The streets of Zerenth, deserted for nearly three centuries, were clogged with corpses. Nilson, Captain of the King's Guard, spurred his steed on as he raced through narrow alleyways and wide boulevards. His stallion snorted with unease; despite the battle being almost won, there was something in the air that seemed very wrong.
"Nilson!" a call rang out.
The captain reined his horse to a stop. A pale young noble rode up to him, his thin sword smeared with blood. “What do you need, Makako? I have a message for Leso from the Queen.” Nilson was half-shouting, in an effort to be heard over the roar of the Huren Falls, which plunged from the center of the immemorial city to the bottom of the cliffs far below.
“Sio has given an order to retreat. They’re falling back! Nilson, we may crush this rebellion yet.”
Nilson rubbed his eyes. “We’re not out of this yet. Quafidah has gone missing. No one has seen that wolf around. Some say he’s deserted his followers, left them to be overrun by us. I doubt it; I think he may have some last-ditch trick up his sleeve.”
Makako turned his horse around, ready to rejoin the battle. “Go tell King Leso what you know. I still say it was unwise for him to join us today, but you know he’s as pigheaded as the Girom’s current.”
“Aye, he is.” Nilson kicked his steed. “Good luck!”
Makako watched the captain vanished around a corner, then spurred back toward the sound of combat.
***
Leso, ruler of the Northern Kingdom of Saehoria, stood looking out from the top of the cliff across the dark, wild expanse of green below the city. The Umbran Forest stretched across the lands at the feet of the Huren Mountains. Zerenth was built upon a cliff nestled high in the mountains, which dropped below into a chasm. It was into this that the Huren Falls dropped, flowing in swirling grey mists off of a ledge in the center of the city to the depths below. The waters flowed far south from the mountains as the broad Girom River through the Northern Kingdom and the Southern Wastes, land of the nomadic and fierce Havvaran.
Leso stood in a semicircular room of marble, open to the elements but for the roof and thick columns. To the right, the swiftly moving waters plunged over the cliff the room was built jutting out over. It had a venerable, regal aura, but no number of passing centuries could erase the evil that once called Zerenth home.
“My lord,” Nilson said as he entered.
Leso turned to his captain and most trusted advisor. “My friend! What’s the word?” Leso was young, only 24 years old, but facing this powerful rebellion in the early days of his reign had turned him into a cunning and powerful warrior. It had also alerted him to the errs of his forefathers, which he swore to correct after the Masaphih rebellion had been crushed.
“My liege, the Queen Ashera has requested that you come to her immediately after the battle is decided; she would not tell me what for. Also, Sio has ordered the rebels to retreat. They’re falling back! Half the city has been cleared already.”
Leso raised an eyebrow. “Sio ordered a retreat? What about Quafidah? Or Ceselu? Where have they gone?”
Nilson took a quick gasp of air. “Quafidah has… vanished, my lord. No one seems to know where he is. Ceselu is leading a small group of warriors to try to break through our lines. It’s a hopeless effort, really. They should know they’re beaten by now.”
Leso’s eyes widened. “It’s a distraction. They’re trying to pull our forces away. Where are they attacking?”
Nilson thought back to the bloody scene had had ridden from to deliver news to the king. “The northern part of the city.” Nilson realized what Leso had seen. “The northern part is where our forces are strongest! But they sent for aid from the central line, where… we’re… weaker.” The captain swallowed a lump in his throat. “We’ll be overrun! Quafidah must be readying an attack in the center of the city!”
The king waved an arm at Nilson. “Go! Hurry! Give aid to the center lines!” He looked the captain in the eyes. “We cannot lose the city center. If the center falls, they will have split our army in half. The largest bridge is there, too; we need it to fight them in the western half of Zerenth.” Leso nodded toward the road. “Go!”
Nilson rode, praying he was not too late.
From the roof of the marble room, someone chuckled quietly.
***
Makako hit the ground hard. As he rode into the northern sector of the city, a stray arrow had struck his mare in the neck, piercing a vein. The horse whinnied, gurgled, and died. The noble, cursing, rose from the ground.
“Well, well, well. Look who fell from his high horse… literally.”
Makako jerked his head up. His eyes widened at the creature standing in front of him.
The creature looked like a wolf, but stood on two legs like a human; he was of the race called the D'Zjenaba. He was extremely thin, dressed in worn and tattered clothes, stained from battle, and in each hand was a light yet sturdy sword.
Makako’s eyes darted about; they fell on his own blade lying nearby. He grabbed it and scrambled to his feet. “Ceselu. I hear Sio has ordered a retreat. Where’s that traitor, Quafidah?”
A vein in Ceselu’s neck pulsed. “Wouldn’t you like to know. And why do you call him traitor? Leso has enemies, even in his own court.”
Makako’s breath caught. “Why… do you say that?” He tried to sound confident, but his voice betrayed him.
Ceselu laughed; a rough, raspy noise. “I know of the new tax imposed on the nobles… and the dissent it has caused.”
The noble grunted. “I may not approve of Leso’s actions, but I’m no traitor.”
The wolfish rebel commander grinned. “One day, you’ll find yourself faced with a choice, and only you know which path you will follow.”
Makako lunged forward with a yell. His sword met one of Ceselu’s in midair, then whipped around to block an attack from the other blade. Makako was forced to backstep as he worked to ward off Ceselu’s merciless offense. The Masaphih rebel was able to block with one sword, while attacking at the same time with the other. However, Makako was well-trained, and was able to move slightly faster than his emaciated opponent. Ceselu’s advance was stopped. Slowly, but surely, Makako gained ground on the wolf.
Playing his sword in a circle, Makako blasted past Ceselu’s defense and pushed both of his swords aside. He swung in a tight arc and clipped his enemy across the face.
Ceselu lost his grip on his dual swords and stumbled backward. Pain blazed across his face as blood clouded his vision. He blinked; the eye itself was not hurt, but he had a jagged cut across it.
Makako brought his sword up and trained it on Ceselu. “Your rebellion is over.”
There was a soft hiss, and an arrow exploded as it struck a stone building behind Makako. He looked up in time to see a muscular D’Zjenaba wolf leap out of a second floor window from a building across the street, with a bow in hand and quiver of arrows across his back; he notched another arrow and sent it racing toward Makako.
Before Makako could brace himself for the inevitable end, a gilded shield fell in front of him, blocking the path of the arrow with a dull thunk. Nilson raised the shield and spurred his horse onward. The archer could not draw another arrow in time; he rolled aside at the last minute.
“Ceselu, run!” the archer commanded.
The injured D’Zjenaba grabbed his dual swords before fleeing after the bowman. Nilson, pulling the arrow out of his shield, rode to Makako’s side. “Are you alright?”
Makako blinked. “I’m fine.”
“Good. Let’s get back to the front line. The Masaphih are in full retreat.” Makako swung up onto Nilson’s horse behind him, and the two rose hard through the ancient city.
***
Leso glanced around nervously. Had he just imagined the shuffling noise, or was there someone just out of view, around the marble colonnade? He automatically placed a hand on his sword.
“Leso, the wrongs of the past shall be avenged.”
The king spun to face the sound of the voice, but saw only a gap between the columns on the veranda. He called out, “Guards!”
