Daughter of Fate - Chapter 11
When Knights attack the temple of Skystead, seventeen-year-old Pela is the only one to escape. Her mother and the other villagers are taken, accused of worshiping the False Gods.
The Knights of Alana is an original fantasy novel, packed with gods, dragons and magic. When Knights attack the temple of Skystead, seventeen-year-old Pela is the only one to escape. Her mother and the other villagers are taken, accused of worshiping the False Gods. They will pay the ultimate price – unless Pela can rescue them. Pela has never left the safety of her town, let alone touched a sword. What chance does she have against the ruthless Knights of Alana? She’s not a hero. But she knows one…
But she knows one.
Her uncle Devon was a mighty warrior once, in times when magic filled the world. Age has withered his strength and he retired long ago, but maybe he will answer the call of family. Can Pela convince him to stand against the darkness one last time?
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The humid air clung to Braidon’s skin as he hacked at the dense forest, moisture dripping down his back and making him long for the icy air of the mountains. The heavy armour they had taken from the Knights only made it worse, and he wondered how the men stood to wear the plate mail all day long.
They had left the volcanic plateau last night, dropping down into the jungles of Dragon Country, where the air was stifling, so thick it felt like he was breathing sludge. Even with his horse doing most of the work, Braidon had been sweating, and they had left their mounts in a clearing half an hour before. The creatures could not go quietly through the forest, and as they neared the Cove, they could not risk detection. Only Devon had kept his mount, riding on ahead down the broad trail left by the Knights.
Braidon just hoped the horses would still be there when they returned. They would be needed once Kryssa was freed. But even given free rein to roam, the horses would stand little chance if they were discovered by a Red Dragon. But then, nor did they, whatever their accumulated skills with the blade.
Thinking of the great creatures, Braidon felt a pang of longing, as he recalled the powers he’d once commanded as a child. Though it had developed late, he’d feared and appreciated his magic in equal measures. Since the day Alana had died and magic was sponged from the world, it had been as though a part of him was missing, stolen away along with his sister.
Ahead of him, Caledan released a branch, which whipped back and struck Braidon in the face. The blow snapped him from memories of the past, and he cursed. Caledan glanced back and grinned.
“Better pay more attention,” he whispered.
“Ay,” Braidon snapped. “And I don’t need you reminding me of it.” He shouldered past Caledan and settled himself in behind Genevieve. “What’s a sellsword like you doing here anyway?” he asked over his shoulder. “Gold’s not much good if you’re dead.”
“I’m still trying to work that one out myself,” Caledan replied.
Braidon raised an eyebrow. “Better figure it out quickly.”
In the front, Genevieve gave a throaty chuckle. “Caledan’s just embarrassed to admit he has a conscience.”
“You wound me, woman,” Caledan replied, then chuckled. “I thought I’d have figured it out by now, but…” He shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. Or maybe I’m just curious to see if the old man can pull it off.”
Braidon grunted. “I’ve seen Devon win when he had no right to—but I think even he might have bitten off too much this time.”
He raised his sword and was about to slice through a vine Genevieve had missed, when a hand gripped him by the shoulder.
“Wait,” Caledan hissed.
“What?” Braidon asked, shrugging him off. “I don’t see—”
“Listen,” Genevieve said.
Braidon lowered his sword and frowned. Turning on the spot, he scanned the forest, listening for what Caledan had heard, but: “There’s nothing.”
“Ay,” Caledan replied. “Not a sound.”
Braidon’s heart lurched, then began to race. They were right. A moment earlier the forest had been alive, a cacophony of hissing cicadas and squawking parrots, but now there was…nothing.
The Knights? Braidon mouthed, but Genevieve shook her head.
Scanning the undergrowth again, Braidon sought signs of pursuit. Raptors were known to lurk here; the monstrous creatures could stalk through the undergrowth with hardly a whisper, and tear a man’s head from his shoulders before he knew what had struck him. He swallowed, the hackles raising on his neck as he imagined some dark monster watching them from the shadows.
“Down!” Genevieve shouted suddenly.
They threw themselves into the mud a second before the canopy exploded inwards with the shriek of breaking wood. Something red and massive crashed down through the branches, knocking a giant ficus tree sideways and ripping its great buttressed roots from the soft earth. The ground shook as the creature landed not twenty feet from where they crouched. Silence fell as it exhaled, the heat of its breath washing over them. The only sound was the slow creaking of the ficus as it continued to topple, followed by a muffled thud as it slammed into the earth.
