Daughter of Fate - Chapter 6
The hammer weighed heavily on Devon’s back as he stood in the shadows across from the gates of the Castle...
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?
Become a paid subscriber to access this entire series from the start, plus many of the other series I have written! You can even take a free 7 day trial to see if my books are for you. You can find my other books on my website.
The hammer weighed heavily on Devon’s back as he stood in the shadows across from the gates of the Castle. It was nearing midnight, and overhead, dark clouds covered the moon and stars. The streets were pitch-black except where the occasional lantern cast back the darkness. The Castle itself stood in the centre of Townirwin, its stone walls rising from a raised mound of earth and encircled by a canal. Shadows flickered atop the ramparts—Knights completing their patrol.
The hoot of an owl sounded from overhead, but otherwise the night was still—until the faintest whisper of footsteps carried to Devon’s ears. He tensed, lifting a hand to silence his companions, and peered out into the darkness.
A figure appeared on the street, walking with purpose towards the Castle. The light of a nearby lantern cast his shadow far across the cobbles, but the figure showed no sign he’d noticed Devon and the others. The shadows on the ramparts flickered, darting towards the tower atop the gates.
“Hoy!” a Knight called as the newcomer came to a stop before the gates. “Who goes there?”
“Open up!” the figure replied. A torch was held up atop the walls, revealing Aldyn standing beneath the gates. A scowl wrinkling his forehead, he called again, “I need to speak with the Elders!”
“They’re busy! Come back in the morning, scoundrel.” The Knight’s irritation was obvious.
“I don’t care if they’re fast asleep!” Aldyn snapped. “I am a lieutenant of the King’s Guard, and the Elders will see me, now, or the king will hear of it!”
Muttering came from atop the wall, but the gates remained closed.
Aldyn wasn’t having any of it. “If you don’t open these gates right now, I’ll have you hung for insubordination, and to hell with your Elders!” he bellowed.
There was still a moment’s hesitation, before the Knight disappeared from sight. Devon held his breath, praying the Knight had bought his friend’s act. Then a great groan came from the timbers of the gate and they swung open.
“You stay there,” the Knight started, but Aldyn darted forward before he could finish. The Knight’s voice rose: “Hey, what are you doing!”
“Go!” Devon hissed.
A string of curses erupted from within the Castle walls as Devon raced out into the open. The patter of boots on stone came from behind him as Caledan, Pela and the others followed. They sprinted across the cobbled plaza to where the drawbridge and gates still stood open. At any second, Devon expected a shout to come from the walls, as some unseen Knight spotted their approach. But the only sound was the cursing coming from beyond the gates.
Devon held his breath as the walls loomed. If they were spotted, the Knights would have plenty of time to sound the alarm. With some twenty Knights inside, plus whatever followers had attached themselves to the Order, Devon and the others would quickly be overwhelmed if they were discovered. The rescue attempt would be over before it started.
“Hey what—?” a man was shouting as Devon slipped through the open gates.
Glimpsing Aldyn standing nearby with sword in hand, Devon started towards him, before he noticed the blood on his friend’s blade. He slowed, then saw the bodies of the two Knights slumped on the cobbles at Aldyn’s feet.
“Quick,” the King’s Guard whispered, sheathing his sword, “help me with them!”
Devon swore and laid his hammer against the wall and grabbed the feet of the nearest Knight. Together with Aldyn, they dragged him into the garden that ran the length of the small courtyard. Tossing him behind the bushes, they returned for the second.
Only then did Devon take the time to examine their surroundings.
They were in a circular courtyard situated directly between the gates and the castle keep. Solid stone surrounded them, but for the oaken double doors that led into the keep. The gardens in which they’d dumped the bodies lined the walls, twisted trees and vines climbing upwards to the guard tower above the gates.
