The Reckoning, page 22
Without giving pause, Magus clutched the neck of Sernon’s robe and grasped his leg, slamming him into the steel spikes on the back wall.
Pain like a thousand fires tore into his back and buttocks and bit into his thighs. He screamed. “You have killed me.”
“No, you will not die so easily. You will suffer for the anguish you have caused my people.” Magus’s jaw hardened. “I have dealt with Dannock-Shae in the Void. There are worse things than death.”
Magus plucked him from the wall and dropped him face down on the marble floor.
A grisly rattle escaped his throat. With three words from Magus, his bloodied wounds healed over, but agony like a beast still raged through his insides.
Even as he lay crumpled at his brother’s feet, he knew he would not surrender. The small respite was all he needed. He groaned, rolled onto his elbow, and pushed out his hand. Flames sprang from his fingertips aimed at Magus.
His brother parried with a blast of freezing air that toppled a heavy stone column. He made to dodge it but was trapped as the column fell across his chest—pain tenfold than before seared his body. He attempted to focus, but his eyes blurred. He threw out a hasty command, summoning his staff from beside the altar. But Magus intercepted it and transformed the rosewood staff to a writhing serpent complete with wings and fangs. It reared its head at its Master. Sernon punched out his fist, and the stave converted to dust.
“Is that the best you can do?” The god gestured to the pillar of stone.
The pillar vanished, and Sernon flew with the flick of his brother’s wrist to slam into the ornate ceiling, floor, and walls.
Then he released the spell, allowing Sernon to drop to the floor like a crushed and broken doll, all breath knocked from his lungs.
Summoning his strength, he willed his mind to heal his wretched body, but Magus would have none of it.
“No, brother. Allow me.” With painstaking slowness, he used his magick to snap Sernon’s bones back into place, dragging, stitching, and gathering each small segment of mutilated tissue and sinew.
Every small act tortured him to the fullest, exacting payment for his evil deeds. Finally, the mending was complete and outwardly he seemed healed, but claws of torturous pain still worked at his insides.
He glared up into his brother’s handsome visage, and anger burned in his gut like fire at the humiliation he had suffered in the presence of his enemies. He turned his head to peer at Ohma, the old charlatan, so pure, even now he carried sympathy in his eyes. Then there was Kaden of the despised Wolfhead, and Tannith, Princess of Dragonbane…another detested name. How their ancestors would laugh if they could see him now.
With a curse, he closed his eyes, blocking out the look of triumph and pity in theirs. His strength returned with the retaliation he planned. He had not come so far, so close to seeing his dreams fulfilled to have them snatched away so easily. His milksop brother would not defeat him. He would not allow it!
He rolled and shouted a command. A marble dragon in a far corner grew scales and reared to life. It opened its maw and fire rained down, searing hot and bright on Magus’s head.
The god flung up his hands and the flames reversed to flash back at him. Crying out, Sernon ceased his fiery spell. His hands burned as he clutched his face, great hunks of flesh clinging to his fingers.
Magus remained unscathed, and with casual mastery, exploded Sernon’s beast to ash, then with a casual flick of his wrist, drained the searing agony from his ruined face.
“The game is over, brother. ’Tis long past time we finished this.” Magus bent to pick up the Cross and place it around his neck.
“No!” He lunged, threw Magus to the floor, and straddled his body, raining blow after blow down into his face. He ripped at the Cross, but it slid from his burned fingers, scudding across the marble floor. He scampered after it.
Magus yanked him back by the hair and thrust a hard right into his jaw.
Stunned momentarily, he quickly recovered and clutched Magus’s throat. His fingers closed like talons about his brother’s larynx, but his grip faltered because of the pain in his hands.
He reeled as a blow struck the side on his head and Magus flipped him onto his back. Together they rolled across the hard, shiny floor―back and forth, each man battling for supremacy, each giving no quarter, both trying to gain the upper hand.
Magus’s punches powered into his head, his jaw, then his eye.