Humans…
The dragon’s voice sounded in his mind like iron on a chalkboard. Braidon wanted to slap his hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to block it out, but he remained frozen to the spot. Scarlet scales rippled in the sunlight streaming through the newly created hole in the canopy. The dragon took a step towards them. Horns twisted up above its massive head, tearing through vines as though they were made of paper. Claws the size of swords flashed out, ripping apart the trunk of another tree. It crumpled before the beast’s power.
Filthy wretches, trespassing in our land.
There was no doubt it had seen them, and cursing, Braidon hurled himself to his feet and drew his sword. Almost instinctively, he reached for the power that had once been his, before remembering once again it had died with his sister.
Laughter roared in his mind, so loud he had to clench his teeth to keep from crying out.
You think to defy me, human?
Caledan and Genevieve joined Braidon, swords and daggers in hand. There was open fear on the woman’s face, but she showed no hint of panic. In contrast, Caledan remained his usual impassive self. Braidon was impressed with the man’s calm in the face of almost certain death. For himself, he had to grip his blade in two hands to keep the tip from shaking.
There was nothing they could do against this creature. Only blades that had been enchanted in the days of magic could pierce a dragon’s thick hide. Its great black eyes were vulnerable, but the creature stood twenty feet high and they had no bow to even attempt such a shot.
Once, Magickers had hunted down any dragon that crossed the boundaries of Dragon Country, but now the creatures were almost unstoppable, only ever defeated by sheer numbers.
And there were just the three of them.
Braidon let out a long breath and sheathed his sword. He faced the beast with empty hands.
“No,” he said, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. “We come to make an alliance.”
“What?” Caledan exclaimed, while in their minds the dragon’s laughter sounded again.
You have mistaken me for my long-extinct cousins, human.
“You need us,” Braidon replied, ignoring its taunts.
We need for no one, the dragon snarled.
It stepped forward, nostrils flaring, and another wave of heat washed over them. Braidon shuddered as its jaws opened a fraction, revealing the red-hot glow deep in its throat.
“Then why do the Knights of Alana trespass in your lands?” Braidon asked.
A rumble sounded in the dragon’s chest and a tendril of flame escaped its jaws, incinerating a nearby sapling.
The Knights shall pay for their impudence.
“No,” Braidon replied. “There are too many, even for your great powers.”
The dragon bared its teeth. Braidon gagged at the putrid stench of its breath, but this time it did not reply.
“The Knights are our enemies as well,” Caledan added, finally understanding Braidon’s plan. “We seek to drive them from our lands, and yours.”
The giant eyes of the dragon studied them. Then why do you wear their armour?
“To deceive them,” Braidon answered. “To sneak into their camp and take back what they stole from us.”
And how does this aid my peoples?
Braidon swallowed and glanced at his companions. It all came down to this. Whatever resentment Caledan carried for the Plorsean King, Braidon would have to take his chances. The dragon would kill them all if he did not act. H pulled the helmet from his head and tossed it aside.
“Do you not know me, dragon?” he asked.
Caledan stared at him in confusion, but the Red Dragon’s eyes narrowed to slits. It stepped closer, the long neck bending down to inspect him, the slits of its nostrils widening to breathe in his scent.
King…its voice sounded in their minds. It bared its teeth. Or is it Tsar? Yes I know you, pup. Your father enslaved us! Tell me, why should I not roast you where you stand?
Braidon flicked a glance at Caledan. The man stood beside him, eyes hard and jaw clenched, sword trembling at his side, but Braidon could not be distracted now.
“Because it was my sister and I who freed you!” he called. “And because I am your only chance. Help me, and I will bring my armies against the Knights. I will drive them from your lands.”
The Knights have great weapons, King, the Red Dragon replied. Perhaps yours is the wrong side to choose.
“And if you choose the Knights, what then?” Braidon shot back. “At least my people have always respected the boundaries of your lands.”
The Red Dragon bared its teeth. We would have new boundaries.
Braidon’s heart palpitated. He sensed the eyes of his companions on him, but there was no going back now. “So be it,” Braidon whispered, knowing it was a betrayal of his people, “but the Red Dragons must pledge a new oath, to honour my rule and all my line that comes after.”
Our Golden cousins once made such an oath, the Red Dragon snarled. To their doom.
“And how long will your people survive against these new weapons?” Braidon asked, taking a gamble. He shuddered to think what type of weapon the Knights had, that even the Red Dragons feared them.