Aldyn crept to the doors of the keep and pushed them open. Light spilled from within, illuminating the six of them in the courtyard. Devon took a moment to check on his companions. Caledan was his usual composed self, as was Aldyn. Tobias’s eyes darted around in his face and he looked like he might bolt at any moment, though so far, he had remained resolute. Genevieve caught his eye and flashed him a quick grin.
Turning his gaze on his niece, Devon wondered whether or not he should ask her to guard the gates. After all, they would need a way out, if they succeeded in rescuing the prisoners. Pela’s face was pale and her eyes stared straight ahead, no doubt lost in some terrified imagining of what was to come. She shouldn’t be here, wasn’t ready for something like this. And yet…he knew she wouldn’t listen if he told her to hide.
“The place looks pretty awake for this late at night,” Caledan was saying.
Devon shook himself free of his reservations and nodded. A dozen lanterns were burning within the entrance hall and he could hear the distant humming of voices. What were the Knights up to?
“Many of their rituals take place at night,” Aldyn murmured.
“That would have been useful to know earlier,” Devon muttered, raising an eyebrow, but Aldyn only shrugged.
“It didn’t cross my mind until now. It’s not like you would have waited,” he replied.
“We’d best get moving then, before someone notices the missing men,” Devon snapped.
“Where will they be keeping my mum and the others?” Pela asked.
There was a tremor in her voice, but when Devon glanced at her, she met his gaze and gave the slightest of nods. Devon’s heart swelled. Her father would have been proud, though he’d never wanted this life for his daughter. Her mother, though…
He shook himself free of the thought. Kryssa could curse him to the end of her days for endangering her daughter…so long as she lived.
“Close to the pantheon,” Aldyn answered. “I’ve been inside a few times. The cells are there.”
“Lead the way, Aldyn,” Devon said.
They fell in behind the King’s Guard. Devon brought up the rear, swinging the doors closed behind them. They had an hour before the next change of watch—Aldyn knew their schedules well—but that did not guarantee they would remain undiscovered.
“The Knights like to throw banquets for us common soldiers sometimes,” Aldyn was saying. “They even make allowances for us to see them without their helmets.” He chuckled. “I suppose it would be difficult for them to eat otherwise.”
Devon nodded but said nothing, concentrating on the way ahead. The corridor was lit by lanterns and after the dark outside, the brightness hurt his eyes. Fortunately, the hallways remained empty, though voices still drifted on the air. They moved quickly, aware that a group of armed men and women could not go undetected for long, while Aldyn continued his story.
“I think the banquets were thrown to recruit new Knights. Certainly a few of the King’s Guard have changed colours over the last few years. Can’t say I liked ‘em. They were the sort who fight because they enjoy death. Guess it fits well with the Order’s whole freewill thing.”
“I don’t see how,” Pela muttered.
“You don’t?” Aldyn asked. “Imagine it: a world where everyone did whatever they liked. No laws or rules. The strong would take whatever they wanted. Say what you will about the king, his laws protect those who cannot defend themselves, prevent chaos.”
Caledan snorted. “Some job he’s doing.”
Aldyn flashed him a grimace. “You should walk a mile in a man’s shoes before you judge, sellsword,” he replied. “If not for Braidon, the Lonian King would have taken half our land and put the rest of us to the sword.”
“And he set out new trade routes with Northland,” Tobias cut in. “Our farm would have gone broke when the Trolans closed their borders, if not for that.”
“Is this really the time to be talking about politics?” Devon growled, gesturing ahead.
Just then, the whispers lifted a notch in pitch. The company slowed.
“We’re close,” Aldyn hissed, “just around this corner, I think. The voices must be coming from the pantheon.”
Devon looked at the others. “It looks like this is going to come to a fight,” he said, looking from Tobias to Genevieve to Pela. “If anyone still wants to back out…”
Tobias swallowed and shook his head, while his niece only gripped the hilt of her sword tighter. Genevieve smiled. “We go on.”
Devon nodded, and prayed to the memory of Antonia that they weren’t too late. “Keep close,” he said softly. “Whatever’s waiting for us, we get in and get out as quickly as possible.”
