by Olive Creed
He ran a hand over his face and through his hair, ending with scratching the back of his neck. “Um, well... I expect you’re wondering if you should fight back or surrender? Your Majesty?” He added the last part hastily. When Torrin nodded, he continued. “Well, to be honest, sire, you’re in a heap of trouble.”
Torrin and Ryan exchanged glances. “How so?”
“Corynth is a cruel man,” he said quietly. “He’ll swarm in with his men and kill anyone he deems a threat. King, lords, soldiers, captains... anyone. Maybe not all of ‘em, just the ones that don’t promise him their loyalty.”
Torrin glanced at Captain Fezzik. “There is no chance of talking peace?”
Zeno shook his head. “I’ve never known Corynth to talk peace with anyone. I could be wrong, your Majesty, but... I don’t think I am.”
“I speak for myself, but I would rather go out fighting than to try and talk peace just to be cut down,” Lord Kaze spoke up. “Of course, I do not have a family to think of.” He glanced at Lord Malkiel, who grimaced.
Well, that settled it. Torrin met the eyes of every man in the room. “Let’s prepare the army for battle.”
As the men dispersed, he grabbed Ryan’s arm. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”
“You are. You didn’t have much of a choice anyways.” He jabbed at Torrin’s shoulder. “And don’t worry. I’ll be there with you to make sure you don’t get killed.”
“Don’t you get killed.” Torrin tried to say it jokingly but failed. “If it looks like we’re going to lose—”
“I’m not going to abandon you and of course I won’t get killed. Without me, you’d fall apart in a week.” He grinned. “Now come on, King, we’ve got a battle to prepare for.”
Shouting and steel clanging against steel echoed in the city behind Roscoe. He cautiously slipped down one of the vacant back streets, careful to stay out of sight. He flinched with every thud of a boulder being catapulted into the city, crumbling houses and crushing dozens of screaming women and children.
He hated war with a burning passion. Too many innocents were killed, all for what? All so King Corynth could gain more power.
Roscoe paused beside a half-burnt home, glancing around carefully.
When he was certain nobody saw him, he ducked into an alley littered with trash and refuse that smelled of dead bodies. His stomach convulsed and he barely kept himself from gagging, ducking underneath a clothesline laden with lady underthings. He skirted around a puddle of... something he’d rather not stop to identify, then nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of a rat scurrying across the ground.
His little purple dragon, Catnip, hissed from atop his shoulder, pressing closer to his neck.
“Yeah, I don’t like it either, baby.”
At the very back stood a wooden door, rot creeping up from the bottom. A few splinters dug into his knuckles as he knocked four times.
Something moved behind the door. "Who's there?"
“Zora, it’s me," he said quietly, glancing around and shifting his weight a little.
A second later, he heard several locks click and a heavy beam slide across the inside of the door. It cracked open, revealing a dark-skinned young woman.
“Roscoe?” She reached out, quickly tugging him inside and closing the door. “What are you doing here?”
He blinked a little, trying to adjust to the dim lighting. A single candle burned on her tiny table, doing a poor job of chasing away the darkness.
“That army out there? It’s Corynth’s. And the Kyrnian army. He’s going to take over Elyndia and I need you to go warn King Torrin.”
Green eyes widened a little and she pushed wavy black hair out of her face. “Of course. I don’t have a dragon, though.”
“I got a friend who said I could borrow his. Get dressed and I’ll bring it over here.”
She nodded, ducking under the curtain that divided the tiny room into small sections. Roscoe slipped back outside, reaching up to pull Catnip close to his chest.
His friend, Peter, met him at the end of the alley with his dragon—a lean, black beast built for speed. “I had to kill two soldiers following you,” he hissed. “Be more careful, please.”
Roscoe winced, taking the dragon’s reins. “Sorry. And thank you.”
Peter nodded, clapping his shoulder before disappearing into the shadows.