The Red Dragon growled and clawed at the ground, tearing up roots and great chunks of earth. Lifting its head, it howled. The sound tore at their ears, echoing up through the canopies and the skies beyond. From the distance, there came an answering cry, then another and another. Braidon shuddered, looking again at the Red Dragon, but its eyes were opaque now, its mind elsewhere. Then it blinked, the awful intelligence returning.
Very well, King, it rumbled in his mind. We swear, though know this, our price is the land from here to the Lane.
Braidon’s stomach tied itself into knots, but he inclined his head. “So be it.”
I am Ingytus. Call when you have need, and I shall answer.
With a roar, the dragon bounded into the air, a single beat of its wings carrying it free of the canopy. An icy sweat dripped down Braidon’s back as he watched it disappear into the sky beyond. Then he sucked in a breath and turned to face his companions, aware he had only traded one enemy for another.
Caledan stared back at him with ice in his eyes.
“Draw your sword, Braidon.”
“Draw your sword, Braidon,” Caledan repeated, thrusting his blade at the man’s chest.
Brenden—Braidon—leapt back and raised his empty hands. “I’m not going to fight you, Caledan.”
“Then die!” Caledan screamed, and made a wild swipe at the king’s head. Braidon ducked and his blade took a branch from a tree.
Caledan’s heart was pounding in his chest and he wanted nothing more than to see the king’s blood soaking the leaf-strewn earth. Devon had betrayed him—though how the man had known what Caledan intended, he could not guess—and now he would die, too. But not before Caledan finally had his revenge.
“Caledan, stop!” Genevieve tried to get his attention, but when she darted towards him, he spun, his boot flashing out to catch her in the stomach. She crumpled to the ground clutching her midriff, and turning, he advanced once more on Braidon.
Crying out, the king tripped and crashed to the ground. Caledan leapt after him, his sword aiming for the man’s back, but Braidon rolled and Caledan’s blade sank deep into the dirt. Tearing it free, Caledan stalked after his foe.
Now Braidon scrambled to his feet and drew his sword. “Let’s not do this,” he hissed. “You’ll draw the Knights down on all of us.”
“Let them come!” Caledan roared, directing an attack at Braidon’s head. The king blocked it smoothly and retreated. Caledan followed with a roar: “Fight me!”
“Why?” Braidon gasped as Caledan’s blade slid beneath his guard and slashed his plate mail.
A shrill scraping sound rent the air, then Braidon’s mailed fist swept around, catching Caledan in the helmet and sending him staggering back. His ears rang, but snarling, he recovered his feet and started towards the king once more.
“You destroyed my life!” he shrieked, emphasising each word with a wild swing of his blade. He made no effort to defend himself, only attacked with relentless fury. “You took everything from me!”
“What are you talking about?” Braidon snapped, parrying each blow.
“You will pay for what your sister did!” Caledan bellowed. “For leaving my mother to die!”
Braidon’s eyes still showed his confusion. Steel rang out as their blades met again, then he spun on his heel and struck Caledan with his elbow. Caledan stumbled back, and the king held out his hands for peace.
“I’m sorry!” he gasped. “Whatever Alana did to your mother, I’m sorry! But I cannot change it.”
“No, but you can pay for it with your life!”
Braidon leapt away. “And the rest of Plorsea with it?”
“Plorsea be damned!” Caledan cursed.
The king parried another blow, but Caledan lashed out with a boot, catching him in the chest and toppling him with a crash of metal. He swung his sword again, but Braidon raised an arm and the blade went shrieking off his heavy wrist guards. Rolling clumsily, the king came to his feet.
“And what about Devon?” Genevieve interrupted. She was up again, a massive dagger in hand. “You swore you’d help him.”
Caledan glanced at her. “He lied to me,” he gasped. “I’ll kill him next.” He raised his sword to strike at the king again.
“And what about Kryssa?” Braidon shouted. “What about Pela? You might not care for me or Devon, but they have done nothing to harm you!”
An image of Pela flashed into Caledan’s mind, back on the Seadragon, when she’d first asked for his help. She’d dropped her sword, made a fool of herself, almost run in the face of his laughter, but in the end she had picked it up and tried again.
Angrily, he bared his teeth. “We’re all alone in this world,” Caledan hissed. “Best the girl learn that now.”
“No, Caledan,” Braidon replied. “We’re not. We have friends, family. You said Alana left your mother to die—will you do the same now to Pela?”
“It’s not the same!”