The others nodded, their faces a mixture of fear and determination, and Devon’s chest swelled. The villagers had no business being here, no experience with war and death, but in that instant he knew they would not break. Gathering himself, he turned the corner to the pantheon.
He’d expected guards to be posted outside the Order’s innermost sanctuary, but the corridor was empty. Devon started towards the massive oaken doors. Blood thudded in his ears as he glimpsed the murals on the walls, depicting scenes of heroism and war, of evil magic-doers and dark creatures from the north. Amidst them all, a single woman stood tall with sword in hand.
There was no doubt she was a representation of Alana. But while Devon’s memory had blurred through the years, even now he knew the image bore little resemblance to reality. The woman in the mural was tall and blonde, her skin unblemished and eyes cold, almost a Goddess herself in her perfection. Alana, for all that he had loved her, had been far from perfect.
“Ready for this, big man?” Caledan whispered as they approached the doors.
The mural stretched up over the entrance to the pantheon, where a final depiction of Alana stood with flaming sword in hand. Devon shuddered, tearing his thoughts from the past. Beyond the wooden panels, the whispers of prayer had risen to a fever pitch.
For a moment, Devon couldn’t help but compare their quest to the Knight’s attack on the temple above Skystead. How different were they now, to have come to this place of worship with weapons in hand? Yet it was not hatred that had drawn them here, but love. They had not come for blood, only to bring their people home. He nodded to the sellsword and pressed a hand to the door.
“Go quietly,” Aldyn said. “They might not realise we’re intruders.”
Devon checked one last time that the others were ready, then gave the door a push. It swung open with barely a squeak, and together they slipped inside. The roar of voices struck as the door swung closed behind them. Bewildered, Devon reached for his hammer, shocked at the madness within the pantheon.
Towering columns lined the room and rows of pews cluttered the chamber, but few of the congregation were using them. Aldyn had told them only twenty Knights remained in the Castle. There were far more people than that present. They packed the pantheon, standing and sitting and on their knees with hands raised to the sky, as though calling upon some divine power.
A man stood on the raised platform opposite where they had entered. He wore robes of fine green silk and a crown of silver wire, while a heavy gold necklace hung around his neck. Raising a jewelled sceptre skywards, his voice boomed out across the chamber, though Devon could make no sense of his words. The worshipers seemed to understand though, for their voices joined with his, until it seemed the noise might shake the very walls.
Two men sat in silence behind the speaker in the wings of the dais. One was a young man, unknown to Devon, but it was clear from his robes and throne that he was an Elder. The other man was Merak. He wore a broad grin as he watched the proceedings, though in the heat of the thousand candles lighting the pantheon, his face glistened with sweat.
A great boom came from a door to the side of the dais, and a Knight in full plate mail appeared, leading a prisoner. Her arms were tied behind her back and a hood had been pulled. She staggered as the Knight shoved her, and her scream rang out over the cries of the audience. The Knight grabbed her by the scruff of the neck before she could fall and dragged her in front of the speaker.
“The solstice approaches!” the man holding the sceptre boomed, returning to a language Devon understood. He was the oldest of the three Elders on the stage, and his voice cracked before he managed to continue, “Thirty years have passed since the Saviour freed our lands, but the power of the False Gods is rising. The profane cannot be allowed to proliferate, lest the tyranny of magic be restored. Today we cleanse their blasphemy from our shores.”
He raised the sceptre above his head as the Knight forced the prisoner to her knees. A hundred voices roared their agreement. Devon winced and glanced around, but amidst the madness, the zealots had not taken note of the intruders. He started down the centre of the pantheon towards the speaker.
A sick feeling touched Devon’s stomach as he looked out over the crowd and finally noticed the second prisoner. Her crumpled figure lay at the foot of the dais where she had fallen, arms still bound, feet sprawled at odd angles against the stone. The silken hood covering her face was stained red.