Roscoe shuddered, leading the dragon back down the alley. How Peter and the other Shadows were able to just disappear was beyond him. If he was a superstitious person, he’d swear they were part ghost. He’d never been able to hide like them. Probably why he’d never succeeded in becoming anything more than a low-ranking soldier, despite the rigorous training he’d been put through.
Zora was waiting when he got back, eyes carefully scanning their surroundings for signs of a threat. A dagger hung strapped to her broad hips and a shield lay on her back. Her hair was tied back out of the way with a handkerchief.
He handed over the reins. “Fly hard and be careful.”
“I will.” She climbed on, gathering up the reins and kicking the dragon’s sides.
Zora urged the dragon up as fast as she could, leaning forward to try and remain undetected. Hopefully, with all the other dragon riders flying around, nobody would notice her.
It took them four hours to reach Everdon. And by then, it was too late.
Dragons had swarmed the city, smoke from the burning homes and crops filling the sky and burning her nose. In the meadow outside the walls men were engaged in combat—and losing quickly. Animals and people alike screamed as boulders crashed into the city walls, crumbling everything. The Elyndians never stood a chance.
She pulled up quickly, heart slamming against her ribs. No. No no no no no! Elyndia couldn’t be taken over by the Achians! They’d let the Kyrnians move in and then nobody would be safe. They’d bring in their drinking and gambling and slavery... Zora had lived in Kyrnia before. She knew firsthand how rough and rude the giants were.
Tears pricked her eyes, a small laugh working its way up. Once again, her homeland was being taken over. And she was powerless to stop it.
Briley huddled in the root cellar, holding her shawl close in a vain attempt to ward off the chill. The darkness seemed to press against her. Muffled shouts and screams from outside penetrated her hiding place, twisting her stomach into a cold ball of fear.
Have faith. God protects His children. She could hear her grandmother’s voice in her head as clearly as if Adley were sitting beside her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to recall the verses she’d memorized as a little child.
But there, hiding in the dark, trying to block out the sounds of chaos and destruction...
Nothing.
She couldn’t remember a single line and shame mingled with her fear. What kind of Believer was she, if she couldn’t remember God’s Word in a time of trouble? If all she could think about was the mob that had killed her mother?
Just minutes ago, her friend Zeno had come running, telling Briley that she had to hide as enemy soldiers were swarming the city with dragons and overwhelming their men.
A door slammed. Grandmother shrieked. Someone yelled for them to get out as footsteps pounded against the floor above her. Dust shifted down, falling into her eyes. She swiped at her face, pressing closer against the wall of the cellar and praying.
“Check the house!” a gruff voice ordered from somewhere up above her. “Make sure nobody’s hiding.”
The root cellar didn’t feel so safe anymore. Briley felt along the shelves with her hand, desperately praying none of the soldiers would look in here. Her hand found an empty space below one of the shelves right as the trap door above her creaked. Heart thumping, Briley squeezed into the space as light pierced the darkness. A dragon growled somewhere above, sending her stomach into another painful knot.
She could possibly hide from searching eyes. But a dragon would certainly be able to smell her.
Light fille
d the cellar as a small dragon, barely bigger than her house cat, flew into the space. Its whole body glowed like a lantern. Briley shrank back, hardly daring to breathe as a soldier descended into the cellar.
The soldier scanned the room, peering between shelves and moving jars. He glanced in her direction and Briley’s heart stopped beating.
“Roscoe, is anyone down there?” a gruff voice yelled down.
He stepped closer, still looking her way. He’d seen her. He’d drag her up into broad daylight. They’d see her pink hair and she’d be killed on the spot.
He moved a couple jars and kicked a basket to the side. The woven sides of the basket poked into Briley’s legs. “Nobody’s down here, sir.”
“Are you sure?” the voice demanded. “The dragons acted like they smelled something.”
His dragon flew closer, illuminating his face. Golden eyes locked onto Briley’s and she inhaled sharply. A tiny smile lifted the corner of his lips before he turned away, motioning for the dragon to follow him. “I’m sure. They must have smelled the food down here.”