“It is!” Braidon bellowed. “Can you not see it? If you kill me, if you murder Devon, Kryssa dies! Pela’s mother dies! And what will you achieve? It won’t bring your mother back, only destroy more innocent lives.”
“I…”
“Caledan,” Genevieve whispered, edging forward. “Please, don’t do this. We need you, Kryssa needs you. Please help us bring her home.”
Caledan glanced from the woman to the king and sucked in a breath. His entire life he had waited for this moment, to have the king standing before him with nothing but blades between them. He had trained and saved and brokered deals, all to this one end. Now fate had finally brought them together…
“I swore on my mother’s life,” he croaked. “I have waited so long…”
“Then wait a little longer,” Braidon hissed. “Until we’ve rescued Kryssa. Then, if you still wish to fight, I’ll happily oblige you.”
Caledan looked up. “Why should I believe you?” he whispered. “You have lied to me for days.”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Braidon snapped. “Because you have no other choice.”
“Fine,” Caledan hissed, sheathing his sword in a rush. “But the second we’re free…”
“We fight to the death,” Braidon replied wearily.
Caledan let out a long breath. In the distance, shouts whispered through the trees. Together the three of them turned towards the sound.
“Better put your helmets back on, boys,” Genevieve said lightly. “We’re Knights of Alana now, nothing more. Think you can do that?”
“Sure,” Caledan muttered.
Braidon had just settled the helmet back on his head when the cracking of forest litter announced the arrival of mounted Knights. They rode into the clearing with swords drawn, all wearing the familiar armour of their Order. Now though, heavy crossbows also dangled from their saddles.
Caledan narrowed his eyes at the sight. The Knights usually scorned such weapons, preferring the test of hand-to-hand combat. As they neared, he realised these bows were different from any he had ever seen. The wooden bow arm was gone, replaced by smooth steel and a winch to reset the wire string. Caledan couldn’t help but remember the dragon’s words.
The Knights have great weapons.
Were these what it had spoken of? Caledan shuddered to think of the damage the bolt from such a crossbow might do. It didn’t bear thinking about, and raising a hand, Caledan hailed the Knights.
“Hoy, lads!” Caledan shouted. “Well met.”
“Well met indeed,” the Knight in the lead said. They had slowed upon seeing their armour, though the group still eyed the broken trees cautiously, as though expecting a dragon to appear at any moment. “You’re well off the regular path. What are you doing out here?”
“Dragon spooked the horses,” Caledan replied. “Lost the path, and the stupid beasts.”
“Lucky you didn’t lose your lives,” the Knight replied. “We saw it fly off, big bugger. Still, a few of shots from these and they turn tail quick enough.” He patted the crossbow in emphasis.
“Where are you from?” another asked, kicking his horse forward. His eyes bored into Caledan, and he sensed the man’s suspicion.
“New recruits from Goldtown,” Caledan answered, naming a Lonian town far up in the Sandstone Peaks.
“Long ride,” the Knight grunted.
“Ay, we’ll be glad to reach the Cove.”
The first Knight snorted. “I’ll bet.” He turned his horse on the spot. “Well, I don’t think your horses are coming back. You can walk with us though. We’ll see you safely to camp. Wouldn’t want any brothers eaten by those red buggers.”
“Thank you,” Caledan said, with feeling this time. “One encounter was more than enough.”
Devon walked slowly down the beaten path, savouring the tranquillity of the forest, the quiet chirping of birds and the whisper of wind in the branches overhead. Unfortunately, the breeze did not reach the undergrowth, and taking a rag from his pocket, Devon wiped the sweat from his forehead. The warhammer hung heavy on his back, and he found himself doubting whether he still had the strength to wield it.
His misgivings grew with each twist and turn of the path. Once it might have been only a deer trail, but the passage of Knights had carved a broad passage through the jungle. He scanned the undergrowth as he walked, though alone he would stand little chance against even a Raptor, let alone a dragon. He wondered how the Knights had grown so bold, to venture into a place like this.
Because if the Knights of Alana no longer feared the Red Dragons…
Devon squared his shoulders and pushed away the defeatist thoughts. He could not afford them now, not when he was about to walk into an enemy stronghold and demand Kryssa’s release.
A shudder ran down Devon’s spine as he imagined Kryssa bound and chained, readied for the slaughter on the solstice—tomorrow.
What foul minds had created such a ritual: this Great Sacrifice? The Order claimed it was in honour of Alana’s own sacrifice, but Devon had been there, had witnessed her final moments.