Rage touched Devon as he looked at the Elder standing atop the stage. His eyes were drawn to the sceptre, and this time he saw the blood dripping from the heavy gold. The jewels studding the awful instrument shone in the candlelight, almost seeming to take on a life of their own. Devon picked up his pace.
Around him the voices rose higher. Those present wore the fine silks of the rich, and he was surprised to see many sporting knives or even swords on their belts. He had spotted five Knights in their plate mail up on the dais behind the Elders. Others stood lookout at the edges of the chamber, though they had become engrossed by the exhibition on the stage.
The first worshipers finally took note of Devon as he passed beneath the centre of the dome. They fell silent, turning to one another in question, unsure of these new arrivals or their purpose.
Atop the dais, the Elder was speaking again, but his voice died when his eyes fell on Devon. The sceptre in his hand lowered half an inch as a frown creased his forehead.
“Who dares interrupt our sacred ceremony?” he shouted.
Devon grimaced and drew his hammer from its sheath. “My name is Devon of Skystead!” he bellowed. “And we have come to restore our people to their homes!”
The Elder scowled. “What madness is this?”
Behind the man, his fellows rose from their thrones. Fear showed on Merak’s face as he pointed a finger at Devon. “He led the mob in Skystead!” he screamed. “Kill him!”
Pela and the others grew close around Devon. They had come to a stop at the foot of the dais, though the Elders and their protectors stood several feet from the edge. Whispers came from the pews as some of the worshipers stood and drew swords.
Locking eyes with Merak, Devon let his laughter boom out over the pantheon. “What mob?” he called. “Is that what you told them? There was only one of me, coward.”
“He lies!” Merak screamed. His face a mottled red, Merak grabbed the arm of a Knight and shoved him in the direction of the intruders. “I said, kill them!”
Finally the Knight obeyed, drawing a broadsword and advancing. Blood pounded in Devon’s temples as he leapt the three feet to the dais. He deflected a wild swing of the Knight’s blade as the others followed him, then charged. He slammed into the man’s plate mail armour, and pain lanced through his shoulder, but the Knight staggered backwards, off-balance. Surging forward, Devon drove his hammer into the man’s chest.
A great crash echoed through the hall as the Knight tumbled from the dais. Devon spun, seeking out Merak, but the other Knights on the stage were already advancing. A curse slipped from his lips, before Caledan surged past.
“The prisoner!” a voice bellowed from somewhere, while behind them the worshipers screamed.
Devon risked a glance back. Chaos had erupted across the pantheon, as some tried to flee the melee on the dais, while others charged forward with weapons drawn. They lashed about them in their desperation to reach the stage, showing little concern for their fellow believers. Several fell bleeding or dead to the floor. Horror touched Devon, until he recalled that just moments before these people had been cheering for the deaths of innocent women.
A man reached the edge of the dais and tried to climb up, but Genevieve darted forward and speared him through the throat. He fell back with a cry, and she looked back, catching Devon’s eye.
“Go!” she cried. “We’ll hold them.”
As though to emphasis her point, Tobias swung his sword at a second attacker, almost decapitating the man. He glanced back, his face more sombre than Devon had ever seen it, and offered a nod before returning to the battle.
Devon’s heart lurched as he realised he’d lost sight of Pela, but before he could look for her, a voice called him back.
“Drop your weapon, hammerman!”
He spun, finding Merak standing nearby. Two more Knights had fallen to Caledan’s blade. A third was battling furiously with the sellsword, but he seemed to have more skill than his fellows, and neither was giving an inch. The other Elders had vanished, leaving Merak alone on the stage, but he had claimed the sceptre and now held it high above his head.
“Why?” Devon growled, starting forward.
“Or she dies,” Merak hissed, pointing the golden sceptre at the prisoner lying crouched at his feet.
The breath whooshed from Pela’s lungs as she slammed into the ground. She groaned and curled into a ball as her blade went skittering between a Knight’s legs. Shouts erupted overhead as Caledan leapt past and engaged the Knights.
