Stolen Crown

by Shawn Wickersheim

  “Let me guess. You’re the bitch none of my men could catch.”

  Ragget caressed the side of her face, his narrowed gaze following the lingering trail of his fingertips. She couldn’t cringe, but thankfully, she couldn’t feel his touch either. His hand continued south, but once it moved out of her periphery she couldn’t see what he was doing to her. From the sordid look on his face, she could guess though.

  Abruptly, he jerked his hand away as if he’d been stung. “You’re attractive, for a foreigner, but Lipscombe’s taint is still all over you.” His face puckered as if he were sucking on a lemon.

  Josephine wanted to scowl. She was glad she couldn’t blush.

  He looked past her then and an amused grin creased his face. “What a motley assortment of men you brought along with you to . . . what? . . . avenge your family’s deaths? My dear, that was Furland Pervis’s foul-up and from what I understand, you finished him off quite effectively with that deadly crossbow of yours.” He eyed the weapon hanging along her thigh. “Is that the same bow you used to kill your father?”

  Anger and grief washed over her.

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Somehow Ragget leaned in even closer. “You did the world a favor by killing him. Whatever you may think of me, Joseph Hewes was a true villain.”

  LIES! She wanted to scream. All of it was lies.

  “I don’t expect you to take my word on that, but then again, maybe you already know about his shady past?” He looked past her again. “You certainly have surrounded yourself with some rather disreputable characters. Kylpin Caleachey? He’s little more than a pirate and a drug smuggler. Denton Nelson? A former mercenary. I assume Ian only hired him as a favor to his friend Sir Blanton Nelson. Edgar Wilde? From all accounts a rather mediocre thief. Renwick Pendleton also known as Philson or Philson the Fat, a con man who claims his father was Philomel the Nightingale, and finally . . .” He clapped his hands. “A former employee of mine, Garett Navarro. It looks like that out-of-control, mass murdering fire mage is up to no good again. What is he doing there? Is he trying to cast a spell? Oh . . . we can’t let that happen, can we? The last time he worked for me, he not only burned Ian Weatherall’s warehouse, but he also destroyed Kylpin’s ship and his entire crew.”

  Josephine tried to blot out his words, but they bore into her mind, took root and her doubt started to grow. She knew Edgar was a thief, but he only stole when he truly had to . . . at least . . . that’s what he had told her. As for the other men . . .

  Ragget started to laugh. “Oh! It looks like Kylpin Caleachey overheard me and he didn’t know the truth about Garett Navarro. You really must see this!”

  Josephine’s stomach flip-flopped as the gray world wheeled around her until she was facing back the way she had come. The throne room was cast in shades of black and white as if all the color had bled away. A bulky, foul-looking creature protruded from the gate in front of her, and between it, its snapping tentacles and the remaining Knights, Denton, Philson and Edgar had their hands full. Kylpin had lifted Garett off his feet by the back of his collar. At first, Josephine thought the Seneician was going to toss the fire mage into the Hellgate, but instead, he thrust the young man head first into the water trough. Garett’s arms and feet flailed wildly. The muscles in Kylpin’s bronze arms corded.

  The scene spiraled away, and Josephine found herself facing Ragget again, only this time, she didn’t feel so numb. Something was different. Something had changed. Very faintly, she felt a prickling sensation in her arms and legs. How or why it was happening, she didn’t care. Her body was coming back to life.

  “Or perhaps you want to punish me for Ian Weatherall’s death?” Ragget droned. “Or stop me from fulfilling my destiny?” He shook his head and gave her a patronizing grin. “There is just so much you don’t understand. My ancestor is Chondalt. This is his realm. I’ve followed his instructions and I’ve entered his domain. In return, he will grant me a godly favor and I shall use my new powers to rule the world.”

  He cupped his ear and cocked his head to one side. “What’s that you say? How could I be so . . . evil?” He laughed. “You know, you’re starting to sound like Ian. He asked me the same thing before his torture began. Shall I tell you what we did to him?”