“Cease.” Sernon struggled for breath.
His brother bent over to retrieve the Cross and came to his feet looking down on him.
Sernon watched his twin through narrowed eyes, and his fear rose. He raised his hand. “Magus, we are brothers. You are a god—all-powerful. Grant mercy. Do not send me into oblivion. I beg you on our mother’s grave. I swear to obey you in all matters.”
Magus shook his head as if reading the lie in his mind. “We may be of the same blood, but you ceased to be my brother the day you donned the black robes. You are a blight on all sorcerers, a blight on the name of Asomos, a plague that will soon be rectified. There will be no mercy for you, brother.”
He raised the Cross, but still, he did not release its power. “You could never have won, you know that. For the stone you and all others thought the Eye of Magus was never my eye alone. The jewel was placed in my statue by the Gods of Creation.” He lifted the Cross to the light. “The stone at the heart of this Cross is the Eye of the Gods. The Gods have been watching you. And you have been judged!”
A brilliant light broke from the jewel, striking Sernon’s chest and encompassing his body. He threw up his hands and screamed, trying to shield himself from the searing heat. He had known pain before but nothing like this. This was infinite, gut-wrenching. Agony like a thousand fires from the Abyss, tearing through every fiber, every membrane of his body, ripping, clawing, and gouging at his entrails—burning into his head—his mind.
Black, hideous creatures sprang from a dark cloud that had formed in a top corner of the room. Screaming in dissent, they clutched at him with icy talons.
He raised his arms to ward them off.
Then the beasts swooped again, gripped his arms, and with a last piercing scream, dredged up from his soul, disappeared into the shadows.
****
Tannith stared, numb with disbelief, at the smoldering pile of white ash on the flagstone floor…all that remained of Sernon.
All these months of trials and hardships, all that time of living in fear of this one man. Now he was no more, his life snuffed out like the frail flame of a candle—life so fragile, death so profound.
Slowly, she dragged her gaze from the place where the sorcerer had lain and made her way to her father. At the death of the sorcerer, Ephraen had regained consciousness. She removed his gag, then, pulling her hunting knife from her leg sheath, sliced his bonds and helped him sit. He appeared so frail. The blood loss from his severed finger probably contributing to his weakness. She pulled a scrap of linen from her waistband and bound his hand.
She looked at him, then smiled. His milk-white eyes blinked and tried to focus.
It was then she realized with horror her father was blind. She ran her fingers gently down his scarred cheek, and he flinched. “Father, ’tis I, Tannith.”
“Daughter?” The one word held a sob. “How can this be?” His two hands covered hers.
“The story is long Father. Rest now.” She put her arm around his shoulders and eased him back onto the altar. He seemed so frail. It was hard to reconcile that he was the same strong man he had been.
Tannith beseeched Magus. “Please, my lord, can you not help him?”
The god glided across the floor and laid his cool hand on the king’s brow.
The old man groaned. His eyes fluttered open, but this time they focused on his daughter, violet, bright, and full of life.
Magus touched the king’s cheek and the burned flesh healed, then he placed his hand over his fathers and a new finger appeared.
Shakily, Ephraen pushed his legs over the edge of the altar and hugged Tannith to his chest, tears of joy staining his weathered cheeks.
****
Ohma joined Magus and drew him aside. “So, it is finally over.”
“Aye, Sernon has gone, and his soul vanquished into the Seventh Level of the Hell Pit. From which there is no escape, ever. He will never rise again.” Magus took the Cross from around his neck, lifted Ohma’s wrinkled hand, and placed it in his palm. “I am entrusting the Cross to you, my friend. Use it wisely. Help my people restore Tarlis to the greatness it once was. And when the time comes, pass it to your successor.”
“But how will I know—”
Magus stopped him with a raised hand. “You must choose but be careful. She must be pure of heart and body when she accepts the Cross, or it will destroy her.”
Ohma arched a snowy brow. “She?”