Three soldiers, dressed in the bright green of the King’s Guard, jogged from their posts around the piazza. “Yes, m’liege?”
The guard grunted, eyes unfocusing; red blood spattered the marble floor as the sentry dropped over dead. The second had his sword halfway drawn before a blade found passage straight through his chest; swords clanged once before the final guard yielded his life to the attacker’s sword. King Leso stood alone in the colonnade, facing a sinewy D’Zjenaba wolf holding a blood-stained sword.
The D’Zjenaba laughed. “So. Finally I find myself face to face with my greatest enemy, alone.” He absently twirled his saber. “You know, we’re not so different, you and I. We are each men of power seeking to make a better future.”
Leso’s eyes narrowed. He drew an elegant sword, clad with silver and gold, with a pure-white blade: Vlastona, heirloom of royalty, forged nearly three centuries ago. “No. I want a better life for the people of the Northern Kingdom. You just want personal power, Quafidah.”
The insurrectionist grinned. “I didn’t say whom I wanted a better future for, now, did I?”
Leso and Quafidah’s swords met in midair before either of them knew they had swung. Leso disengaged and thrust at the powerful wolf. Quafidah drove his sword in a circle, batting aside Vlastona and slashing at Leso’s chest. The king leapt backward, forward, and swung the ornate blade at Quafidah’s legs. Quafidah jumped over Vlastona, and brought a knee up into Leso’s face. The king stumbled backward.
Quafidah raised his sword to strike, but Leso recovered and weaved a web of steel around Quafidah’s weapon. The D’Zjenaba spun his sword as he delivered blow after blow, but Leso was every bit his equal. Leso swung wide; he realized his mistake just as Quafidah took advantage of it. The monarch hit the ground at an awkward angle, but was able to reposition into a forward roll. He regained his feet under him, but teetered as he almost lost his balance: right behind him was the raging headwaters of the Girom, mere feet before they dropped off the towering falls.
Quafidah lunged at Leso with a snarl. Leso swung Vlastona in an arc that brought the tip into contact with the marmoreal floor, sending hundreds of small chips and chunks flying at Quafidah’s face. He closed his eyes and put his hands over his face, trying to protect himself from the stone shards. However, his momentum carried him into Leso, who had been unable to raise his sword in time for a second strike. Both lost their hold on their weapons; the swords clattered to the ground. Quafidah’s fist made contact with Leso’s ribs, knocking the breath out of him. The rebel groped for his weapon, but was struck in the head. Quafidah’s vision flashed crimson, and he lay stunned for a minute.
Leso climbed to his feet, seizing Vlastona as he rose. He stood above the dazed Quafidah, holding the blade’s point to his neck. “You lose, Quafidah.”
A fire blazed in Quafidah’s eyes. “I don’t think so.” In a movement so quick Leso could not respond in time, the wolf slapped Leso’s sword away and lunged at him.
Leso, off balance from the unexpected shift of his sword’s weight, stumbled to the side as Quafidah jumped past where the king had been standing. Quafidah fell headlong into the water.
He sputtered to the surface just in time to look back and see a smile dance across Leso’s face. We will meet again, Leso. And I will be the one smiling.
Then Quafidah’s world dropped away into a void of swirling mists.
***
“You ordered what!?” exploded Ceselu, skidding to a halt.
“The battle is over. Face it, we can’t win.” The archer walked back to join him. “Without Quafidah, our cause is lost.”
Ceselu shook his head. “No, Sio! We can win this! If we push a little harder…”
“It would be useless.” He began to walk away. “We need to get the Masaphih out of this city while we still control one of the bridges across the chasm, or else we will all die.”
“Than we die with honor! If we are to fall, we should drag as many of them down with us as we can.”
Sio stared into Ceselu’s eyes. “You don’t have a family, waiting, hoping, to hear you’re still alive.”
Ceselu irritably stared at the cobblestone street. “You don’t have a family, either.”
“If I survive this, it’s the first thing I will take care of. But we’ve been at this campaign too long, and now it’s over.” He roughly grabbed the other D’Zjenaba’s shoulders and shook him. “You hear me, eh? It’s over! We must escape now, or it will be too late!”
Ceselu stared at the sky; twilight was beginning to fade as the world faded to the black of night. “Fine. It’s over.” He stretched his arms, aching from long hours of battle. “But I do not want to disband the Masaphih.”
“What? Why?”
“We can continue in secret. Amass more support. We can still end Leso’s rule, and break the heavy yoke the Cerasii family has laid on us for so long; we just need more men before we try it again.”
Sio growled. “And what? You want to replace Quafidah? Why you?”
“You think you’d be a better choice?”
“No. But we should work together. Two are stronger than one.”
“And two leads to division. But for now, I agree with you.”
Sio and Ceselu walked the darkening streets toward the rebel army’s headquarters in Zerenth. “We may retreat now, but the Masaphih Rebellion will rise again.”
***
The droplets of water and spray of the mist seemed to float in midair alongside Quafidah as he fell. Terror had rolled across him as he felt the support of the water drop away; as the liquid yielded to gravity’s pull. However, his mind, always calculating, had swept his thoughts away until all that remained was a will to survive. He saw below him, but rising up all too quickly, the pool at the bottom of the falls that the Girom River flowed out of. He twisted in midair, trying to avoid the small cluster of rocks at the upper left of the plunging waters’ splash. He then curled into a ball, legs folded tightly under him, to absorb the shock of impact. As the water rose to meet him, he took a final breath and closed his eyes to the world of dimming gray.
The impact jarred him to the core; he felt as if he had just been rent in two. He was underwater then, a muted, yet deafening roar blotting out all thought. Quafidah felt his body spinning in the water, bubbles were everywhere, and he could not tell up from down. An enormous weight pressed down on him, preventing him from swimming in the direction he thought was up. His lungs began to burn for air. Colors started flashing in his eyes. He stroked the water, but felt as if he we remaining still in the tumultuous liquid.
His chest scraped across sand. He felt the bottom of the tarn with his hands, feeling the angle it ran. He shoved off with the last vestiges of his strength as he gave in to the darkness swallowing his mind.
Air! Quafidah broke the surface of the lake like a fish, gasping in the life-giving air. Water thundered behind him; he shook his wolfish fur out of his eyes and looked backward. The Huren Falls crashed about ten feet behind him. He felt himself moving forward and checked to see where the current was taking him.
He immediately wished he hadn’t.
The new river fell into a turbulent series of rapids, filled with debris of broken logs and large boulders, framed on either side by steep cliffs leading up to the Umbran Forest. Four miles ahead, the cliffs leveled out, but between here and there were a series of the worst rapids in Saehoria. Quafidah swallowed. Maybe I was better off in the tarn.
Then he was in the unrelenting current.
Quafidah struggled to stay above the water, but countless eddies continually sucked him back under. A wave of spray hit him in the face, followed by a boulder. Quafidah’s head jerked back limply; the next flume of the current drug him under and tossed him roughly away, slamming his ribs into a log. Stars flashed across his vision.
He fought desperately against the current, but there was little he could do. A wave twice as tall as him battered him mercilessly down underwater, dragging him through the pebbly riverbed. He surfaced just in time to catch a gulp of air, but was immediately thrust back under the churning waters by the current. He spun around, with no will to correct his floating path.