  Josephine really didn’t want to know, but the ‘we’ made her curious. Who else was helping Lord Ragget?

  “Shall I tell you how we invaded his mind and tore his memories apart?”

  “No . . .” Josephine’s hands shot forward and she drove both of her bloody knives straight into his chest. “I’d rather tell you how you’re going to die.”

  chapter 57

  Delila had always warned him he would die in water.

  Ragget’s words had barely escaped the Hellgate when Garett felt a hand on the back of his neck. His dirty secret was out!

  “I’m sorry!” he cried as he was lifted off the ground and propelled across the room. “I didn’t know . . .”

  Cold water engulfed his head. His words were lost. Garett thrashed against the arm holding him down. Frigid water pressed against his face, his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his throat, and wormed its way inside him. He fought his urge to scream. He couldn’t let more water inside him!

  He had to get away. He had to get out of the water. Just before Ragget had spilled the truth about him, Garett had realized his mistake with his magic. It was a simple mistake, and one he’d already made a couple of times over the past few days, but to his credit, Delila had always taken care of that part before.

  The fire had needed a lure.

  Before, Delila would have danced on his outstretched palm and the fire would have responded like suitors chasing after a prize. Now, he had nothing to offer except his flesh. His burnt pinky finger should have been a reminder!

  With such tantalizing bait, the fire had surged away from the chandelier, but before it could begin feasting on him, he had used his fire traps. Each now were filled near bursting. It was at this point in his delicate spell-casting that Ragget’s voice had escaped from the Hellgate. Whether the Yordician lord was spilling ugly truths or merely spinning hateful lies about the other men, Garett didn’t know, but when he’d heard the other man reveal the horrible truth about his past crimes, he’d cringed. This was not how he’d wanted Kylpin to learn about him!

  His lungs ached.

  He needed air. He needed to breathe. He needed to release the fire trapped inside him!

  Yes, he had destroyed Kylpin’s life. There was no getting around that. He’d expected a beating. He would have accepted a beating. It was the very least of what he deserved.

  But this . . .?

  This water!

  The fire churned inside him like a great furnace. He couldn’t hold it back much longer. It needed to be let out. The traps wouldn’t hold the flames forever. Eventually, they would fail. He could feel his grasp over them starting to erode.

  He needed to escape!

  He tried to twist free. Kylpin would have none of it.

  Garett’s anger flared. He had shown restraint. He could have fought back. He could have burned Kylpin the moment he’d touched him, but he hadn’t. He was a changed man. A changed man! He was trying to make amends for all the wrong he’d done. For all the hurt and misery he’d created. For all the lives he had taken. He was trying to do what he thought was right!

  But . . . water? WATER!

  He screamed fire. Angry clouds of steam rose around his head. The hand behind his neck jerked away. Garett came up sputtering and spitting. His red-glowing eyes immediately found the Seneician. Before, when Delila ruled him and his emotions, he would have loosed the remainder of his magic on the lone man. He would have burned him to a crisp and enjoyed watching his flesh turn black. And he wouldn’t have stopped there. He would have kept the fire going until the Seneician had turned to ash.

  Instead, he turned his anger on the Knights, blasting them across the room where they melted into so many lumps of metal. The demon from hel
l felt his fiery wrath next. Flames danced along its slick black skin as it screamed and screamed. Its many eyes rolled wildly in their sockets and it heaved its great bulk back toward the Hellgate. Chunks of charred, oily flesh dripped off the creature and stained the tessellated floor black.

  But Garett wasn’t quite done yet. Before the demon could escape, he unloaded the rest of the trapped fire straight down the creature’s open maw. The black body expanded, its slick skin stretching, stretching until it exploded in a horrific display of blood and gore.

  Garett slumped at the edge of the water trough, his mouth hanging slack. Water and blood dripped from his nose, his chin, and his eyelashes. He gasped for air. His lungs felt scorched. His insides scraped raw. The pain would come soon, but for this moment, he relished in what he had done. He knew he’d done something right.