Gasping for breath, Pela dragged herself to her knees and swore beneath her breath. What had happened? One moment she’d been facing the charging Knights, her throat clogged with terror and blood pounding in her ears, the next, a heavy blow had struck her in the legs, sending her tumbling. But only Caledan had been…
“Bastard!” Pela hissed as she realised he’d tripped her.
The sellsword spun, driving his blade through a Knight’s gorget, but he still managed to flash her a smile. Teeth bared, Pela reached for her scabbard, before remembering she’d dropped her father’s sword yet again.
Swearing, she darted past Caledan, who was battling furiously with the remaining two Knights. Her eyes swept the dais, finding her blade lying near one of the golden thrones. Heart racing, she scanned the shadows beyond, searching for the other Elders. The dais was empty; it appeared they had fled, leaving Merak to stand alone against the intruders.
Pela recovered her sword and turned back towards the fight. She scanned the chamber. Caledan was still battling with the two Knights. They appeared to be getting the better of him, until he ducked a blow and darted forward suddenly, his blade stabbing low. His opponent staggered back clutching his groin. Blood pumped between his fingers and within moments, he collapsed to the ground.
A roaring sounded in Pela’s ears as Caledan launched himself at the last Knight. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the dying man. Even in his armour she could feel his pain, sense his terror as his life’s blood fled from him. It had happened so quickly, the shift between life and death.
Her legs began to shake as she turned away, and she saw Genevieve, Aldyn, and Tobias battling furiously with the congregation. In the chaos, the pews had been shoved up against the dais, blocking the worshiper’s passage everywhere but the centre of the chamber. Her friends stood there with swords in hand, defying those below. From their vantage point atop the dais, they had managed to keep the zealots from gaining a foothold. But the horde below were too many; they couldn’t possibly hope to hold them off forever.
As she watched, Aldyn went down, a gash opening on his calf. Her heart lurched, but he was up again in a second, his blade flashing down to skewer the swordsman that had struck him.
The trembling spread until Pela’s entire body was shaking. Fists clenched, she shrank backwards until she struck one of the thrones. Before she could stop herself, she darted behind it. Her father’s blade slipped from her fingers as she leaned against the cold steel and slid to the ground. Screams came from behind her and she drew her legs up to her chest.
“No, no, no,” she whispered, scrunching her eyes closed in an effort to deny the death creeping towards her.
“Drop your weapon, hammerman!” Merak boomed suddenly.
Pela flinched. It sounded as though the Elder was almost directly behind her. She sat frozen as her uncle’s angry retort rumbled through the hall.
“Why?”
“Or she dies,” came Merak’s hiss.
The roaring in Pela’s ears rose to a thunder as she leaned out from behind the throne and saw the Elder poised over his prisoner. He held the golden sceptre in one hand, ready to strike the helpless woman dead. Several feet away, Devon stared him down, teeth bared and hammer clutched tightly in both hands. The rest of the room had stilled with the priest’s words.
Pela swallowed as she met her uncle’s eyes. There was a flicker of recognition, before they returned to Merak. Ever so slowly, he relaxed, lowering the hammer to his side. He held up one hand.
“Easy there, sonny,” he murmured.
“I said put it down!”
The thud as Devon’s hammer struck the ground echoed loudly in the chamber.
No, no, no!
His eyes flickered to her again. Pela shook her head. She couldn’t do it. If she tried, she would die. There was no doubt in her mind anymore; she had no business being here. Unable to face her uncle’s disappointment, she lowered her gaze.
Her eyes caught on her father’s sword. It lay at her feet, its silver blade glistening in the candlelight. A lump lodged in her throat. What would her father think if he could see her now? Her uncle, her friends, they were all relying on her, needed her. All sound drained away as she realised that if she failed, they would all die. The zealots below would tear them apart.
“Very good.” The Elder’s voice dripped malice now.