Quafidah was slammed several more times into driftwood and boulders before his world faded to black in the churning headwaters of the Girom River.
***
The Masaphih rebels had fled shortly after Quafidah had gone over the falls. Sio and Ceselu had vanished without a trace, along with all the surviving revolutionaries, into the wild depths of the Umbran Forest. They would likely find their way back into civilization; spend their days in taverns or the like in the northern cities, like Ravensback or Mworlan. I’ll have to send reinforcements of troops to those cities to try to ferret them out, Leso thought.
Leso rode with Nilson and Makako out of Zerenth and across one of the two broad, elegantly designed stone spans over the chasm the city rested above. The other bridge, on the far west side of the city, was closed off by the army as they tried to catch as many of the insurgents as possible before they all escaped. The eastern bridge turned into an overgrown roadway, forgotten over the centuries, twisting through miles of woodlands to the lakeside city of Ravensback. A few miles down this road, a small camp came into view, with the banners of the Cerasii King flying proudly. Leso smiled and urged his horse on.
A woman sat in a chair of intricately entwined branches near the edge of camp. Hearing the snort of approaching horses, she rose anxiously. Several guards, each armed with both a sword and a spear, ran over to her in case of trouble. She smiled broadly, the guards relaxed, at the sight of Leso, worn but alive, riding into camp victoriously.
Leso dismounted and embraced his wife. Queen Ashera was young and beautiful, with golden hair and bright blue eyes as clear as a mountain stream. She kissed him gently, then pulled him towards the blue and white tent of royalty.
Leso barely had time to tell Nilson and Makako, “Make ready to leave,” before Ashera pushed him inside.
She embraced him again. “You’re alive. What happened in the city? I don’t think I could stand being in that evil place as long as you were there, being the City of Sorcery and all.”
Leso smiled wearily, kissing her again. “Zerenth is a… strange… place. It’s as ornate as the castle in Ser’rance, but even the stones seem to radiate evil.”
“No wonder Quafidah made it his stronghold for that rebellion.” Ashera’s eyes were unfocused, looking at nothing in particular.
“Perhaps. But enough of that unhappy subject! Quafidah is dead, the Masaphih beaten, and you,” he said, eyeing her with smiling eyes, “had something to tell me that you wouldn’t even trust Nilson with.”
The queen’s smile changed, to one of joy, yet anxiousness. She felt her face flush. “Leso… I’m pregnant.”
The king’s breath froze. His eyes widened, a smile as broad as the Girom stretched across his face. Laughter exploded out of him as he clutched Ashera.
“Pregnant! I… oh! You’re… this is great! Oh, I’m… were… what do I say?” he jumped to his feet, pacing about the tent. “This is truly the best day of my life.”
Ashera laid a hand on his shoulder. “An heir, Leso. The Cerasii line continues.”
Leso turned to face her, kissing her. “Let’s not think about heirs and such. This baby is a blessing to us. Let’s leave, and when we get back to Ser’rance, we shall celebrate. No! I can’t wait that long! We feast in Ravensback!”
Ashera sidled up against him as he put an arm around her. “I love you, Leso. Always and forever, I love you.”
Mists enshrouded his vision. As all faded to gray, he whispered back, “I love you, Ashera. Always.”
**********
Sunlight streamed in through the open window, illuminating the darkness behind Leso’s closed eyes. He wished to return to that dream, a dream of a wonderful day ten years ago, but his young daughter, who had opened the blinds and was now climbing over him, brought his mind back to the painful present.
Leso rolled over, looking into the face of Arvon. She was nearly ten years old, bright, beautiful, with the build of her mother and the mind of her father. Despite her age, she had already begun to show a streak of unpredictability that often landed her in trouble, but the strength of mind and body to always escape punishment. However, the events of the past month had suddenly transformed her sunny disposition into a more melancholy nature.
She smiled gently, and Leso felt greater warmth radiating from that smile than from the light shining in from the sunrise at Corenhu Castle, in the capital city of Ser’rance, aside the mighty Girom River in the heart of Northern Saehoria. Leso asked groggily, “What time is it?”
Arvon crawled off the bed. “Breakfast was served over an hour ago. I wanted to wake you up, but Nilson said you needed the sleep. You really haven’t slept much since the funeral…” her voice broke into a silent sob.
Leso sat up, putting his arms around his daughter and pulling her close. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he said gently.
Ashera’s second pregnancy had stirred up much excitement in the Northern Kingdom. Her first child, being a girl, had raised hopes for a male heir for Leso’s throne. Three weeks ago, Ashera had given birth to a healthy baby boy. But the birth had taken its toll on her, as she was still recovering from a mysterious illness. With her dying breath, Queen Ashera named her newborn son Komun.
Ashera’s death had a somberly effect on the typically mirthful king. He was torn between joy over his son and mourning the death of his beloved wife. On the day of the funeral, Leso had walked the halls of Corenhu Castle like a wraith, silent as the night, spreading gloom with every step. In the weeks since then, he had barely ever left his room. Arvon had been doing her best to bring her father out of his depression, and this morning, rays of light had fallen on Leso’s soul for the first time in weeks.
Angry voices echoed throughout the castle. Arvon sighed. “Well, they’re at it again.”
Leso rose from his bed. “Who?”
“Nilson and Makako. They started fighting about a week ago over who should have greater control while you were… not really with us.” With that, she turned and raced toward the disturbance. Within a minute, the shouting grew louder as Arvon joined in the quarrel.
I guess I’ve been here long enough, Leso thought. He quickly dressed and went in search of the three.
Nilson stood at the end of the main hall, blocking Makako’s way out the door leading to the courtyard. Arvon stood nearby, arms crossed.
“I don’t care what you say is so urgent!” Nilson roared. “The Court is getting careless without Leso to keep the peace. Order is breaking down, from Ardens to Dernus. You are the highest noble; go and bring back stability!”
“Well, well,” Makako sneered. “Why, just yesterday you were saying you didn’t need me.”
“What!? I needed you to take care of them days ago! You knew about all this yesterday!”
“Yesterday you told me to jump off the Bluffs!”
“QUIET!” Leso ordered. Silence settled like mist throughout the room.
Makako spoke first, through clenched teeth. “My… lord,” he growled, “I have some… important… business to attend to. I must go now.” Especially now, he added under his breath.
Nilson fumed nearby. “My king, the land is in chaos. The Court of Nobles has become engulfed in its own minor internal feuds, and the order across the Northern Kingdom has fallen apart. Makako must go and take control, or we could be faced with another civil war! You don’t want the hell of another Masaphih ordeal, do you?”
Makako snickered.
“What’s so funny?” Nilson demanded.
“Absolutely… nothing.”
“Alright, this is what we do. Makako, go, attend to whatever you must take care of. I will go and knock some sense into the Court personally and literally. Nilson, will you fetch Vlastona for me? I may need it.”
Nilson and Makako bowed. “Yes, your majesty.”
Arvon, Leso, and Nilson turned and walked away. Makako walked out the heavy bronze doors out into the courtyard. The sun shone brightly, casting its radiant light across gardens, waterfalls and fountains, and the centerpiece of the courtyard: a life-size statue of Burzkad, the great dragon of lore.
A perfect day for a coup, Makako mused. Poor Leso, he just signed his own death warrant.
