large demon was short-lived though when he noticed their swords merely clanking and clattering against its huge armored head. The beast opened its mouth wide again, but this time instead of screaming, it spat a vile green substance on the nearest Knight. Immediately, the polished breastplate and helmet began to dissolve. A horrid stench filled the room.

  Kylpin gagged as he ran to where Denton lay. The burly guard was battered and bloody and bruised, but amazingly still alive. With a grunt, he grabbed Kylpin’s outstretched hand and climbed unsteadily to his feet. He eyed the demon warily. It was slowly heaving more and more of itself into the room as it continued to dissolve Knights. “How do you propose we stop that?” he grumbled.

  “I don’t think we can, my friend,” Kylpin admitted. “Look how quickly that stuff eats through metal.”

  “And ain’t none of us wearing armor,” Edgar said. A red welt rose on his cheek where a tentacle had struck him.

  “Exactly my point,” Kylpin said.

  “We can try to close the Hellgate,” Garett offered.

  “No,” Edgar argued. “We’ve gotta get Jo outta there first.”

  “I agree, my friend,” Kylpin said. “But how do you propose we do that?”

  Edgar winced and shook his head. “I don’t know. Magic ain’t exactly my strong suit.”

  The three turned to Garett expectantly. The fire mage stared back at them, his youthful face looking haggard and worn. A chunk of burnt tentacle still rested on his right shoulder. “What? As far as I can tell, Lord Ragget combined the four elemental magics with . . . I don’t know. Some other kind of spell . . .”

  “Can you stop it?” Kylpin asked.

  “Stop it?” Garett grimaced. “I’m not even sure what he did.”

  “But you do magic,” Edgar said.

  “That doesn’t make me an expert on all the other magics in the world.”

  “Ain’t there anything you can do to help Jo?”

  Garett looked at Philson. “He might know better than me.”

  “I think he’s a bit busy right now, what with him keeping the Knights and the Demon occupied so we can have this apparently pointless conversation,” Kylpin said. While the third rank of Knights were little more than scattered boots now, the fourth and fifth ranks had tried a different approach with both attacking the demon’s flanks. Its armor was thinner there and the demon bled from a couple dozen gashes, though it seemed unconcerned with all its oozing wounds.

  “Maybe if I . . .” Garett started.

  “What?!” Kylpin demanded.

  “I could try to . . . subtract the fire portion of the spell,” Garett said. “Maybe if I unbalance it enough, the spell will collapse on its own.”

  “Is that safe?” Edgar asked.

  “No. It’s never safe to interrupt a spell like that.”

  Edgar grabbed the fire mage by his shirt front. “Can we get Jo outta there or not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’ve been saying that a lot,” Edgar said. “Can you do it, yes or no?”

  “Maybe.” Garett pushed Edgar’s hands away. “I wish I could say yes, but there’s really no telling what could happen once the spell starts to fail.”

  “Do it, my friend,” Kylpin said.

  “No wait,” Edgar shouted. “I ain’t gonna stand by and let Jo get hurt. She’s in there all alone.”

  “What more can we do, my friend?” Kylpin asked. “I’m out of ideas.”

  Edgar cast about, his frustration evident on his still-battered face. “Dammit all. I got nothing. I just know we can’t abandon her.”

  “Unfortunately, my friend, I think that ship has already sailed.”

  Edgar whirled around, fists clenched. “What the hell you mean by that?!”

  Kylpin held up his hands. “All I mean is maybe we should have charged in after her right from the start instead of hesitating like we did.” He glanced at the Hellgate. “That young lady is braver than the lot of us put together.”

  Edgar’s face reddened but he said nothing more.

  Philson misplayed a note and the sour tone sent a chill down Kylpin’s spine. A pair of Knights stopped attacking the demon and pivoted around to face them instead. Philson wet his lips. The haunting melody started up again, but after only a few notes, he stopped. His bony face was streaked with sweat and he stood there panting.

  “I . . . uh, uh . . .” His stick-like arms drooped. “I need to e
at . . .”

  “You picked a fine time to get hungry,” Denton grumbled.

  Philson’s hollowed cheeks blushed and he bowed his head. “I . . . uh, uh . . . really need to eat,” he muttered.