A sob came from the woman at his feet. Pela’s heart lurched. Had that…been her mother’s voice? She craned her head, trying for a better view, but there was nothing she could see to identify the woman. Then she saw Devon, still watching her. His amber eyes shone with a quiet confidence.
Unconsciously, Pela gripped her father’s sword tight in one hand. Before she could think about what she was doing, she was on her feet. The throne still hid her from the crowd below, but as soon as she stepped from its shadow, she would be revealed. She could not hesitate, not even for a second. Releasing a shuddering breath, she leapt.
The sword slid into the Elder’s back with surprising ease, as though it were not flesh and bone she had stabbed, but soft mud or a melon. Even after all her time practicing with Caledan, she was not prepared for the reality.
A terrible scream erupted from Merak and he staggered away, tearing the blade from his back. The sceptre struck the ground with a sharp crack, followed by a flash of light as it split in half.
Pela hardly noticed. She stood frozen, staring down at the bloody sword clutched in her hand. The Elder made it two steps before he collapsed to the floor of the dais. His cries echoed pitifully around the room, growing weaker as he pawed at the floor. Then Devon was beside Pela, drawing her into a hug.
“Well done, missy,” he whispered in her ear, and then released her.
A roar came from the worshipers as they charged. Aldyn and Tobias were there to meet them, but they could not hold them back this time. Enraged, the men and women below hurled themselves at the swordsmen.
“Where do we go?” Pela choked.
“Here!” Genevieve’s voice called from the side of the stage.
Pela spun, finding her in the shadows from where the prisoner had been led. A door stood open beside her. Caledan had already dispatched the last Knight and was racing towards her. No longer able to think rationally, Pela sprinted after him, bloody sword still clasped in her hand. Behind her, Devon scooped the prisoner up over his shoulder and followed.
Another roar came from the crowd at the sight of their prey escaping. Pela glanced back as they surged forward. A man hurled himself at Tobias and was run through, but the farmer’s blade lodged in his ribcage and was torn away. Tobias stumbled back as two more followed the dead man over the edge of the dais. Seeing them in the wings, he ran towards them. Blade still in hand, Aldyn fought on with a cold ferocity Pela would not have expected from the light-hearted soldier.
“Come on!” Devon bellowed as he reached the door and glanced back.
Aldyn started towards them, but as he lowered his sword, a zealot scrambled onto the stage. Throwing himself forward, his hand whipped out and caught Aldyn by the ankle. The King’s Guard cried out and went down.
Cursing, Devon handed the prisoner to Genevieve and stepped towards his friend, but now that there was no one to stand against them, the crowd swarmed up onto the dais. Scrambling to his knees, Aldyn looked from the horde to Devon.
“Go!” he screamed, launching himself to his feet.
His sword speared down, killing the man that had toppled him, then skewered a second. But the worshipers were all around him now, and a sword flashed out, catching him in the side.
Aldyn screamed and tore himself away. Dragging free his blade, he brought it down in a double handed blow on another zealot. The man’s skull split with a horrifying crack.
Then a woman leapt on him, driving a dagger deep into Aldyn’s chest, and he went down. The crowd swept forward and Aldyn disappeared from view.
“No!” Pela shrieked. She leapt at the door, but Caledan caught her by the waist and hauled her back. “Bastard!”
Turning, she tried to attack him with her blade, but he slapped her hand down and the sword clattered to the ground. Pela screamed again, slamming a fist into his cheek. Curses erupted through the room as Caledan tossed her aside. Scrambling across the floor, Pela swept up her blade and swung on Caledan.
Boom.
Darkness engulfed the room as Devon swung the door closed. “Enough!” he bellowed. “Tobias, you have the lantern.”
Something heavy struck the door as the farmer scrambled in his bag, then a moment later a spark appeared in the pitch-black. Pela strained her eyes as it brightened, revealing first Tobias, then Devon and Genevieve and the woman they had rescued, then finally Caledan. She bared her teeth and was about to launch herself at him again, when Tobias gave a cry and fell to his knees beside the prisoner.