***
Walking briskly through the ornate streets of the ancient city, Makako came to a large mansion deep in the heart of the wealthiest district. His home was one of the largest in the city, with sculpted figures inlaid in the marble stonework. As he approached the door, a servant opened it.
"How are you this morning, sir?" the servant asked.
Makako grunted in reply. He walked toward the spiraling stairs, then stopped.
"Talis? Where are our guests?"
The servant made a sour face. "In the dining hall for breakfast; they've been up for almost an hour, and making life hell for everyone. Why, they almost killed the cook for not..."
Makako left Talis ranting in the entryway. He sighed, then pushed open the doors of the dining hall and stepped inside.
A long table ran the length of the dining hall, heaped with platters waiting to be cleaned. About twenty guests sat at the table, arguing among themselves, laughing, and threatening. Makako could only see five humans in the group, the rest were D’Zjenaba wolves. Two D’Zjenaba rose and faced Makako. The room went silent.
“Sio, Ceselu, I am glad you could come. Our time has come.”
Ceselu, the vastly thinner of the two with a scar across his right eye, rubbed the hilts of his two swords strapped at his waist. “Oh, yes. It came ten years ago, too, but you were not on our side back then.” He touched the scar gently.
Makako only smiled toward Ceselu. Sio spoke. “So, my friend, are you ready to commit treason?”
Makako laughed. “Leso has gone too far. He treats the nobles like commoners, and peasants as if they belong in his own court. He must be overthrown.”
“I have a question for you,” Sio said. “How will this…” he indicated the small crowd at the table – “newly reorganized Masaphih group be able to subdue all of Corenhu Castle? And any other soldiers in the city?” his voice rose in anger. “Twenty will not be enough to stop the army of the Cerasii! Leso is well protected! I, for one, hope to survive the day to see my daughter again!”
Ceselu began pacing. “In addition, we haven’t even discussed who will be king after we do this. You seem to be confident about something. Do you plan on killing us after the deed is done?” He drew his dual swords with a flourish. “I’ll have your head before that happens!”
“Enough!” Makako commanded. “I don’t want a bloodbath before we even begin the coup. Now, Sio, Ceselu, I have someone I would like you both to meet. All of you,” he added, addressing the Masaphih members assembled. “Meet our greatest ally.”
A door opened at the far side of the room. A D’Zjenaba strode into the room, strong, lean, with dark gray fur and black eyes. He chuckled.
“I’m glad to see you all haven’t killed each other in my absence.” He stared the noble in the eyes. “Makako.”
At the sound of his name, Makako felt a chill begin at the back of his neck and run the length of his spine. Staring deep into those midnight eyes, he felt aware of a presence, the arrival of something greater, more powerful than anything the land of Saehoria had seen in the light of day in a very long time.
Ceselu’s jaw dropped open; he stared in wide-eyed disbelief. “No… I watched you fall… you died.”
The newcomer smiled. “I got better.”
Sio walked to the strange new entity, and shook his hand. “It’s good to have you back… Quafidah.”
The room erupted in a dissonance of murmurs and mumblings regarding the wolf’s identity.
Ceselu stared in disbelief. “How did you survive?”
“That will be revealed in due time,” the insurrectionist grinned. “Now, are we ready to begin?”
Sio shook his head. “There are too few of us. We can’t take the castle like this. To attempt such a thing would be suicide!” He slammed his fist on the table. “You would send us to our deaths!”
Quafidah took a deep breath and raised his hand, palm facing Sio.
His eyes began to glow a deep purple.
As soon as the unnatural light shone from his eyes, a blast of purple energy shot from his palm, striking Sio and knocking him off his feet. Sio sat up, disoriented and thoroughly terrified.
Everyone in the hall immediately saw Quafidah for what he was… what he had become in the last ten years.
Makako smiled broadly as the light faded from the D’Zjenaba’s eyes. “Now you know.”
Sio climbed to his feet. “But… how… they all died! They were exterminated, three hundred years ago.”
Quafidah smiled. “Not all of them.”
“But how? You’re not one of the originals… I grew up with you.”
“As I said, not all of them. I will provide more information if necessary.”
Quafidah turned to the stunned Masaphih members. “Now, I believe my good friend Makako has weapons to provide you. We should get this done with quickly.”
Ceselu interrupted. “What, now? In broad daylight? Shouldn’t we wait?”
Quafidah shook his head. “No one expects it in the daylight. Now is the best time.”
Sio smiled, looking wonderingly at Quafidah. “So… shall we go take over the kingdom?”
***
Nilson sat in a corner of the courtyard of Corenhu Castle with his head in his hands. Seated out of the way, behind a large bush, he looked around, gazing at the statue of the dragon, the fountains, gardens; he shut his eyes and blocked out all the world. He needed a moment to escape reality and let his mind try to reorganize itself.
Things were falling apart. His best friend for a many years was becoming increasingly strange. Makako was more secretive every day, and treated the king and Nilson with contempt. The king… Nilson could understand being depressed after the death of the queen, but to lock himself in his room for a month and let the affairs of the state be left to the unsteady hands of Makako and himself was too much. Arvon was confused, and the new baby, Komun, was demanding the attention of all of the servants.
Life had gone to hell.
He massaged his temples. Eyes closed, he immersed himself in memories of the good years, of a benevolent king trying to help the impoverished people of his land attain a better way of life then what they had suffered through for so long.
Many voices echoes through the courtyard as the gate clanged open. He shut his eyes, thinking nothing of it, but Makako’s voice drifted to him across the gardens.
“I said there would be no guards.”
Nilson peeked around from the bush, beholding a group of mostly D’Zjenaba and a few humans led by Makako enter the court. A few looked familiar. He started to get up to greet them, but stopped, eyes wide, as memories from ten years before rushed into his mind.
In the group Makako was leading right up to the castle, Sio and Ceselu stood.
Nilson almost jumped up to alert him to the danger, but his friend’s next words brought cold reality down upon him.
“Sio, come with me. We go for any officials and the royal family. Ceselu, Quafidah, go for the king.”
Quafidah!
Nilson sat back, breathing hard. No! Quafidah died! Leso killed him! How was this possible? Was Makako really betraying his king?
A realization slammed into him. Makako and Sio were going for officials. He was an official! His best friend just volunteered to kill him!
Quafidah growled. “Remember, Makako, when I am king, you will not give me orders.”
Nilson nearly fainted. Quafidah, Sio, and Ceselu, three of the most dangerous people in the kingdom, were performing a coup, with Makako’s help. In broad daylight! What were they thinking?
Nilson raced off, silent as a breeze, down a pathway through the gardens to a servant’s entrance. He had to alert the guard to the danger.
***
Makako, Quafidah, Ceselu, and Sio, along with twenty rebel warriors, stood in the entry hall of Corenhu Castle. Ceselu glanced about.
“Well, this is about the worst place in Saehoria for me to be right now.”
Quafidah laughed. “That’s why I’m here with you.”
Makako looked about nervously. “The throne room is that way,” he pointed down a tall yet narrow hallway. “Leso will be there.”
“I will turn him to dust!” Quafidah growled. He strode off down the hall, with Ceselu and about ten Masaphih following.
Sio turned to Makako. “So where do we go?”