  “Leave him alone,” Kylpin said. Six functioning Knights marched back across the room. Most were streaked with filth and slime and all showed signs of spittle decay. Behind them, the demonic creature heaved more of its great bulk forward, straining to free itself completely.

  “Garett!” Kylpin called out as he, Denton and Edgar rushed forward to meet the Knights. “Close the gate!”

  “One moment.” Garett swallowed the last of his charred wood and concentrated on the fiery chandelier overhead. The flames were oddly entwined with the other foreign magics in patterns he didn’t recognize. He doubted if even Delila would have recognized the spell. He winced. Oh, she would have punished him for such a thought!

  He hastily constructed eight fire traps in his mind. They wouldn’t be nearly enough to hold all the fire, but it might be just enough to tip the balance away from Ragget’s spell.

  “Garett!” Kylpin shouted. He traded blows with two of the Knights while dodging a tentacle. “Close the gate, now!”

  Garett stretched his arms out wide and summoned the fire. The flames would answer his call, the spell would end, the demonic creature would be pulled back into hell, the gate would close, and with any luck, Josephine would be spat out in the process. In theory, it should work.

  Except, it didn’t happen that way at all.

  Garett summoned the fire and his greatest fear was realized.

  Nothing happened.

  chapter 55

  Tyran was experiencing his greatest fear. He was falling.

  Arms flailed. Legs kicked. A scream burbled out of his mouth. His fingers struck something. He grabbed for it, not knowing or caring what it was.

  Rope. Perhaps part of the bridge? It didn’t matter.

  His fingers tightened. A jolt ran through his arms and shoulders. The rope burned his fingers. A knot slammed against his palms. He held on.

  The straight drop began to curve. He swung lower, the ground, and the far building racing each other to strike him first. Down he went until he couldn’t hang on any longer. The rope slipped from his fingers. Moments later, his boots struck the ground and he pitched forward unbalanced. He tumbled head over heels, sky and grass trading places over and over until he struck the wall with his backside and the world finally went still. His body ached all over, but he was all in one piece and grateful to be alive. Groaning, he shifted around until he was sitting upright with his back against the wall.

  High on the other side of the courtyard, Straegar stood on the edge of the unfinished building and glared down at him. His face darkened into a deep scowl and then without a word, the warden turned and inched back the way he had come.

  Tyran struggled to stand. The world continued to spin, and a persistent drumming had started in his skull. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes hoping it would clear his mind. All it did was make him feel more anxious. Straegar was coming, and he still needed to get across the Academy grounds to the mess hall unseen.

  And before the wardens and the Yordician students searched for him there.

  Clutching his wounded arm to his chest, and keeping a shoulder against the wall for balance, Tyran rounded the corner and slowly made his way to the other side of the unfinished wing. From there, he might be able to determine which way the Yordician search party had gone. Had they begun with the training facilities on the south side of campus or the dorms on the north side first?

  He peeked around the next corner and saw the Yordicians pile out of one of the dorms with a small group of Gyunwarians and Dardynians in tow. The foreign students were bound with their hands behind their backs. They were shoved crudely into the center of a grassy knoll before the Yordicians fell on them, hacking them to pieces. The sight sickened Tyran. Students no older than he were slaughtered by other students no older than he while the wardens stood by with smiles on their faces and watched.

  Had this intense rage, this pure hatred simmered just below the surface of peace this entire time? Was this behavior what his father had been fighting against from the start? Had he thought he could change their wicked attitudes with displays of fairness and goodness and moral behavior?

  Tyran chewed on his bottom lip. It was obvious to him now; his father had been wasting his time.

  Keeping low, he headed south, darting across the street to the next nearest building and then the one after that before turning and heading west across the campus to the mess hall. A long time ago, the mess hall had functioned as a watchtower with a viewing platform atop the lone spire. The rest of the building was squat and wide with a kitchen and eating tables on the first floor and old bunks on the second. When Tyran and the remaining members of his household had arrived late last night, Vincent Donner had set them up with blankets and Gertrude had immediately gone to the kitchen and declared it hers.