And it had not been for the Gods, or magic, or even the Tsar that she had sacrificed herself.
It had been to save Devon’s own life, to shield him from her former lover, his rival Quinn.
Even thirty years later, the memory scorched him. He felt an awful sadness that her final moments had been so twisted by the Order, that deceitful men now ruled in her name, manipulating thousands into believing such an awful lie.
There was a bitter taste in Devon’s mouth as he continued through the jungle. He could have prevented this long ago, had he paid attention, spoken out against the rising Order. But after Alana’s death he had been tired of the world, of leading, of fighting other men’s wars. So he had retreated, and the Order had taken full advantage of his absence.
Now their vile beliefs were ingrained in the Order’s followers, its Knights so fanatical they could attack innocents at worship and believe they were heroes for doing so. It made Devon sick to his stomach and he longed to put an end to them.
But after all this time, he was only one man, well past his prime. His name no longer had the power to turn back armies, to send fear down the spines of his foes. He was just Devon, the roof-layer, the tavern keeper.
It would have to be enough.
Voices carried through the forest as he rounded a bend, drawing him back to the present. He sighed and marched on until the trees gave way to open ground. Ash stained the earth black beneath his boots, crushed into the earth by the passage of men and horses. A wooden palisade and trench barred his path and he drew to a stop.
Shouts came from behind the wall, followed by the squeal of hinges as the wooden gates were dragged open. A Knight strode forward, flanked on either side by others. He came to a stop several feet from where Devon stood and crossed his arms.
“So, you are Devon,” he said, his voice echoing within the helmet.
The Knight stood shoulder to shoulder with Devon, and in the steel-plated armour he made an imposing sight. Devon had fought many large men in his life, and had defeated them all, but the sight of the Knight now gave him pause. There was something familiar about the man, something that called to him, though he did not recognise the voice.
Finally Devon grinned. “I am,” he replied. “And who might you be, sonny?”
Laughter rumbled from the Knight’s helmet. “My name is Ikar,” he said. “Well met, cousin.”
“Cousin?” Devon frowned. “Can’t say I’m aware of any family in these parts.”
“Our lines separated after Alan,” Ikar replied. “Followed different paths. Yours claimed the hammer of heroes, while mine…”
He trailed off, and recovering from his surprise, Devon grimaced. “Remained.” He took a step closer. “Tell me, cousin. If my family followed the warrior’s path, what of yours? Were they Magickers, like our great, great grandfather, Alastair?”
A stillness came over Ikar at his words, while behind him the other Knights shifted nervously and glanced at the giant. Devon laughed, knowing he’d struck a nerve. “That is quite the career change, from Magicker to Knight.”
“Silence!” Ikar snarled. He reached for his sword, but something gave him pause, and with an effort of will he released the hilt. “I am here to make amends for my family’s past, to reclaim the legacy of Alan the Great.”
“You’re here to kill me then?”
“No,” Ikar said shortly, and Devon sensed what he said next was not his desire. “I’m to take you before the Elders.”
“And why would I allow that?” Devon rumbled.
“You don’t have much choice.” Ikar shrugged, gesturing to the men behind him. “But, for the sake of avoiding further bloodshed, I’m told you care for the woman, Kryssa.”
Devon bared his teeth. “Ay,” he growled. “If you’ve har—”
“The woman is safe,” Ikar interrupted, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “Or she was last night, when I delivered her into the custody of the Elders. But if you wish to see her, you must come with me.”
For a long while, Devon stared at the Knight, though he could decipher little of the man’s intentions behind the steel visor. Like so many of his brethren, he spoke with the fervour of the devout, and yet…he seemed different, as though touched by the slightest of doubts, and finally Devon nodded.
“Very well,” he murmured. “Take me to my…to Kryssa.”
Ikar inclined his head, and turning, he marched through the gates without a backwards glance. The other Knights fell in around Devon as he followed the man into the camp. Beyond the palisade, they marched down a great avenue of canvas tents. Men and women raced amongst the tents, most dressed in ordinary clothing rather than the armour of Knights, and Devon wondered where so many worshipers of the Order had come from. Surely there weren’t so many in all of Plorsea?
Devon walked with his fists clenched tight at his side, aware he was truly in the dragon’s den now. He could sense the Knights watching him from beyond the dark slits of their visors, but kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, determined not to show his fear. Focusing his mind, he breathed deeply, concentrating on the action rather than his surroundings, and his heartbeat slowed.