Magus smiled. “Your successor will be female. That is all I can tell you.”
“But when—”
“When the time is right. In many summers to come.”
“But, my lord, I had expected to travel to Elysium with you. I am old—I am tired.”
Magus shook his head and gave Ohma a sad smile. “I am sorry, my friend. One day you will stand beside me in the place of our faith, but your time is not now. You still have much to accomplish before you journey that path. These people need you, and I need you to help them.”
Ohma sighed, unable to answer. How could he be expected to carry so great a burden? He was not worthy.
“If I did not think you up to the task, I would not ask it.” Magus had read his mind. “Take heart, old friend, for you are stronger and more worthy than you think. Whom else could I depend upon to see the chore completed properly?”
“Who else, indeed?” Ohma replied wearily. He nodded and gave Magus a half smile as the god’s image faded.
The elderly man moved to the window to stand beside Kaden. “You must speak to your people and end this slaughter. It is useless to fight now that Sernon is dead. The Urakians must be made to surrender.”
“I know, but how do you hold back the tide?”
“With the help of the Cross, I can blot out the sun. If they cannot see, they cannot fight.”
“Then do it, for I would have no more of my men die for a cause already won.”
Ohma raised the Cross to the weeping sky. The rain stopped and the sky lay flat and gray above their heads. Ohma spoke, and a darkness blacker than night descended over the land.
Shouts rang out from the courtyard, then no sound at all as the battle ceased.
Kaden called down to the grounds below. “Urakians, this is Prince Kaden of the resistance. Sernon is dead! Lay down your arms, and I shall be merciful!”
There was silence, then murmurs of dissent.
One by one, Kaden heard the distinct sound of iron and steel hitting earth and cobblestone. Realizing they were victorious, the rebel army let out a tremendous roar.
With a wrinkled smile, Ohma reversed the spell.
The sky brightened, and the sun burst forth, filling the courtyard with light.
“Etan! Radoch! Have the weapons collected and the prisoners assembled in the inner courtyard. I will meet you there,” shouted Kaden.
They waved at him, and he turned back to Ohma. “Where is Magus? Will he not speak to his people?”
Ohma shook his head. “His time here has been and gone. The people have no more need of him. It is your time for glory now.” He placed both hands on Kaden’s shoulder. “It is you who must lead these people. We have won the battle, but there is still much to be set to rights. The people must have someone to look up to, someone to follow. This is your time Kaden. This is what the prophecy foretold.”
Kaden stepped back, and Ohma’s hand dropped to his side. He stared at him slowly, shaking his head.
Ohma cringed, so lethal was the look on the young Prince’s face. In his cold green eyes. “You…” He pointed at Ohma. “You knew my brother would die. You knew all along,” he accused.
“Not all along, no, but for some time, yes.”
“You could have told me—warned him. We could have—”
“There was nothing I could do.”
“Karnak said the pathways could be changed.”
“Not this one, it was ordained in the stars. It had to be this way—”
“For me to lead,” finished Kaden lamely.
Ohma nodded. “You cannot know how sorry I am.
“Sorry? Sorry about what?” asked Tannith, moving to join them. She smiled at the men and linked her arm through Kaden’s. “So where is Erik? I thought he would be here by now. I could not see him in the courtyard. He will be king now, will he not?” she asked looking up into Kaden’s eyes.
****
Ohma drew back. “You will wish to speak alone.”
He nodded at Kaden, and Tannith noted his bleak expression.
“You must be pleased.” She hesitated at his silence. “Erik has Wolveryne Castle restored.”
“My brother is dead,” he replied flatly, staring at a spot over her head. “He will never sit on the Wolfhead throne or be crowned king of Glen-Dorrach. He gave his life to open the gates.”
Tears sprang to Tannith’s eyes. Her hand found his. “I am so sorry. I do not know what to say. I know you loved him very much.” She chose her words carefully. “Erik was a good man. He will not be forgotten.”