Makako headed for a wide spiral staircase ornately decorated with gold and silver. “Upstairs is the royal chambers. Arvon and Komun should be up there.”
As they went up with the remaining Masaphih behind, Sio sighed. “This is going to be the worst part.”
“Why?”
“I know it’s necessary, but I feel horrible about killing a couple of kids. I just keep thinking about my own daughter, Serivra. About her… and then these…” his voice broke off.
Makako stopped. “It’s alright. Serivra is safe. If all goes according to plan, when you see her tonight, you’ll be a noble, and she will never get mixed up in all of this.” He put an arm around Sio. “It’ll be alright, you hear me!”
Sio smiled weakly at Makako. “Thanks. And I will do everything I can to keep her out of this whole Masaphih thing… I’d die if she ever got mixed up with this crew.”
They continued on their way.
***
Nilson skidded to a halt in a tall and narrow hallway. Corpses of guards and soldiers were scattered everywhere. He cursed himself in the Common and Elder Tongues.
As he turned to continue, he noticed the hall was unnaturally dusty. Also, not all of the mortal wounds on the guards were inflicted by a sword. Nilson frowned.
He started for the throne room, but stopped. There were enough soldiers in the castle that they and Leso could surely take care of Quafidah and Ceselu. Leso had defeated that rebel once before, he could do it again. He remembered Makako saying he and Sio would go for the royal family. Few guards would be in that part of the castle at this time of day.
Nilson ran for all he was worth, praying he was not too late.
***
The nobles of the Court dispersed, grumbling among themselves. Leso stalked away shaking his head. He collapsed on the throne, seat of power for many generations. He set his richly-decorated crown on the ground and put his head in his hands. Leso sighed.
There was a clamor in the hall just outside the heavy bronze doors. Leso cursed silently. What new fight were the nobles getting into now?
The weighty doors flew into the room at an impossible speed, accompanied by several bodies of guards. Leso watched in horror as several ragged-looking D’Zjenaba and humans raced into the room, slicing down guards too surprised to move. A few soldiers were able to launch a small offensive, until a wolf carrying two swords entered from the hall.
Leso couldn’t believe his eyes. Ceselu! He got the Masaphih reorganized, and somehow got inside!
The other rebels backed off as the three valiant guards faced off against Ceselu. One attacked early; Ceselu blocked with one sword and simultaneously plunged the other blade into the sentinel’s stomach. The second guard fared no better, but the third was able to knock Ceselu off balance and prepared to strike the final blow.
There was a sharp crackle, and a bolt of purple energy shot in from the hall and struck the soldier. All watched in terror as the guard’s body dissolved before their eyes, turning to dust.
Leso rose from his throne, shaking hand on Vlastona.
His eyes widened as his greatest enemy, apparently raised from the dead, entered the room.
Quafidah entered, robed in black, eyes shining a deep purple. In his hand was an exquisite sword: a dark gray blade and a black handle with two black snakes twisting the length of it.
Leso glanced about; all the guards were dead. It was just him against about ten insurrectionists, but no one made a move. He was being left for Quafidah alone.
“Well, Leso, my old adversary. Surprised to see me?” Quafidah asked, a note of confidence in his voice.
“How… did you survive?” Leso wondered, voice quivering despite his best efforts to control it.
“I was helped by one… greater.” The D’Zjenaba chuckled and lifted the sword. “Recognize this?”
Leso remained silent.
“I thought not. No one has seen it for nearly three centuries… not since it was taken from the very hand of Guroh by his killer.”
The king’s eyes darted about; his breathing quickened.
“Ah. I see you do now recognize my sword, Nugise.” He twirled the black sword. “Jal’zèn got great use out of it for a long time.”
Pieces of a rapidly emerging puzzle fell into place. Leso felt overwhelmed as he saw what had transpired in Quafidah’s life for the last ten years.
“No… the sorcerers all died. Jal’zèn died…”
“You’re wrong, my king.” Quafidah suddenly broke into a rage. “He lived! He ran like a coward and hid for three centuries! Then…” Quafidah’s tone stabilized. “He found someone that needed help… and held great potential.”
Leso tried to keep a firm grip on reality, but what had once seemed concrete was breaking apart with the new sorcerer’s every word. “So Jal’zèn sent you to kill me and begin the Necromantic Wars all over again?”
Quafidah spoke with contempt. “No. That weakling wanted to forge a whole new army of sorcerers to take over the land, like they tried so long ago. But all it takes is one.” He clenched Nugise tighter. “I killed him… he didn’t stand a chance. Jal’zèn is always called the most powerful sorcerer that ever lived, but that’s wrong. I am the most powerful. And I am here today to kill you, Leso Cerasii.”
***
Makako and Sio hurried down the hall on the upper floor. Makako placed a hand on his sword, while Sio notched an arrow to his bow.
“Let’s just get this over with.”
“The royal family’s rooms are just ahead.” Makako pointed to the end of the hall.
As they passed a hall that teed off into the main passageway, there was a rustle of garments, and Makako found a sword pressed to his neck, and a small dagger against Sio’s.
“Ah, Nilson. So glad you could join us.”
The captain held the two in an icy glare. Behind them, the Masaphih rebels sneered at Nilson, each brandishing a sword or battle axe. Makako chuckled quietly.
“You’re outnumbered. The guards are all dead. Face it, my old friend, you lose.”
Makako jumped back and drew his sword. Nilson slashed at Sio with the dagger, but the wolf swung his fist upward and knocked the dagger away. Nilson used it to block a blow from Makako, and swung his sword right through Sio’s bow. Wood splintered everywhere.
“Get him, you fools!” Sio screamed.
Makako backed away, leaving Nilson alone to fight the ten advancing rebels. The captain swallowed hard. I’m done for.
“Hey! There’s some of them!”
All eyes turned down the annex Nilson had stepped out of. Eight guards, swords drawn, advanced on the rebel group. Nilson breathed a sigh of relief and attacked.
***
A marble pillar exploded in a ball of purple fire. Leso rolled to his feet, eyes wide with fear.
Quafidah, eyes radiant with violet light, advanced on the king. “Come now, Leso. Surely you can put up some sort of fight!” He swung his black sword. Leso twisted away, searching desperately for some path of escape.
He found none.
The glow left the sorcerer’s eyes. He motioned to the rebels gathered. “Go secure the rest of the castle and the city. Ceselu, stay here.”
Ceselu absently spun his swords as the Masaphih reluctantly exited the room.
Leso drew his silver and gold sword. Vlastona stood in stark contrast to Nugise; each was a Dusinu Fertok, a Great Sword, forged hundreds of years ago as a seal to a pact. The third, Mernyl, was a perfectly balanced and surprisingly lightweight twin-bladed saber that was last seen with the Havvaran, the dangerous nomads in Southern Saehoria. However, after their secession three hundred years ago, very few Havvaran had been seen in the Northern Kingdom.
Quafidah and Leso circled each other. Ceselu stood nearby, watching, waiting. Leso watched Quafidah’s eyes, searching for a hint of the wolf’s next move.
They both attacked at the same time. Vlastona met Nugise in a shower of sparks; white blade, black blade. Quafidah grinned and shoved Leso away as if he weighed nothing. Leso stumbled, surprised by his opponent’s strength. He caught his balance and attacked with all the skill and strength he had.