The meditation helped to calm him, and by the time they reached the cliffs, his mind was focused, fixed on the task ahead. He prayed the others had managed to infiltrate the camp and were even now seeking out Kryssa’s prison. If all went to plan, Devon’s distraction would allow them the opportunity to free her, and they would escape unnoticed before the Knights noticed her absence.
“Our ancestor died here, you know,” Devon said, making conversation as they started down the narrow trail that had been carved into the granite cliffs. Unlike the path in the forest, the steps appeared to have been there for centuries.
“Alan the Great died at Fort Fall.”
“Ay, and his father-in-law, Alastair, died on this beach, betrayed by one of Archon’s minions.”
“An evil man betrayed by an evil man,” Ikar replied shortly.
But Devon was hardly paying attention to the man’s words now. His eyes had been drawn down into the Cove, across the black sands and jagged fingers of rock, to where a great project was underway.
Men and women bustled to and fro across the beach, disappearing into a massive wooden structure that stretched almost to the tops of the cliffs. From his vantage point, Devon could just see over the top of the outer wall, where row upon row of benches spiralled down to a wooden platform in the centre. It was almost an amphitheatre, stretching from the cliffs all the way down to the ocean, where in place of a fourth wall, a makeshift dock extended out beyond the waves.
Devon could only shake his head at the undertaking. The Knights had built a great stadium in which to conduct their cruel ritual, to make an exhibition of Kryssa’s sacrifice—or perhaps a threat to those that opposed them.
As they neared the beach, Devon finally turned his attention to the warships floating in the bay. Most were anchored far out beyond the barrier reefs, their passengers using the rowboats now lining the shore to make landfall. The green flag of Lonia flew from most, outnumbering the red of Plorsea three to one.
Only one ship had sailed close, almost to the docks of the amphitheatre itself.
Sand crunched beneath Devon’s boots as he stepped down onto the black sands of Malevolent Cove. How different it must be now, from when his ancestor had died here. A powerful Magicker, Alastair had sacrificed everything to protect the Three Nations, abandoning even his wife and his daughter to answer the call of the Gods. His very existence spat in the face of everything the Knights of Alana believed in. No wonder Ikar wanted to sponge his lineage from history.
Looking out over the murky waters of the bay, Devon wondered if he too had come there to die, if this dark shore would be his doom. He could almost accept it, if it meant Kryssa would live.
Ikar led him along the sand and through a tunnel into the amphitheatre. Within, the structure groaned and creaked, and Devon wondered how long such a creation could last. The Knights were well-armed, but surely the Red Dragons would not stand this interference. If the stadium caught light, everyone within would be consumed in minutes.
He shuddered, but after a few minutes they passed safely back into the open, onto the wooden stage at the centre. Attendants raced past hauling sand and spreading it over the platform. Whispers came from overhead and Devon was surprised to see the stands above were already beginning to fill. The sun was dropping fast towards the horizon, lighting the sky aflame, and Devon realised with a start midnight was only a few hours away.
The solstice was approaching.
The Knights led him out onto the docks. At the end, steps led down to the water, where a rowboat bobbed. Devon’s heart dropped into his stomach. If they were holding Kryssa on the ship, how would Braidon and the others reach her in time?
But there was no going back now. He closed his eyes, and prayed his old friend would find a way.
They boarded the boat and the tiny vessel surged forward as several Knights took up the oars. The ship itself was not far, just a hundred yards off the pier. Its open deck was easily visible from the amphitheatre, and Devon was touched by a premonition: that this ship would somehow form part of the spectacle.
He swallowed, his gaze turning to the men standing at the railings of the ship. He recognised the face of one of the Elders from Townirwin, but the rest of the men were unknown to him, though all wore the red, green and blue robes of Elders.
A rope ladder was tossed down to them. Ikar went up first, then gestured for Devon to follow. Oars splashed below as the remaining Knights turned the boat back to shore, robbing Devon of his only escape route. He might be able to swim the distance to shore, but he would make an easy target for the heavy crossbows of the Knights.
Reaching the deck, Devon swung over the railings and found himself surrounded. Ikar stood closest, his armour shining in the noon sun, along with a dozen other Knights. Beyond, the Elders stood watching him in a half-circle. The one from Townirwin stepped up beside Ikar, his eyes aglow.
“Welcome, Consort of Alana,” he whispered.
Devon couldn’t help but chuckle. “You did not welcome me the last time I stepped foot in one of your Castles.”
A frown touched the Elder’s forehead, but he continued unperturbed. “I am called Servo, and we did not know you then,” he replied. “Now we know you come before us by the Saviour’s will.”