“No, he will not.” Kaden brought her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head for several moments, then he pushed her to arm’s length and straightened. “Come.” He took her hand. “It is time to face our people and make this land whole again.”
****
Tannith and Kaden stepped onto the landing overlooking the crowded inner courtyard. The wounded and dead had been cleared or taken to safety, and the Urakian soldiers waited on bended knees to hear their fate. Men of every race flanked them, weapons held in readiness.
Radoch climbed the steps and drew his sword. He raised it into the air, and his voice boomed out over the people. “Hail the new king. Hail Kaden of Glen-Dorrach!”
Cheers rose long and loud from the courtyard.
Kaden raised a hand to settle the noise, at the same time searching the ranks of the Elisians until he found the one, he sought. “Captain Etanandril Jarrisendel, I call you to my side. This is your victory too!”
The fair-haired Elisian reddened and took the steps two at a time to the applause of his troops. He stood beside Kaden, cheers and clapping reaching a thunderous roar.
Kaden held up his father’s broadsword, and the noise softened and finally ceased. There was silence as all waited for the new King of the Wolfhead to speak.
“People of Tarlis, today is a proud day for us. Today, we conquered an army we thought invincible. Today, we stood as brothers, shoulder to shoulder, and fought for freedom from a man who would have seen you on your knees as slaves. This day will burn in the hearts and minds of our people for all time. Let us always stand together as one!”
The cry from the ocean of faces below sounded their approval.
“And let us remember another king, my brother, Erik. He came to power in a time of peril. He had no chance to take his rightful place among you but loved his people no less. Many may not know it, but he gave up his life today to open the gate. Without him, we would have no victory.”
Another roar went up, louder than the last. Chanting Erik’s name. He waited for the cheers to subside. Some of the soldiers were weeping openly.
“By the end of today, an alliance will be drawn up between all creed and race.” He looked to Ephraen who moved from the shadows to the left of his daughter.
The Elisian King nodded.
Kaden’s voice rang out. “If any of our brothers should be in need, they have only to send word and the army of Glen-Dorrach and Ellenroh will ride to their aid. What do you say, people of Tarlis? Shall it be so?” He punched his arm into the air.
Cries of agreement started softly and grew to a crescendo, echoing out over the valley.
Kaden let go the breath he held, and the tension drained from his body. Then he tensed again as he looked down at the prisoners on their knees in the courtyard.
What to do with several thousand Urakians? How easy it would be to have them put to the sword? However, it was not an act he would like to be remembered for on his first day as king. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. What would Erik have done?
He stared out over the castle walls. The sun was setting, signaling the end of the day. Crimson and black filled the sky—the color of blood and death. On the ramparts, a white tiger stood watching him. The large cat raised its paw and roared, then turned and padded along the battlement to vanish.
Kaden nodded and brushed a hand across his eyes. “Thank you, brother,” he whispered, knowing Erik would never hear him. He straightened and cast a last lingering look at the battlements, then searched the ranks of the prisoners. There had been too much slaughter and bloodshed already. Let his reign be the start of a new age. Let his be a rule of honor and mercy.
He strode down the steps to the first line of Urakians. A man in a skulled-helm knelt at his feet. His side oozed blood, and there was a shallow cut across his throat.
“Remove your helm,” he demanded. “I would see your face.”
The warrior spat on the stone at Kaden’s feet. “I will not die on my knees,” he growled.
A Dorrachian stepped forward and knocked the helm from his head.
Kaden ignored the slight and stared into the ebony eyes of the man before him. “What is your name soldier?”
“Kraal.” He grunted, and his lip curled. “General Kraal.”
“Do you lead these people, Kraal?”
“Aye. If they have no one else.”
Kaden smiled thinly and crossed his arms over his chest. “You shall see your people exiled to Kragg Island, which will henceforth be known as a penal colony. There, they will remain for all their days. Glen-Dorrach troops will man the castle. Any Urakian caught trying to escape will be hung without trial. Your people will not bear arms. They are to have no tools in their possession made from steel or iron. The penalty for this is also death. Is all that clear?”