  Kylpin’s fist connected with the side of his jaw, and he flopped sideways. The last thing he saw as the darkness closed in around him was Edgar running toward the shimmering gate.

  chapter 58

  “Can we escape out the back?” Tyran asked.

  Alysea shook her head. “The building is surrounded.”

  “Maybe . . .” Tyran’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Maybe he’ll let the rest of you go if I surrender. He really only wants me.”

  “If he lays a finger on you,” Gertrude showed him a long, wicked-looking knife. “I’ll gut him.”

  “No,” Tyran said. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt. Not on my account.”

  “Bastard!” Straegar shouted from somewhere near the front door. “Are you in there?” The door rattled against the lock. “Open up!”

  Before Tyran could answer, Gertrude put a hand over his mouth. “Don’t let on you’re in here.”

  He shoved her hand away. “I told you I won’t let anyone else get hurt.”

  “Those are brave words, boy, but pride won’t save you now.”

  “I know,” Tyran said softly. He looked up at the wrinkled old woman. “I . . .” He fought to keep his lower lip from trembling. “I just want . . .”

  “I know. You want your father back. So do I, boy.”

  Tyran blinked back tears. “I want to be with him,” he whispered.

  “Don’t you say that!” Gertrude’s face hardened. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

  “But-”

  Her hand snaked out and she slapped him across the cheek. “No! I won’t hear that kind of talk coming from a Weatherall, do you hear me?”

  Tyran swallowed the lump in his throat. His cheek burned. “What would you know about Weatheralls? You’re just a cook.”

  It was a childish statement and as soon as it left his lips, Tyran knew he was wrong to say it. He’d spoken out of anger, his tongue getting ahead of his brain.

  “Your great grandfather said that to me once.” Gertrude held up a crooked finger. “Once.”

  “I’m sorry, Gertrude, I . . .”

  The door rattled again. “Bastard, this is your last chance. Come out now.”

  Tyran raised his head and met Gertrude’s steely gaze. “No!” he shouted back. “If you want me, you’ll have to come in here and get me.”

  The door rattled once more and then they all heard footsteps walk away.

  “Maybe they’re givin’ up.” Umdan, the big smelly scullion muttered. He was holding an axe in each hand.

  “Don’t count on it,” Gertrude snapped.

  Tyran shook his head. A handful of servants stood no chance against Straegar and his small army of wardens and military-trained students.

  “Gertrude, this is madness,” Tyran tried again. “We’ll all be killed.”

  The old woman glanced back at him, a dangerous glint in her eye. “Perhaps so, but if we’re going to go out, I’m going to make damn sure to take a few of them with me.”

  “Fire the building!” Straegar bellowed. “Let none escape!”

  chapter 59

  Lightning ripped across Hell’s black sky. Cold rain struck Josephine’s face. Ragget glanced down at the knives buried in his chest before shooting her an incredulous look. “What makes you think you can kill me? I’m invincible.”

  Josephine twisted both knives. Metal grated against bone. Ragget winced. He grabbed her wrists and leaned in close. His hot breath stank of something sour and rotted. She tried to move away, to stab him again, to do, something, but he wouldn’t allow it. She was trapped by his surprising strength.

  Until he grunted and pushed her away.

  She tottered backwards, catching her balance just as she reached the edge of the circular platform. The grass was gone; the disc was a barren rock, black like the choppy sea. She glanced at the dark waters behind her and saw something pale and large and unrecognizable swimming, circling beneath the surface. A white unmoving eye stared back at her. A chill crept up her spine.

  “What is this?” Ragget’s harsh voice drew her attention around. His brow furrowed. He prodded his chest and his fingers came away bloody. He glared across at her, his violet eyes alight with anger and confusion. “What did you do?”

  Josephine lifted her twin knives. Ragget’s blood dripped from their blades now. “I delivered a gift from my husband.”

  “Your husband? Who’s your husband? What are you talking about?”

  “Lord Ian-”

  “You married him?”