Quafidah was amused. Leso was an even better swordsman than he remembered. If it were not for the physical enhancements sorcerers possessed, he imagined the king might actually be good enough to beat him. But his new power gave the necromancer the strength and speed to hold the upper hand.
Leso was sweating in the morning heat. It seemed that he and Quafidah were locked in a stalemate, neither being able to best the other. But Leso noticed that no matter how fast he moved, no matter what little trick he tried, Nugise was always there to meet his white blade. Also, there were times, even when his defense was strongest, that the black sword was able to maneuver through, finding weaknesses. He realized that Quafidah was merely playing with him! The sorcerer could kill him with ease, if not with the sword then with magic. Why?
Leso jumped away, panting. Quafidah laughed.
“Now you see what I am capable of. But why don’t I just kill you, if I can?” he asked, echoing the king’s thoughts. “I want you to suffer, Leso. I want you to fall to your knees before me. I want to see you weak and hopeless. Then, only then, will I end your miserable life.”
***
Nilson and Makako struggled back and forth in the hall, swords clashing violently. The guards and the Masaphih were locked in desperate struggle; the passageway was quickly filling with the dead. Sio had abandoned his bow for a sword gleaned from a dead soldier. He struck the best he could, despite his greater experience as an archer. A D’Zjenaba rebel tried to sneak up on Nilson; he dove to the side as Makako swung and struck down his own follower.
The clamor was now quieter; only Makako, Sio, Nilson, and one Masaphih rebel remained standing. Nilson spun around, kicking Makako aside. As he did, the rebel leapt at him, sword ready to strike.
There was a flash as metal sped by. A small knife, flipping through the air, buried itself in the Masaphih’s chest. He let out a groan as he fell to the ground.
Arvon stood in the hallway, a dark glean in her pale green eyes. “Nilson!”
Nilson gaped at the young girl that had just saved his life. “Run! Get Komun and run! You’re both in danger!” Arvon stood wide-eyed for a moment, then fled.
Makako smashed the captain in the side of the head. Nilson stumbled forward, feeling warm blood on the side of his head. His vision went red. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Sio take an arrow to his bow, aim on Arvon. Anger pulsed through him. Oh, no you don’t.
Using his momentum from falling, he caught his balance and brought the sword around in a tight, lethal arc. Before he could shoot, Nilson removed Sio’s head from his shoulders. His lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
Arvon vanished into a room far down the hall.
Makako stared in surprise at the body. His face twisted in rage.
Nilson had started to follow Arvon, but the gleam of a sword in rapid approach to him brought him back around to face Makako. The noble attacked with fury unbound, driving Nilson back quickly. The captain used every last bit of skill he had to stay alive before the brutal onslaught.
Makako was so consumed with wrath that he didn’t notice the mistake until his old friend took advantage of it, smashing the flat of his blade into the side of the noble’s skull. Makako slumped to the ground. Nilson, panting hard, crouched down next to him and felt his pulse. Upon feeling the dull rhythmic beat of life, a wave of relief ran through the captain. His friend – turned nemesis – was only out cold.
As he stood, he saw two pairs of eyes gleaming from a doorway. Arvon stepped out into the hall with a baby in her arms. Komun.
“Is he dead? Did you kill Makako?” she asked, hesitantly.
“No, but he’ll have a nasty headache when he wakes up.” Nilson put an arm around the princess, positioning his body to block her view of the carnage in the hall. “Listen to me very carefully: some very bad people are trying to take over the kingdom right now. They want your father dead, as well as you and Komun.” She nodded. “Makako was helping them. Now, I don’t know if your father is okay right now. I need to go help him. What I want you to do is to go to the back exit of the castle. The one leading through the wall, by the bluffs? Go there and hide yourself. I’ll come to you. You got it?”
She nodded, tears welling in her eyes, yet a look of iron on her face.
“Good. I’ll come for you. I promise.” He kissed her gently on the forehead.
She turned down the side hall, clutching her brother close, and vanished around a corner.
Nilson glanced back one last time at the body of Sio as he sprinted to the stairs, with dread wrapped around his gut of what he might find in the throne room.
***
Arvon hurried through secret passages only a select few knew, taking circuitous routes through servant’s quarters and old storerooms. These ways in the castle had been designed for just this purpose: to keep important people safe in the event of a siege or something like that. Yeah, like that.
She shuddered as a lump rose in her throat. Not even a month ago, her world had been turned upside down as her mother surrendered her life to bring Komun into the world. Now, she was fleeing with the baby from insurrectionists that wanted them and their father dead.
Her head swam. Hearing a noise ahead, she instinctively crouched down, praying Komun didn’t choose this moment to wake and begin crying. In the dim light of the musty passageway, the vague outline of a rat moved against a wall a few paces ahead. She rose, sighing.
She hoped Nilson would come for her soon and tell her everything was alright; that he and her father had slain the traitors, like the mighty warriors they were. She adored her father, and to her, Nilson was like an uncle. Leso was the only child of Dernus, and she never really learned about Ashera’s family or background. All her life, Nilson had been a part of the family to her.
She came to a thick door of iron set in thick, heavy stone framing. A lone torch illuminated the room. In the corner, a few barrels sat. Carefully holding Komun, she curled up behind them. Arvon tried to smile, but found that the muscles just wouldn’t work.
***
Leso felt his shoulder touch marble and realized he had been backed into a corner. Quafidah approached, chuckling softly, eyes locked on him. The king noticed that Nugise and Quafidah’s eyes were almost the same shade of black; he wasn’t sure which was more piercing.
With a blink, the black eyes changed to a purple glow. Leso swallowed hard.
Quafidah raised Nugise. “Die, my king.”
The clash of metal meeting metal echoed throughout the lofty room. Both turned to see Ceselu and Nilson, on the other side of the throne room, exchanging fast and furious blows. Quafidah growled. “So Makako failed.”
Leso felt like a fool, asking all the questions. “How?” Before Quafidah could answer, the king attacked.
As they fought, the D’Zjenaba answered between blows, “Makako… hates you. Your… policies. He… helped me. Went to kill… family and… Nilson.” He stepped out of Leso’s range, grinning. That same arrogant, cocky smile he had always had. “If he failed, then I get to take care of them myself.” His smile broadened. “Maybe I wouldn’t kill your daughter. Komun, yes; the last thing I need as I take command of the land is the infant prince demanding attention. But Arvon… yes, she could be of great… use… to me.” He snarled. “An enslaved princess.”
Rage and hate boiled within Leso. This sick bastard would never hurt his children! “She’d never serve you. And you’ll never touch me or my family.”
“Oh, I have my ways. And I’ve touched you closer than you might think. I hear the queen was mysteriously sick for quite some time during her pregnancy. Never enough to kill her, only to leave her too weak to make it after she had child.” He bared his teeth, tail swishing gently. “It was such an easy spell to do that.”
Leso shot at Quafidah like an arrow, screaming. His blood boiled with pain, hate, and rage. He tasted copper in his mouth.
Vlastona met Nugise. There was a flash of purple, and Leso’s sword clattered to the ground behind Quafidah. Leso charged him, fingers like claws. “Never!”