Pain like a thousand fires tore into his back and buttocks and bit into his thighs. He screamed. “You have killed me.”
“No, you will not die so easily. You will suffer for the anguish you have caused my people.” Magus’s jaw hardened. “I have dealt with Dannock-Shae in the Void. There are worse things than death.”
Magus plucked him from the wall and dropped him face down on the marble floor.
A grisly rattle escaped his throat. With three words from Magus, his bloodied wounds healed over, but agony like a beast still raged through his insides.
Even as he lay crumpled at his brother’s feet, he knew he would not surrender. The small respite was all he needed. He groaned, rolled onto his elbow, and pushed out his hand. Flames sprang from his fingertips aimed at Magus.
His brother parried with a blast of freezing air that toppled a heavy stone column. He made to dodge it but was trapped as the column fell across his chest—pain tenfold than before seared his body. He attempted to focus, but his eyes blurred. He threw out a hasty command, summoning his staff from beside the altar. But Magus intercepted it and transformed the rosewood staff to a writhing serpent complete with wings and fangs. It reared its head at its Master. Sernon punched out his fist, and the stave converted to dust.
“Is that the best you can do?” The god gestured to the pillar of stone.
The pillar vanished, and Sernon flew with the flick of his brother’s wrist to slam into the ornate ceiling, floor, and walls.
Then he released the spell, allowing Sernon to drop to the floor like a crushed and broken doll, all breath knocked from his lungs.
Summoning his strength, he willed his mind to heal his wretched body, but Magus would have none of it.
“No, brother. Allow me.” With painstaking slowness, he used his magick to snap Sernon’s bones back into place, dragging, stitching, and gathering each small segment of mutilated tissue and sinew.
Every small act tortured him to the fullest, exacting payment for his evil deeds. Finally, the mending was complete and outwardly he seemed healed, but claws of torturous pain still worked at his insides.
He glared up into his brother’s handsome visage, and anger burned in his gut like fire at the humiliation he had suffered in the presence of his enemies. He turned his head to peer at Ohma, the old charlatan, so pure, even now he carried sympathy in his eyes. Then there was Kaden of the despised Wolfhead, and Tannith, Princess of Dragonbane…another detested name. How their ancestors would laugh if they could see him now.
With a curse, he closed his eyes, blocking out the look of triumph and pity in theirs. His strength returned with the retaliation he planned. He had not come so far, so close to seeing his dreams fulfilled to have them snatched away so easily. His milksop brother would not defeat him. He would not allow it!
He rolled and shouted a command. A marble dragon in a far corner grew scales and reared to life. It opened its maw and fire rained down, searing hot and bright on Magus’s head.
The god flung up his hands and the flames reversed to flash back at him. Crying out, Sernon ceased his fiery spell. His hands burned as he clutched his face, great hunks of flesh clinging to his fingers.
Magus remained unscathed, and with casual mastery, exploded Sernon’s beast to ash, then with a casual flick of his wrist, drained the searing agony from his ruined face.
“The game is over, brother. ’Tis long past time we finished this.” Magus bent to pick up the Cross and place it around his neck.
“No!” He lunged, threw Magus to the floor, and straddled his body, raining blow after blow down into his face. He ripped at the Cross, but it slid from his burned fingers, scudding across the marble floor. He scampered after it.
Magus yanked him back by the hair and thrust a hard right into his jaw.
Stunned momentarily, he quickly recovered and clutched Magus’s throat. His fingers closed like talons about his brother’s larynx, but his grip faltered because of the pain in his hands.
He reeled as a blow struck the side on his head and Magus flipped him onto his back. Together they rolled across the hard, shiny floor―back and forth, each man battling for supremacy, each giving no quarter, both trying to gain the upper hand.
Magus’s punches powered into his head, his jaw, then his eye.
“Cease.” Sernon struggled for breath.