  She nodded. “Lord Ian’s wounds had been treated with a poisonous substance which discouraged healing. Before he died, Ian asked me to share a bit of it with you. I watched him die in excruciating pain. I hope to see you do the same.”

  A black storm cloud of rage darkened Ragget’s face as his eyes darted back and forth, as if he was searching for an answer written somewhere in the empty space in front of him. “That old wizard betrayed me . . .” His eyes suddenly focused on her. “And you, you bitch!” he spat. “You went to all this trouble, for nothing.” He raised his hands as if showing off Hell. “I cannot die here. This is my domain now.”

  “Your domain?” a sultry voice asked before Josephine said a word.

  A tall, voluptuous woman appeared at the edge of the disc halfway between them. Her short black dress looked to be made of snakeskin and what little there was of it hugged her curves as if it were a second skin. She sauntered toward Ragget, hips swaying, her head cocked slightly to one side. “Your domain?” she said again.

  Ragget’s mouth opened. He blinked. He cleared his throat. His hands dropped away from his wounded chest. “I . . .” He cleared his throat again. “I mean to say . . .” His honeyed cultured tone sounded crude compared to this woman’s velvety voice. “Chondalt is my ancestor.”

  The woman circled him slowly, trailing her fingers up his arm. She stopped immediately behind him and looked over his shoulder at Josephine. Shadows veiled most of her face, but her full red lips were bright and red and when she smiled, they pulled back wide revealing twin rows of sharp, white teeth. “So?”

  “So?” Ragget’s face reddened. “So . . . so I followed his words. I am here to . . . to . . . claim my . . . godly prize . . .”

  The woman’s hand crept down his chest and two long tapered fingers slipped inside his wounds. He gasped. Her smile grew wider; the corners of her lips nearly reaching her ears. Josephine shuddered. She lowered her knives and watched unable to look away.

  The woman removed her fingers from his chest and casually sucked the bloody tips into her too-wide mouth. For a second, Josephine thought she saw a forked tongue. The woman’s eyes rolled back, and she gave a lustful sigh. Goosebumps rose along Josephine’s arms.

  “A prize, you say?” The woman tapped her lips in thought. “Your blood has a delicious mix of nobility, eternal sin and godly poison. I think perhaps I’ll keep you around as a pretty, pretty decanter.”

  Ragget’s brow furrowed again. “No . . .” He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.” His mouth curled in anger. “Who are you anyway? Where’s Chondalt?”

  “You’re telling me, no?”


  The woman’s playful tone was gone. The choppy seas churned. Josephine glanced behind her again. The strange pale creature thrashed along the edge of the platform, and beyond it, at the edge of the dark horizon, she could just make out a hint of the throne room again. The hazy bright edge of the living world moved steadily toward her. She saw blasts of fire and then Kylpin slugged Garett.

  “Where’s Chondalt?” Ragget demanded. “Where’s the Lord of Darkness!”

  “The two are no longer one and the same,” the woman replied. “He is gone, and I am the Mistress of Hell now.”

  The cold harsh light of the living world swept over the platform as the Hellgate collapsed. Edgar suddenly appeared beside her. He was running hard and when he slammed into her, he knocked her clear out of the grassy circle. She landed on the marble floor and slid to a stop not far from where Garett lay. His eyes were closed. His mouth was open. Smoke wafted up from between his parted lips. The anger on Kylpin’s face melted when he saw her returned.

  “You’re alive!” he said.

  A furious roar interrupted their reunion. They turned and spied Lord Ragget standing tall in the center of the platform. Blood stained the front of his shirt. His blond hair was a wild straggling mop, but it was the unbound rage flashing in his violet eyes that caught their attention. He pointed a finger at Josephine.

  “All this shit is your fault!” He drew his sword. “And it ends. NOW!”

  Ragget started forward. Edgar leapt up from where he had fallen and plunged his long knife deep into Ragget’s belly. The Yordician lord ignored the blade, grabbed Edgar around the throat and lifted him off his feet.