“Marce!” he cried, engulfing her in his arms. “You’re alive!”
Pela lowered her sword as the two hugged. Someone had freed the woman of her bonds in the chaos of their flight. The two held each other now as though nothing else existed. Then another thud came from the door to the pantheon. They all spun to face it, and watched a large crack spread through the wood. It was made of heavy oak and secured by a locking bar, but even that would not last long beneath the weight of the crowd beyond.
Pela’s sorrow for Aldyn turned to sudden fear as she realised they’d lost their guide. Without Aldyn, how would they find their way out again? Was there even another way out of this room?
“What’s happening out there?”
Pela spun as another voice came from the darkness behind them. They’d forgotten the Elders! They must have fled this way, and yet…straining her eyes, Pela approached the shadows at the rear of the chamber. The darkness resolved itself, revealing the bars of a cell. Her heart began to race as she realised they’d found the cells Aldyn had mentioned. This must be the rest of the prisoners from Skystead.
“Mum!” She darted to the cell door.
Movement came from beyond the bars as the occupants exchanged glances. Tobias approached with the torch, illuminating their faces. Pela’s heart pounded in her chest as she searched for her mother…and did not find her.
No, no, no…
She checked again, eyes sweeping the gathered faces, but none of them were Kryssa.
Pela scrunched her eyes closed. A scream built in her throat as she realised the truth. She wanted desperately to run back out into the pantheon, to the prisoner who had been murdered before they arrived, to tear the bag from her head and hold her close.
But she could do none of those things. They were too late. They had failed. Sobbing, she sank to her knees and ground her fists into the stone.
A rhythmic thumping was coming from the door. It echoed the pounding of her heart, of some song she could not quite remember.
“Get up, girl.” It was Caledan. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “We have to go.”
Tears streamed down Pela’s face as she looked up at him, her rage from a moment earlier forgotten. “They killed her.”
“They’ll kill us too, if you don’t get up,” he growled, dragging her to her feet.
Pela staggered as he released her. Her sword hung loosely in her hand and she looked at it, wondering what was the point. Blood stained its tip, reminding her of the man she’d killed. She hadn’t even stopped to process that yet. Hands shaking, she tried to sheathe the blade. It took two attempts before she succeeded. By then Devon had the prison cell open, its lock smashed to pieces by his hammer.
“This way,” Caledan was saying, gesturing to a passageway leading into darkness, though without their guide they had no way of knowing the way out.
“Come on.” Devon was beside her now. He squeezed her shoulder. “You did a good job back there. If not for you we’d all be dead. Now we need to keep it together until we can get these people to safety.”
Looking at him, Pela wanted to throw herself into his arms. She could see Devon was close to tears himself. But he was right; these people needed them. They had no one else. Straightening her shoulders, Pela swallowed back her grief and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
There was an open gate of iron in the passageway leading away from the cell. They stumbled through, single-file, and then Genevieve gripped it in both hands and swung it shut behind her with so much force the locking bar jumped back out. She gave it another shove to click it in properly, then checked the lock was secure, before joining them.
They went slowly after that, Caledan and Pela taking the lead. They must have been in a disused section of the Castle, for the passageways were unlit. Every so often they would come to an intersection, and Pela and Caledan would creep forward to check for anyone coming. Shouts echoed from distant passageways, but there was no sign of pursuit.
“The front gates are no good,” Devon said at one point. “Aldyn mentioned a canal gate. It’ll have to do—if we can find it.”
But no one knew which direction to take, and they continued to stumble blindly through the Castle, lost. The sounds of the chase grew steadily closer. Pela’s fear came rushing back, growing with every scrape and echo in the dark corridors.
They were approaching their fourth intersection, when a sudden cough whispered from the corridors ahead. Pela froze, glancing sidelong at Caledan. Several feet behind her, he held up a hand to wait. Then the whisper of footsteps came to them, and Caledan nodded. He was too far away, she would have to do it.