His brother bent over to retrieve the Cross and came to his feet looking down on him.
Sernon watched his twin through narrowed eyes, and his fear rose. He raised his hand. “Magus, we are brothers. You are a god—all-powerful. Grant mercy. Do not send me into oblivion. I beg you on our mother’s grave. I swear to obey you in all matters.”
Magus shook his head as if reading the lie in his mind. “We may be of the same blood, but you ceased to be my brother the day you donned the black robes. You are a blight on all sorcerers, a blight on the name of Asomos, a plague that will soon be rectified. There will be no mercy for you, brother.”
He raised the Cross, but still, he did not release its power. “You could never have won, you know that. For the stone you and all others thought the Eye of Magus was never my eye alone. The jewel was placed in my statue by the Gods of Creation.” He lifted the Cross to the light. “The stone at the heart of this Cross is the Eye of the Gods. The Gods have been watching you. And you have been judged!”
A brilliant light broke from the jewel, striking Sernon’s chest and encompassing his body. He threw up his hands and screamed, trying to shield himself from the searing heat. He had known pain before but nothing like this. This was infinite, gut-wrenching. Agony like a thousand fires from the Abyss, tearing through every fiber, every membrane of his body, ripping, clawing, and gouging at his entrails—burning into his head—his mind.
Black, hideous creatures sprang from a dark cloud that had formed in a top corner of the room. Screaming in dissent, they clutched at him with icy talons.
He raised his arms to ward them off.
Then the beasts swooped again, gripped his arms, and with a last piercing scream, dredged up from his soul, disappeared into the shadows.
****
Tannith stared, numb with disbelief, at the smoldering pile of white ash on the flagstone floor…all that remained of Sernon.
All these months of trials and hardships, all that time of living in fear of this one man. Now he was no more, his life snuffed out like the frail flame of a candle—life so fragile, death so profound.
Slowly, she dragged her gaze from the place where the sorcerer had lain and made her way to her father. At the death of the sorcerer, Ephraen had regained consciousness. She removed his gag, then, pulling her hunting knife from her leg sheath, sliced his bonds and helped him sit. He appeared so frail. The blood loss from his severed finger probably contributing to his weakness. She pulled a scrap of linen from her waistband and bound his hand.
She looked at him, then smiled. His milk-white eyes blinked and tried to focus.
It was then she realized with horror her father was blind. She ran her fingers gently down his scarred cheek, and he flinched. “Father, ’tis I, Tannith.”
“Daughter?” The one word held a sob. “How can this be?” His two hands covered hers.
“The story is long Father. Rest now.” She put her arm around his shoulders and eased him back onto the altar. He seemed so frail. It was hard to reconcile that he was the same strong man he had been.
Tannith beseeched Magus. “Please, my lord, can you not help him?”
The god glided across the floor and laid his cool hand on the king’s brow.
The old man groaned. His eyes fluttered open, but this time they focused on his daughter, violet, bright, and full of life.
Magus touched the king’s cheek and the burned flesh healed, then he placed his hand over his fathers and a new finger appeared.
Shakily, Ephraen pushed his legs over the edge of the altar and hugged Tannith to his chest, tears of joy staining his weathered cheeks.
****
Ohma joined Magus and drew him aside. “So, it is finally over.”
“Aye, Sernon has gone, and his soul vanquished into the Seventh Level of the Hell Pit. From which there is no escape, ever. He will never rise again.” Magus took the Cross from around his neck, lifted Ohma’s wrinkled hand, and placed it in his palm. “I am entrusting the Cross to you, my friend. Use it wisely. Help my people restore Tarlis to the greatness it once was. And when the time comes, pass it to your successor.”
“But how will I know—”
Magus stopped him with a raised hand. “You must choose but be careful. She must be pure of heart and body when she accepts the Cross, or it will destroy her.”
Ohma arched a snowy brow. “She?”
Magus smiled. “Your successor will be female. That is all I can tell you.”
“But when—”
“When the time is right. In many summers to come.”