  After twenty or thirty minutes of running and hiding, Tyran spied the mess hall dead ahead. He staggered across the street and pushed through the doors. The dozen or so men and women left who had once proudly served his father were all sitting at a long table, their midday meal mostly left untouched, their heads bowed. Some were weeping.

  Sebastian, the new healer, was the first to see him standing there, panting hard and bleeding. The tall young man jumped to his feet and rushed to his side while calling for water and bandages.

  Gertrude charged out of the kitchen and her wrinkled face knotted in anger when she saw his injury. With a sweep of her arms, she cleared a nearby table and directed the men to lay him down.

  “There’s no time,” Tyran tried to tell them. “Straegar and wardens and students are . . . are . . . hunting us.”

  Gertrude barked a slew of orders and the men and women jumped at her commands. The doors were barred. The windows closed and covered. Tables were overturned to create barricades. Weapons were retrieved from upstairs. A young maid was dispatched to the viewing platform. By the time this was all done, Sebastian with Alysea’s help, had cleaned and bandaged his wound and had created a sling for his arm.

  “We can’t stay here,” Tyran tried to tell the stubborn old woman again. “They’re too many and we’re too few. They will find us. They will . . .” The slaughter on the grassy knoll made him stumbled over his words. “We need to run and hide before they get here.”

  “Run and hide where?” Gertrude asked.

  “Vincent Donner suggested the northern woods,” Tyran said.

  “And where is the Lord Master?”

  Tyran just shook his head.

  Gertrude turned to Alysea and Sebastian. “Will you two take him to Gyunwar?”

  “Yes, of course,” they both agreed.

  Gertrude gave a curt nod. “We have a couple of horses tied out back,” she told Tyran. “They’re fast. We thought if your father had . . . if there had been an escape . . .” She swallowed hard and her lined mouth puckered up tight. “You two could have made a run for the border.”

  “I don’t want to go with just them,” Tyran protested. “We can all go.”

  Gertrude shook her head. “I’ve already made the trip across the mountains once on foot. I don’t aim to make it again.”

  “But-”

  “I’ll hear no argument from you, young Master,” Gertrude snapped. “Alysea and Sebastian are taking you to Gyunwar and that’s all there is to it.”

  “But he’s a healer and she’s a-”

  Gertrude’s clawed finger shot forward and she nearly stabbed him in the face. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, young Master! It will only confirm you spent more time sneaking into my kitchen and pilfering food than you did on your cultural lessons.”

  Tyran’s cheeks reddened. Admittedly, he was only going to say ‘lady’, but that was because he had forgotten that she was also a Dardynian. He just didn’t think of her in that way. Not l
ike his mother . . . not like the Princess had. The red-haired women of the cold south were warrior trained alongside their men and though most from those lands were no longer the brutal, unsophisticated barbarians of legends, they still maintained many of their old traditions.

  “What about you?” Tyran looked up at the old woman. “What will I do without you?”

  “Starve most likely.” Gertrude helped him off the table, but before he could go, she pulled him into a tight embrace. “Tell Gyunwar what happened here,” she said.

  He nodded.

  She held him out at arm’s length and gave him a hard stare. “Make them understand the truth, not the lies.”

  “I will.”

  She let him go. “Now be gone with you while you still can.”

  The young maid from the platform rushed into the room, her dark eyes wide with fear. “It’s too late!” she cried. “They’re here!”

  chapter 56

  The pounding drums inside Josephine’s head were joined by the shrill hissing of a hundred stringed instruments as Lord Ragget moved closer. A strange gleam glinted in the corners of his violet eyes, and the look he gave her made it feel like she had a thousand insects trapped beneath her skin. She tried to look away from him, to look anywhere else, to look at the hell she’d followed him into, but she was frozen, and the unrelenting cold was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. It was even colder than the winter months spent living in the old tenement building down by the docks. If she shivered, she didn’t know. She’d have even welcomed chattering teeth. At least, that would have been . . . something. Right now, whenever now was since time had lost all sort of meaning to her, she felt like a floating, disembodied head, capable of nothing more than mere thought. Stubbornly, she sent a flurry of commands to her body: move, attack, kill. Kill. Kill!