“Too late,” Quafidah whispered. He swung his sword, blazing with violet light. Leso’s body flew backwards, striking the marble wall with enough force to crack it. He sagged, lifeless; Leso Cerasii, King of the Northern Kingdom of Saehoria, was dead.
Nilson leapt away from Ceselu, shocked. It was over. He began to face his opponent again, but thought better of it. He turned and ran, racing through dark passages and lofty halls. He heard raspy breathing following him; Ceselu had given chase.
In the throne room, Quafidah stood over Leso's body. He grinned, terribly, grotesquely, and laughed.
His echoing laughter had a strange sound to it, as if more than just one voice was resounding in the hall of death.
***
Nilson sped through the servant's quarters, Ceselu close behind. He jumped over a small cot, catching his foot on it as he flew over. The captain landed in a heap on the ground. He glanced back only to see Ceselu leap over the fallen bed, land in a forward roll, and slide to a halt on his feet in a fighting stance.
"You can't escape me like you did with Makako." He snarled. "Your time's up."
Nilson, lying on the ground, felt his hand close around a glass vessel of beer a servant had mistakenly left sitting out. "I don't think so."
The glass shattered in Ceselu's face. He let out a cry of pain as chips of glass embedded in his flesh. The alcohol soaked into his fur, touching the fresh cuts like liquid fire. He screamed in agony and rage.
Blood clouded his vision. He was vaguely aware of Nilson fleeing out a doorway. He found a barrel of water and plunged his head into it, washing away the blood and beer. Ceselu scrubbed his face, pulling any glass bits he could painfully out.
A powerful hand grabbed the back of his head and pushed down, holding him underwater. He struggled to raise his head as a pain in his lungs replaced the hurt of the glass bits. Just as he thought he was about to pass out, the hand roughly raised him from the barrel.
Quafidah loomed over the drenched and gasping wolf. "You failed me as well. I've surrounded myself with imbeciles."
Quafidah strode after Nilson.
***
Arvon heard footsteps approaching. Twice since Nilson had left her behind the crates had Masaphih rebels entered the small room, causing her heart to stop in fear each time. She had found a chunk of brick that had fallen loose from the wall, and clutched it tight as the steps came closer.
Nilson ran into the small chamber, face pale. Blood stained his tunic. He motioned toward the crates; Arvon stood and ran to him, holding Komun with one arm and dropping the stone. She grabbed on to him and embraced him.
“Where’s Father?” Arvon asked.
Nilson closed his eyes. “I need to get you and your brother out of here now. We need to get to the docks as fast as we can. We can try to get a boat before the Masaphih catch us. We go south a ways, then try to cut across land to Turevris. The army will back us if you and Komun are there. Yes, Turevris is the best place to go.”
Arvon arched an eyebrow. “What?” She realized what he was saying, but her mind immediately rejected the thought. “No. Father’s not… no. He’s not, is he? No. Tell me, Nilson. He’s still alive. Right? He’ll be here…?”
Nilson looked away. “No. He won’t.”
Arvon was silent, but a lone tear slid down her cheek. How could this happen? “What… how…?”
“Quafidah, the rebel. He’s taking over.” Nilson grabbed the princess and pulled her toward the door. As he pushed it open, the ancient hinges squeaked loudly. “We need to go.”
“I’ll agree with that.” Quafidah entered the room, snarling. “But you’re not going anywhere!” He leapt at them, fangs bared.
“C’mon!” Nilson pulled Arvon and Komun outside and slammed the door shut in Quafidah’s face. From the other side of the heavy metal door, they heard a dull thud and a yelp of pain.
Nilson and Arvon ran along the top of the bluffs the city was built upon, along a narrow ledge only about ten feet wide from the wall of the castle to the edge, where the cliff dropped to the docks along the shore of the Girom River nearly one hundred feet below. Arvon looked over the edge, gulped, and held Komun tighter.
They came to a spiraling staircase cut into the cliff. The road from the docks ran along the shore until the bluffs ended, then wrapped around the city to the main gate on the north side. This stairway was built for royalty to have easy access to the docks in case of an emergency.
The bronze door they had just exited blasted off its hinges, over the cliff, and dropped into the middle of the river with a pulse of purple energy, driving home the severity of this emergency.
“Run! Go!” Nilson and Arvon took the spiraling steps two or three at a time. Quafidah spotted them and sprinted for the stairs. He blinked, and purple light shone from his eyes.
As they approached the bottom, Nilson’s breath caught, and he let out a curse. Below, coming from the docks, three Masaphih rebels waited with swords drawn. Arvon groaned quietly. They came to a halt on the stairs about twenty feet from the sandy ground below. Above, Quafidah slowly descended; Nilson, Arvon, and Komun were trapped between deaths.
Quafidah’s rumbling voice echoed through the spiraling staircase, off the cliff, and out over the rushing waters. “It’s over, Nilson. You have fought gallantly, but it wasn’t enough.”
Arvon raised her voice to the murderer, full of icy malice. “You are… despicable. You’ll never hurt us. You may have killed…” her voice halted, wavered, then continued, “may have killed my father, but as long as I draw breath, you will never touch me or my brother.”
Nilson looked down at the rebel soldiers below, then up a few twists of the stairs into the grinning face of the anthropomorphic wolf grinning down at him. He was struck by an idea. He swallowed. No. He would… but that really didn’t matter anymore. His duty was to protect Arvon and Komun, at all costs, including this one. He whispered, “Arvon, run down and head for the docks. Trust me. Run.” With that, he swung himself over the edge, sword drawn, right on top of the surprised rebels.
Nilson landed on the Masaphih, and all four went to the sandy shore in a pile. Nilson stabbed out with his sword, not really knowing or caring what he punctured. As he staggered to his feet, he saw that he had placed his blade right through the ribs of one D’Zjenaba, who laid thrashing in death, blood spilling from his side.
Just as Arvon reached the bottom of the cliff stairs, a blast of purple struck the ground next to her. She turned her head away as millions of grains of sand blasted into her face. Quafidah stood a few spirals up, about ten feet off the ground.
“Finish him off!” he yelled to the two rebels facing Nilson. “I’ll take the girl.”
Quafidah leaped from the stairs. A violet glow surrounded his body, bringing him down to the ground gently. Arvon fled down the wooden planks of the docks; Komun awoke and began making soft noises.
Nilson felt life pound through his veins like never before. He swung his sword with all his might; it shattered about a foot above the hilt as it collided with his opponent’s weapon. A large chunk of the broken sword buried itself in the rebel’s gut, causing him to double over in misery. The other Masaphih let out a chilling cry of pain as the broken remnant of Nilson’s sword was thrown into him, ending his life.
Arvon came to a moderately-sized skiff moored to the pier. She set Komun down into the craft gently, and began untying it for the journey downriver. “Nilson! Come on!” Panic edged at her voice.
Quafidah’s eyes blazed purple. He raised Nugise and pointed the tip of the blade at the princess, and a shockwave of energy surged down the length of the blade. “The crown is mine.”
“Not yet!” Nilson hit the D’Zjenaba wolf from the side, throwing off his aim at the last second. Quafidah stumbled, catching his balance as he tottered perilously close to the river rushing under the pier they stood on. Nilson grappled with him, eyes full of fury, and with a mad burst of strength, wrested Vlastona from the sorcerer.