“But, my lord, I had expected to travel to Elysium with you. I am old—I am tired.”
Magus shook his head and gave Ohma a sad smile. “I am sorry, my friend. One day you will stand beside me in the place of our faith, but your time is not now. You still have much to accomplish before you journey that path. These people need you, and I need you to help them.”
Ohma sighed, unable to answer. How could he be expected to carry so great a burden? He was not worthy.
“If I did not think you up to the task, I would not ask it.” Magus had read his mind. “Take heart, old friend, for you are stronger and more worthy than you think. Whom else could I depend upon to see the chore completed properly?”
“Who else, indeed?” Ohma replied wearily. He nodded and gave Magus a half smile as the god’s image faded.
The elderly man moved to the window to stand beside Kaden. “You must speak to your people and end this slaughter. It is useless to fight now that Sernon is dead. The Urakians must be made to surrender.”
“I know, but how do you hold back the tide?”
“With the help of the Cross, I can blot out the sun. If they cannot see, they cannot fight.”
“Then do it, for I would have no more of my men die for a cause already won.”
Ohma raised the Cross to the weeping sky. The rain stopped and the sky lay flat and gray above their heads. Ohma spoke, and a darkness blacker than night descended over the land.
Shouts rang out from the courtyard, then no sound at all as the battle ceased.
Kaden called down to the grounds below. “Urakians, this is Prince Kaden of the resistance. Sernon is dead! Lay down your arms, and I shall be merciful!”
There was silence, then murmurs of dissent.
One by one, Kaden heard the distinct sound of iron and steel hitting earth and cobblestone. Realizing they were victorious, the rebel army let out a tremendous roar.
With a wrinkled smile, Ohma reversed the spell.
The sky brightened, and the sun burst forth, filling the courtyard with light.
“Etan! Radoch! Have the weapons collected and the prisoners assembled in the inner courtyard. I will meet you there,” shouted Kaden.
They waved at him, and he turned back to Ohma. “Where is Magus? Will he not speak to his people?”
Ohma shook his head. “His time here has been and gone. The people have no more need of him. It is your time for glory now.” He placed both hands on Kaden’s shoulder. “It is you who must lead these people. We have won the battle, but there is still much to be set to rights. The people must have someone to look up to, someone to follow. This is your time Kaden. This is what the prophecy foretold.”
Kaden stepped back, and Ohma’s hand dropped to his side. He stared at him slowly, shaking his head.
Ohma cringed, so lethal was the look on the young Prince’s face. In his cold green eyes. “You…” He pointed at Ohma. “You knew my brother would die. You knew all along,” he accused.
“Not all along, no, but for some time, yes.”
“You could have told me—warned him. We could have—”
“There was nothing I could do.”
“Karnak said the pathways could be changed.”
“Not this one, it was ordained in the stars. It had to be this way—”
“For me to lead,” finished Kaden lamely.
Ohma nodded. “You cannot know how sorry I am.
“Sorry? Sorry about what?” asked Tannith, moving to join them. She smiled at the men and linked her arm through Kaden’s. “So where is Erik? I thought he would be here by now. I could not see him in the courtyard. He will be king now, will he not?” she asked looking up into Kaden’s eyes.
****
Ohma drew back. “You will wish to speak alone.”
He nodded at Kaden, and Tannith noted his bleak expression.
“You must be pleased.” She hesitated at his silence. “Erik has Wolveryne Castle restored.”
“My brother is dead,” he replied flatly, staring at a spot over her head. “He will never sit on the Wolfhead throne or be crowned king of Glen-Dorrach. He gave his life to open the gates.”
Tears sprang to Tannith’s eyes. Her hand found his. “I am so sorry. I do not know what to say. I know you loved him very much.” She chose her words carefully. “Erik was a good man. He will not be forgotten.”
“No, he will not.” Kaden brought her into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head for several moments, then he pushed her to arm’s length and straightened. “Come.” He took her hand. “It is time to face our people and make this land whole again.”