Don’t think, do!
As quietly as she could, Pela drew her sword. The blade shook in her hands as she stepped up to the intersection. Afraid her ragged breathing would give her away, Pela settled into the familiar rhythm of her meditation.
In, out, in, out.
The footsteps approached. Drawing on her calm centre, she gathered her courage into a ball and then leapt from her hiding place, her sword coming up to find her foe.
The beady-eyed Elder from the pantheon squawked and jumped in the air, his robes fluttering as he tried to turn away. For a moment, Pela was so shocked she just stood there, but the man tripped over his own feet and crashed to the floor. Then a wave of rage swept through her. This was the man who had first held the sceptre, the one who had wielded it to kill…
Grief choked her and she raised her father’s blade to strike.
“Please!” the Elder wailed, raising his hands in front of his face. “Don’t kill me. I’ll give you whatever you want!”
Pela’s rage was all but suffocating now. “You killed my mother,” she hissed.
“Pleeeease,” the man cried again. “I have coin, I can make you richer than you ever dreamed!”
“Pela, wait!” Caledan hissed, catching her by the arm. “He might be useful.”
“Yes, I—”
“Never!” Teeth bared, Pela strained against Caledan until Devon stepped between them.
“He’s not worth it, niece,” Devon murmured. “Look at him, he’s a grub.”
The anger went from Pela as quickly as it had come, and she slumped in Caledan’s grip. She stared down at the pathetic excuse for a man, who had so bravely slain her helpless mother. “Take him,” she choked.
Caledan released her and dragged the man up. “Which way to the canal gate?” he growled, drawing a dagger. “And do not lie to me, for your life depends on it.”
The Elder blubbered and stammered, but eventually he managed to get out the words. “That way!”
“Show us.”
They continued, Pela walking with the prisoners now, her eyes fixed on the Elder’s back. Again and again she saw the body on the ground in the pantheon, her grief turning to rage, then regret.
If only they’d been a little bit sooner, if only they hadn’t delayed…
“Here!” the priest announced suddenly.
Pela’s head snapped up, surprised to find herself outside. Like the front entrance, there was a courtyard before the gates, but here it was tiny—and for the moment unguarded. Used to bring goods by gondola from the port, she hoped no one would have thought to look for them here yet.
“Get them open,” Caledan snapped.
Two of the villagers started working on the locking bar while the others edged forward, casting furtive glances back the way they’d come. Thunder boomed overhead and Pela glanced up. The sky was black, the moon and stars concealed, but the rain had not yet reached them. A shout echoed from the keep, but Pela could see no one in the corridor behind them.
The gates swung open with a sharp creak. She stepped towards them, then hesitated. Blood pounded in Pela’s ears as she set her sights on the Elder. She tightened her grip on her sword.
“Don’t,” Devon murmured, blocking her path.
Tears blurred Pela’s vision as she looked at her uncle. “Why?” she croaked. “He killed my mother.”
“Ay,” Devon rumbled, the lines of his face deepening, “but this isn’t what she would have wanted, nor your father.”
“He deserves it!” A brilliant light flashed across the sky, followed by the crack of thunder. As though the heavens had opened up, rain began to bucket down around them.
“He is unarmed!” Devon shouted through the downpour. “Did your parents raise you to kill a man in cold blood?”
“No—”
“Kill him, and you become no better than the evil you seek to destroy, Pela,” Devon said, his face haggard as water ran in rivulets down his face. “Trust me. There are many things I regret in my life. Do not follow in my footsteps. Be better. Be the woman your parents would have wanted you to become.”
The fight went from Pela in a rush, her anger racing away like water over a cascade. She lowered her sword.
“Mum’s gone,” Pela croaked.
Devon nodded, and she threw herself into his arms and buried her head in his chest.
Become a paid subscriber to access this entire series from the start, plus many of the other series I have written! You can even take a free 7 day trial to see if my books are for you.