“I’ve come to free…Kryssa,” Devon snapped, his good humour evaporating. “Alana has nothing to do with it.”
“The Saviour has proclaimed that Kryssa must join her in the struggle against the Gods,” the Elder replied.
Devon’s heart beat faster. “If you’ve hurt her…” His hammer leapt into his hands and he took a step towards the Elders.
Ikar moved to intercept him, his silent helmet vacant of emotion, while the Elders took a collective step back.
“The woman lives,” Servo replied. Of all of them, only he had not retreated. “The Great Sacrifice is to be completed on the birth of the solstice.”
Devon lowered his hammer half an inch. “I wish to see her.”
“She’s otherwise occupied,” another of the Elders said with a laugh. Devon fixed him with a glare and he fell suddenly silent.
“You will not take her,” Devon growled, his voice rumbling across the broken waters, carrying even to the distant shore. Then he bowed his head. “Free her, and I will take her place.”
Whispers spread across the deck of the ship as the men exchanged glances, building until finally Servo’s voice rose above the others. “Silence!”
Devon looked up as the Elder approached. Their eyes locked and a shudder slid down Devon’s spine at the passion in the man’s eyes.
“You would sacrifice your life for the Saviour?” he murmured, coming close.
For a moment, Devon considered striking him down. The man’s insanity was a plague that would sweep across his nation. But then there would be no bargaining, no saving Kryssa, no walking away. His shoulders slumped. “I would.”
Abruptly, Servo turned away, re-joining the Elders. “We have our third!” he proclaimed, turning back to Devon. “The three will join the Saviour at midnight!”
“What?” Devon hissed, his hammer coming up. “That is not the deal I offered!”
“The Saviour’s will is clear,” Servo continued, ignoring him now.
Snarling, Devon advanced until Ikar blocked his path again. He glared into the metal mask. “Out of the way, cousin,” he snarled. “Or you’ll be the first to die.”
Quick as lightning, Ikar drew his sword. Devon leapt back, readying his hammer to attack.
“No!” Servo screamed as the two warriors faced off against one another. “It cannot be this way!”
His words gave Ikar pause, but Devon roared his anger and charged. The Knight’s sword leapt to meet him and sparks burst from their weapons as they clashed. They sprang apart once more as the Elder continued to scream.
“I’ll kill you all before you harm my daughter!” Devon bellowed.
A woman’s laughter carried down from the upper deck before he could launch another attack. He paused, a frown creasing his forehead as he searched for the source. Then he staggered, almost losing his grip on his hammer, as he saw the woman standing atop the stairwell.
An amused smile on her lips, the Queen of Plorsea slowly descended to the main deck. The rattle of armour came from Ikar as he dropped to his knees before the woman.
“My queen!” he cried, clearly as stunned as Devon to see her there.
“Marianne,” Devon whispered, a pit opening in his stomach. “What are you doing here?”
Ignoring him, she turned to Servo. “My dear Elders,” she murmured. “Would you deny us all the battle of the ages? Let the men fight, let all of our people see it.”
“But my Queen, what of the Great Sacrifice?” Servo howled.
Marianne only laughed. Her eyes flashed as she set them on Devon once more. “My dear Elder, there will be blood enough for all by the time these two have finished.”
Standing at the edge of the cliff looking down into Malevolent Cove, Braidon wondered how he could have been so foolish. It had all been there for him to see, but he had walked blindly into a catastrophe of his own making.
Maybe it was the memory of his sister that had misled him, a desire to see her memory live on. Yet now, looking down upon the packed amphitheatre and knowing what was to come, he felt ashamed that he had allowed her name to become so sullied.
“I have failed my people,” he whispered.
“You did that a long time ago,” Caledan snapped.
Genevieve placed a hand on his shoulder. “You haven’t failed yet, Braidon.”
Braidon gestured at the bay. Only one warship had entered, but a dozen others bobbed at anchor out beyond the dangerous reefs. Most flew green flags, only a few the red of Plorsea. “Those are Lonian warships. And they’re using the same devices as the Baronian ship that attacked us. They’ve been working together all along. If our army isn’t roused, they could sail right up to Lake Ardath and take the capital.”
Caledan snorted. “Ardath won’t fall so easily.”
“Just now, I think we need to worry about how we’re going to find Kryssa in all this,” Genevieve murmured.