Within a few seconds, the trap door above her slammed shut and total darkness surrounded her.
For several minutes, Briley didn’t dare so much as blink. Then her breath whooshed out, leaving her limp and shaky against the basket.
She’d been spared. Thank you, God.
Torrin first became aware of raindrops falling on him. Then the pain hit.
He gritted his teeth, trying to choke down a cry as intense agony burned deep inside. Everything was quiet. The shouts and screams of wounded men and dragons no longer rang in his ears. He lifted his head off the wet grass. Something trailed down the side of his face and dripped into his eyes, burning. Blood? Sweat? He raised a trembling hand to swipe at the drop and froze, staring at his palm.
Blood crusted over a gaping wound in the center of his hand. More blood oozed onto his palm where thumb and forefinger had been.
Struggling to hold his stomach in place and to keep from screaming in horror, Torrin pushed himself up onto one elbow. His gaze traveled over the battleground. All around him, his countrymen, his people, lay sprawled across the rain and blood-soaked ground. Beside him, a crimson puddle underneath his still body, was Ryan. A sword had pierced through his chest plate and stabbed into the ground, holding him up.
Torrin choked on sudden tears, pushed himself over the inches that separated them, and struggled to his knees. He tried to voice his anguish, but no sound came out. Reaching up, fingers brushed against torn skin and drying blood. Fire shot through his throat at the small touch, causing him to gasp and yank his hand away, toppling over.
He reached out, gently pulling Ryan down to the ground. Ryan’s brown eyes stared vacantly up into the sky, empty of their normal twinkle. Torrin would never hear his friend tease him about girls or lighten the somber atmosphere in the Council meetings. Never again would he have to defend him from Lord Malkiel or threaten him with stable duty for his boyish behavior.
Torrin reached out with his good hand, pressing it against Ryan’s arm. I’m so sorry, he mouthed, tears flowing down his face and leaving trails in the blood and dirt. He closed his eyes, dropping his head onto Ryan’s shoulder. His body shook painfully as silent sobs tore through him.
His men had followed him into war. And what had that accomplished? He should have heeded his Council and surrendered. But stupid pride and fear had prompted him to fight to keep the kingdom his tiav and grandfather had ruled. Now, his best friend was dead. And the King of Achia had control of Elyndia.
Torrin clenched his good hand. Why did I survive? Why didn’t I die with my men? If the Achians found him, they would torture him until death. And God knew he wasn’t strong enough for that.
Torrin pressed his good hand against his mouth as his stomach heaved from the sickening stench of blood. With shaking hands, he pried Ryan’s sword out of his stiff fingers. Torrin closed his eyes and bowed his head. Somehow, for some reason that only God knew, he’d survived when he should have been slaughtered. He mouthed a prayer, the only thing he could do for his men.
Your sacrifice will not be in vain, he silently vowed. I’ll get back my throne and rid the land of these Achians.
Using the sword as a cane, he worked his feet underneath himself. Ragged gasps tore through his throat, scraping across raw nerves and wrenching loose a silent scream. His legs trembled. Blood soaked his pants from thigh to knee. He staggered across the battleground strewn with death.
The lives of two thousand men. Snatched away. Because of him.
He made it just a few feet before his legs gave out. He cried out—something between a noiseless scream and a sob—when he hit the ground. Thunder rumbled above him and heavy raindrops pelted his body. He stubbornly reached out, trying to drag himself one more inch.
One.
More.
Inch.
Fury limped beside Cyprian, a low growl rumbling in her throat as she watched the Elyndians being rounded up and herded to the town square.
The fountain was full of water—and largely used for watering livestock, if the bird and goat droppings were any indication. The market stalls had been overturned and broken, the ground churned up from boots and scorched from fire.
Cyprian rested his hand on his dragon’s neck. The Elyndian army had fought better than he’d anticipated. Several of the dragons had been shot down. An arrow had creased Fury’s leg. Not deep enough to warrant stitches, thankfully.