****
Tannith and Kaden stepped onto the landing overlooking the crowded inner courtyard. The wounded and dead had been cleared or taken to safety, and the Urakian soldiers waited on bended knees to hear their fate. Men of every race flanked them, weapons held in readiness.
Radoch climbed the steps and drew his sword. He raised it into the air, and his voice boomed out over the people. “Hail the new king. Hail Kaden of Glen-Dorrach!”
Cheers rose long and loud from the courtyard.
Kaden raised a hand to settle the noise, at the same time searching the ranks of the Elisians until he found the one, he sought. “Captain Etanandril Jarrisendel, I call you to my side. This is your victory too!”
The fair-haired Elisian reddened and took the steps two at a time to the applause of his troops. He stood beside Kaden, cheers and clapping reaching a thunderous roar.
Kaden held up his father’s broadsword, and the noise softened and finally ceased. There was silence as all waited for the new King of the Wolfhead to speak.
“People of Tarlis, today is a proud day for us. Today, we conquered an army we thought invincible. Today, we stood as brothers, shoulder to shoulder, and fought for freedom from a man who would have seen you on your knees as slaves. This day will burn in the hearts and minds of our people for all time. Let us always stand together as one!”
The cry from the ocean of faces below sounded their approval.
“And let us remember another king, my brother, Erik. He came to power in a time of peril. He had no chance to take his rightful place among you but loved his people no less. Many may not know it, but he gave up his life today to open the gate. Without him, we would have no victory.”
Another roar went up, louder than the last. Chanting Erik’s name. He waited for the cheers to subside. Some of the soldiers were weeping openly.
“By the end of today, an alliance will be drawn up between all creed and race.” He looked to Ephraen who moved from the shadows to the left of his daughter.
The Elisian King nodded.
Kaden’s voice rang out. “If any of our brothers should be in need, they have only to send word and the army of Glen-Dorrach and Ellenroh will ride to their aid. What do you say, people of Tarlis? Shall it be so?” He punched his arm into the air.
Cries of agreement started softly and grew to a crescendo, echoing out over the valley.
Kaden let go the breath he held, and the tension drained from his body. Then he tensed again as he looked down at the prisoners on their knees in the courtyard.
What to do with several thousand Urakians? How easy it would be to have them put to the sword? However, it was not an act he would like to be remembered for on his first day as king. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. What would Erik have done?
He stared out over the castle walls. The sun was setting, signaling the end of the day. Crimson and black filled the sky—the color of blood and death. On the ramparts, a white tiger stood watching him. The large cat raised its paw and roared, then turned and padded along the battlement to vanish.
Kaden nodded and brushed a hand across his eyes. “Thank you, brother,” he whispered, knowing Erik would never hear him. He straightened and cast a last lingering look at the battlements, then searched the ranks of the prisoners. There had been too much slaughter and bloodshed already. Let his reign be the start of a new age. Let his be a rule of honor and mercy.
He strode down the steps to the first line of Urakians. A man in a skulled-helm knelt at his feet. His side oozed blood, and there was a shallow cut across his throat.
“Remove your helm,” he demanded. “I would see your face.”
The warrior spat on the stone at Kaden’s feet. “I will not die on my knees,” he growled.
A Dorrachian stepped forward and knocked the helm from his head.
Kaden ignored the slight and stared into the ebony eyes of the man before him. “What is your name soldier?”
“Kraal.” He grunted, and his lip curled. “General Kraal.”
“Do you lead these people, Kraal?”
“Aye. If they have no one else.”
Kaden smiled thinly and crossed his arms over his chest. “You shall see your people exiled to Kragg Island, which will henceforth be known as a penal colony. There, they will remain for all their days. Glen-Dorrach troops will man the castle. Any Urakian caught trying to escape will be hung without trial. Your people will not bear arms. They are to have no tools in their possession made from steel or iron. The penalty for this is also death. Is all that clear?”