“They’ll have her somewhere down there, I’m guessing.” Braidon nodded at the amphitheatre. “If this is for the Great Sacrifice they’ve all been talking about, they’ll…make a spectacle of it.”
Genevieve’s jaw tightened. “It’ll be dark soon. We’d better get down the cliffs before we lose the light.” She set off without looking back.
Braidon followed after a moment’s hesitation, Caledan a step behind.
“You don’t think it’s time to call the dragons?” the sellsword asked as they picked their way down towards the beach.
“No,” Braidon replied shortly, “we wait until we find Kryssa. All hell’s going to break loose once the Red Dragons become involved.”
“Fair enough,” Caledan chuckled.
“Keep it down,” Genevieve hissed. “There’s men on the beach.”
They descended the last dozen feet in silence. The whisper of voices inside the amphitheatre rose in pitch as they stepped onto the sand, then became a roar. They swung around in time to see a line of fire leap along the rim of the stadium. Braidon held his breath as the flames raced outwards, waiting for the whole structure to catch alight, but they did not spread beyond the rim. Finally he caught the dim glint of steel amidst the flames, and realised a line of torches had been placed around the top of the stadium.
“I don’t think light is going to be a problem,” Caledan muttered. “Though how we’re going to escape…”
“Let’s figure that out once we’ve found her,” Genevieve snapped, taking the lead.
In their armour they had passed unnoticed, but Braidon was more than aware how flimsy their disguise would become under questioning. They knew little about the particulars of the Knights and their Order. The beach was crowded with worshipers and other Knights, but Genevieve cut across the cliff before they reached the bottom, leading them through the faint shadows towards the rear of the amphitheatre.
As they neared, Braidon saw that the structure had been built right into the granite cliffs. The wooden outer walls blocked their path. They stood there for a moment trying to find a door or some other entranceway, but the shadows revealed nothing. Below, men and women were beginning to file through the tunnel into the amphitheatre. It appeared to be the only entrance.
“What now?” Caledan hissed.
“Maybe we should try the front door,” Braidon suggested, nodding to the tunnel.
The crack of splintering wood came from behind them, and they spun in time to see Genevieve lining up a second blow. Her boot slammed into the wall of the amphitheatre, and the wood gave way, revealing the pitch-black beyond.
“What are you doing?” Braidon gasped.
“Those people down there are spectators,” she replied. “I’m not going to sit around and watch while they hang Kryssa. Come on, help me with this.”
“That’s—”
Before Braidon could finish his objection, Caledan joined the huntress and they managed to tear another plank from the wall. Braidon swore and checked on the crowd below, but between their hushed whispers and the roar of the ocean, the commotion had gone unnoticed.
Joining the others, Braidon saw the wooden boards that made up the amphitheatre’s walls had been cut haphazardly and hammered together to fill in the gaps. He’d rarely seen such poor construction outside the slums of Lane, though he supposed the Knights did not need the place to last. The thought of all the worshipers now perched above them gave Braidon pause, but Genevieve and Caledan had already disappeared into the darkness, and taking a deep breath, he followed them through the jagged hole, into the hollows of the outer wall.
Within, not even the great torches above the stadium could penetrate, and they found themselves in the pitch black. Braidon fumbled around for his flint, but Genevieve beat him to it. Sparks flashed and then a tongue of flame cast back the darkness. Half-a-hundred support beams packed the open space like the trees of a forest, while above the roof zigzagged downwards. They were directly beneath the stands of the amphitheatre.
They spread out, searching for an exit that would lead into the main areas of the amphitheatre. This section appeared completely unused, its floor littered with discarded pieces of wood and construction materials. Threading his way through the support beams, Braidon was beginning to think they would have to return to the beach and attempt the tunnel after all, when a call came from Caledan across the space.
Braidon and Genevieve stumbled to join him. A tiny crack, no wider than a fingertip, allowed a sliver of light to pierce the darkness. It was a door, though the shadows crisscrossing the light indicated it had been boarded up from the other side.
Caledan put his eye to the crack, then withdrew once more. He looked at them, his jaw clenched. “There’s a guard.”
Braidon loosed his sword in its scabbard. The time for caution had run out; if they didn’t find Kryssa soon, they would be too late. Devon could only distract the Elders for so long.
“Are you ready?” he asked, glancing at Genevieve and Caledan. Once they went through, there would be no turning back.
They both nodded and Caledan stepped aside, clearing the way for Braidon. He launched himself forward, aiming a kick at the thread of light. The door gave way with a crash, and they rushed through with swords drawn.
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