They followed King Corynth as he strode purposefully through the streets, keeping a wary eye out for any Elyndian mad enough to try and kill the king.
Wish someone would be fool enough to take a shot. Then I’d be free.
For years he’d tried to become a Shadow like his mentor and father figure, Peter, just to prove he could take care of himself. That he wasn’t just a puny little Elyndian waif off the street that had to be protected.
Being an assassin was... nothing like what he’d imagined. And he regretted every life decision he’d ever made that led to him being here now.
The castle rose up in front of them, little more than a mansion. The Elyndians either weren’t as prosperous as the Achians or they put their wealth into other uses than building huge castles and prisons.
Cyprian pulled out his dagger as General Byrd hurried over—followed by a handful of soldiers—and pushed open the castle door.
A petite young woman with flashing brown eyes stood in the reception hall, her hands planted on her hips. Blood splattered the hem of her maid's dress and streaked down the side of her face, though Cyprian didn’t think it was her own.
King Corynth and the rest of the men paused. Cyprian motioned for Fury to stay where she was and crept around where he had a clear shot if the woman tried anything.
“Who are you?” General Byrd demanded, positioning himself beside the king.
“Aurora Atohi.”
“Well, Miss Atohi, bow before your new king.”
Aurora lifted her chin, her stare ice cold. “I will never bow before you. You are neither my God nor my king.”
Cyprian glanced briefly at the king’s face. If he or any of the other Shadows spoke like that to the king, they’d get the whip if they were lucky. But he couldn’t help but admire her spirit and loyalty—even if it was to a dead man.
King Corynth chuckled humorously and annoyance sparked in his eyes. “Who are you to defy me? I killed your king, your entire army. I am now the rightful ruler of Elyndia.”
Aurora drew herself to her full height. “You may be king by bloodshed,” she spat, “but you will never be the king God has set over Elyndia.”
“Shall I run her through, your Majesty?” General Byrd asked, brandishing his blood-stained sword at the woman. For all her brave speech, she flinched and stepped back.
King Corynth put his hand in front of his general. “No. She is young and strong. She will be more valuable as a slave than dead.” He gestured towards a cluster of his soldiers standing behind and
beside him. “One of you. Throw her in jail with the rest of the captives to be sent to Kyrnia.”
A young man bowed and grabbed Aurora’s arm.
“You will never get away with this!” she shouted, allowing herself to be towed away. “You were never meant to be our king. Your blood will mingle with the blood of my people. I have heard of you and your wicked deeds. Your soul will burn in—” The door slamming shut behind her silenced her words.
General Byrd shook his head. “Are you sure the Kyrnians will purchase one with as much fire as that woman?”
King Corynth scraped dried blood off his arm. “They will, and they will probably turn around and sell her to the pirates. Their Captains enjoy taming wild slaves. One week of hard labor under the sting of a whip will silence her tongue if they do not cut it out right away.”
Cyprian sheathed his dagger, glancing at the door. He felt sorry for her. He’d heard stories of the pirates; they weren’t someone a lady should be around. Within a week, she’d be wishing that King Corynth had just ordered her dead.
A soldier ran up and dropped to one knee in a bow. “The people are gathered in the town square, your Majesty. They await your verdict.”
“Have you seen my brother?” King Corynth asked as he headed for the tall oak-wood doors leading out of the castle.
Cyprian flicked his hand at Fury, trotting after them. Until everything was settled, he was to stay at his king’s side—a job he despised. Being a Shadow was little better than being a slave. He had to follow orders or suffer the consequences. Spying and assassinating didn’t give him a sense of purpose like he’d thought, like the king had said it would. Just left him feeling empty.
“No, sire, but I suspect he is blending in to keep his cover. He is too wise to come to you now. The risk that an Elyndian would see him is too great,” the soldier replied.
“You have done well. Go and have your injuries tended to.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”