The magic cast through the black sword had missed Arvon, but not by much. A huge explosion ripped through the heavy morning air, lavender flames erupting from the dock. The skiff holding Komun rocked gently in the water; the baby, now awake, laughed. Arvon was thrown backwards, senseless. Nilson watched in helpless horror as she dropped off the side of the pier and into the swift river. The light haze of her body in the water slowly faded as she sank, along with Nilson’s hope.
Quafidah laughed harshly. The dinghy began to drift, coming around the end of the pier and into the fast current of the middle of the Girom River. Nilson gulped. The fate of the kingdom now rested on his next move.
The captain spun around, racing for the end of the dock with all the speed he could muster, holding onto the white sword for all he was worth. As he reached the end, he leaped into the air, sailing for the boat.
The pain struck him in full power. Magic energy coursed through his body, and for a brief moment he felt as if his soul was being torn apart from his flesh. His vision faded, then came back in full clarity as he landed in the boat. He lay dazed and stunned for a moment, then tried to raise his head.
He could barely twitch his neck.
He let out a moan. Pain was pounding through him with each beat of his heart, and, like a poison, left him weaker and weaker with each pulse. Redoubling his efforts, he managed to bring his head up high enough to look back.
Quafidah stood as still as a statue at the end of the wharf. The boat picked up speed as the current drug it along. The scene of sorrow and death faded into the distance. Soon, the whole of the city of Ser’rance was nothing more than a speck on the horizon.
Then there was nothing.
Nilson felt himself fading, slowly but surely. He struggled to sit up. He looked at the baby that shared this vessel with him. Komun, Prince of Northern Saehoria.
No, not prince. King.
Nilson considered his options. He had two choices. Try to land a ways downstream and go to Turevris to gather the army to challenge Quafidah, who was doubtless now securing his hold on the government.
No, he wouldn’t. He would want Komun dead. The baby is the heir to the throne, and could challenge him. Would, with Nilson around.
But about that – Nilson knew he was dying. He grabbed an oar, but couldn’t summon the strength to lift it. Unless they came across someone soon, there would be no stopping at Turevris.
If they kept on drifting… oh, gods. The Havvaran.
Nilson felt his heart skip a beat, a dangerous thing in his already weakened state. The nomadic race that had dropped contact with the rest of the lands three hundred years ago lived in the south, and wild stories swirled about them, stories that were told in village gatherings, by children to scare each other. The Havvaran were the dreaded beasts of legend, the strange anthropomorphic cheetahs that haunted the Southern Wastes, Fur’Illis Forest, and Chenis Mountains in the southern half of Saehoria.
The southern half that a northern king would have no contact with, let alone control.
An idea wormed its way into Nilson’s mind, then found itself immediately shown the door. It persisted and, as Nilson stared down at the baby upon which so much depended, took hold.
Quafidah was going to let the elements kill them. If they survived that, the Havvaran would finish them off.
But what if the Havvaran could be reasoned with?
Nilson collapsed back, breathing hard. He could – would – keep them alive. The Havvaran were their only hope. He must try, as there was no other option.
The boat drifted on through the flatlands, south of the capital city and death.
***
A warm evening breeze wafted up from the river into the dusty streets of Havvenil. A young cheetah-like Havvaran, about four or five years old, raced along the shore, eyes darting about, searching. He ran out onto the crude pier extending out into the Girom from the city. His gaze fell upon a few inches of a yellow and black tail sticking out from behind a large vase. He ran over, pouncing on his hidden friend.
“Found you, Sarneln!”
The two boys fell to the wooden planks wrestling. Sarneln rolled away, and looked north, up the river. He caught sight of something in the distance. “Hey, Actoris. Look at that.”
Actoris scanned the horizon for what his friend saw. He noticed what appeared to be a small boat drifting down the river.
Sarneln scratched behind his ear. “What do you think it is?”
The skiff was coming closer. “It’s a boat. Are you blind?”
Sarneln growled. “Hey!”
Actoris smiled. “It looks like it’s going to hit the northern pier. Let’s go watch!”
They raced back to the shore and alongside the river, dodging carts and stands set up by merchants. A few traders closing up their shops for the night shouted insults as the boys raced past, nearly knocking over displays and Havvaran.
They turned and jogged down the northern dock from the city situated on the western shore of the wide river. Actoris and Sarneln watched as the boat drifted into the side of the dock, hitting with a thud.
They jumped in surprise as a human weakly sat up from the bottom of the dinghy. The man looked at them with wide eyes.
He mumbled feebly, “Help me,” then collapsed back down.
“Sarneln. Go get Father,” Actoris commanded, strange authority in his young voice.
Sarneln gasped. “Your father won’t be happy to be interrupted. No one bothers the king.”
Actoris, the young prince of the Havvaran, was stone-faced. “I don’t care. Get him.”
Sarneln raced back into the market district of the city. He found King Xopus, Actoris’ father, standing in the entrance to a tent, debating with a gaunt trader.
“M’lord, the spring rains have made the lands south of the Chenis Mountains into a swampland. The sables are more difficult to trap than ever before.”
Xopus held his head high. “Regardless, you have no right to charge such extravagant prices.”
“As I explained…”
“Thirty casbars is much too high.”
“But…”
“Too high.”
Xopus looked down at Sarneln as he tugged on his robe. “Ah, Sarneln. What do you need? I’m busy right now.”
Sarneln pointed back toward where the boat had arrived. “There’s a boat! A boat with a human in it! And I think he’s hurt!”
Xopus blinked. “What?”
“Actoris wants you at the northern pier because there’s a hurt human in a boat!”
Xopus excused himself from the trader and followed the boy to the wharf. Two guards, armed with spears, followed behind. Actoris waved excitedly when they came into view.
“There’s a baby with him!”
Xopus stood over the boat and offered his hand to the man. “Here, let’s get you out of there. You need medical attention.”
Nilson, lying in the skiff, shook his head with effort. “No… it’s too late for me,” he panted. “But… the baby… is the prince of the… Northern Kingdom. He is… Komun, son of Leso Cerasii.”
Xopus looked in wonder at the infant prince. “The prince… and who are you?”
“My name… is Nilson. I’m the Captain… of the King’s Guard.”
“Where is Leso? What has happened?”
Nilson groaned as he summoned the strength to respond. “He was killed… in a coup. Quafidah took over… he’s a sorcerer. That’s how I was injured… his magic has drained my strength.”
Xopus knelt down and took the baby from Nilson. He noticed the white blade lying in the boat, and recognized it as a Dusinu Fertok. He thought of his own Great Sword, Mernyl. He realized that, with the presence of that sword, Nilson’s story was valid and true. He knew what he had to do. “I promise you, I will raise this child like my own. And when he is old enough, I will do all I can to place him on his rightful throne.” His mind was spinning. A sorcerer had returned in the Northern Kingdom and took over the kingship? What was happening in the land?
Nilson was breathing harder now. As his world faded to black, he whispered once more, “Thank you… you’re not the beasts… they say you are. Thank… you…”
Nilson went limp. Komun cried softly in the Havvaran king’s arms.
Actoris and Sarneln watched nearby. The cheetah prince tugged at Xopus’ robe. “Father? What does all this mean?”
Xopus sighed. “It means the land of Saehoria is falling into chaos once again, for the first time in three centuries.”