Falling Kingdoms

“What will happen?” she asked quietly.

  His expression remained tense. “When this is all over, things are going to change. I see now that I’ve been blind to troubles just outside my own kingdom’s borders. If I’d paid more attention, this never would have happened. I won’t repeat my past mistakes. Auranos will continue to be a strong and dominant force, but we will be kinder and more benevolent to our neighbors going forward.”

  His words didn’t do much to assure her that all would be well. “Will the fighting start soon?”

  He squeezed her hands.

  “It’s already begun.”

  While he waited for the order to attack, Jonas stood shoulder to shoulder with the men who were about to become his battle brothers, Limerian and Paelsian alike. The sun beat down upon them. Sweat poured over his forehead and into his eyes, making them sting.

  He’d believed the Auranian king would surrender without a fight. As he’d waited out the three long days that stretched between their arrival and this moment, as the rations quickly ran out for all but the most privileged, forcing them to individually pillage the forest for food, as the sun burned down upon them with little shelter for the common soldier apart from the thick line of forest two miles from the palace walls, he’d believed this would end without bloodshed. That King Corvin would be swayed by the legion of Limerian and Paelsian soldiers waiting for their call to battle.

  But this was not to be. Blood would spill.

  The troops gathered in formation on King Gaius’s orders and began the trek toward the walls. There was a river to cross, bisecting the green and grassy land of rolling hills and valleys. Beyond that the walled palace came into view—a spectacular golden sight that made Jonas’s breath catch in his chest.

  As did King Corvin’s massive awaiting army, fully outfitted in sleek shining armor, burnished helmets atop their heads. The Auranian crest glinted golden on their shields.

  They stayed like this for a full hour. Waiting. Watching. Jonas’s heart pounded hard in his chest, a heavy sword gripped so tightly in his hand that it began to form blisters on his already rough skin.

  “I hate them. And I’d kill them all for a chance at a life like theirs,” he said under his breath to Brion, unable to keep his gaze away from the massive shining palace—so different from the modest cottages in Paelsia. And this land—so lush and green when his own was fading away and turning dry and brown. “They would take everything and let us suffer and die without even a thought.”

  A muscle in Brion’s cheek twitched. “They deserve to suffer and die as well. Let grapes feed their nation.”

  Jonas was ready to die today to help his people have the chance at a better life tomorrow. Nothing was ever easy. And all living things eventually died. If this was to be his day, then so be it.

  King Gaius rode his sleek black stallion along the line of waiting soldiers, tall in his saddle, a look of sheer determination on his face. Prince Magnus rode nearby, his cool gaze moving across the waiting troops. The cavalry would lead the charge. War flags were held high bearing the colors of Limeros and the words Strength. Faith. Wisdom.

  Sounded very proper and studious. That the flags were red was the only indication of King Gaius’s reputation as the King of Blood.

  Chief Basilius and his flank of elite bodyguards were nowhere to be seen. Earlier, Jonas had walked through the city of tents set up on the other side of the forest. The chief had taken four tents to himself, needing the space for privacy, meditation, and rest to help summon his dormant magic to aid their efforts.

  “The sorcerer will awaken,” the rumor among the troops went. “His magic will crush our enemy to dust.”

  Chief Basilius would be their key to victory.

  Jonas chose to believe this was true as well, despite his mounting doubts.

  King Gaius addressed the troops. “Today is a day a thousand years in the making. A day when we take what has been kept just out of our reach. Out of your reach. What you see across this kingdom is yours for the taking—every one of you. No one can hold you down unless you refuse to get back up. Take this strength that I know you have—take it and help me crush those who would oppose us.”

  A chant began among the gathered soldiers, quiet at first but growing in strength and volume with each repetition.

  “King of Blood! King of Blood! KING OF BLOOD!”

  Before long, Jonas found that he was joining in—and in doing so, he became charged with the energy and bloodlust of the crowd. But a part of him knew that King Gaius wasn’t his king. He had no king.

  Yet he was following this King of Blood into battle and was willing to lay his life on the line in the process.

  “Three months ago, an innocent Paelsian boy died at the hands of a selfish Auranian lord,” the king roared. “Today we will gain vengeance for that. We will take the Auranian kingdom and strip the king of his power forever. Auranos is ours!”

  The crowd cheered.

  “Bring me King Corvin’s head and I will give you treasure unlike anything you’ve ever seen,” he promised. “Spare no one. Show me a river of blood! Take it all. Kill them all.” He raised his sword above his head. “Attack!”

  The troops charged forward, racing across the field. The ground thundered beneath their feet. At the river less than a mile from the palace walls, the Auranian force met them head-on in a violent slam of bodies and clash of sword and shield.

  Men on both sides fell all around Jonas, taken down by steel-tipped arrow, by battleax, by sword before the fighting had barely begun. The coppery scent of blood filled the air.

  Jonas slashed and fought his way through the thick mass of bodies, staying close to Brion, the two lifelong friends watching each other’s backs.

  The carcasses of horses fell heavily to the ground and in the river itself. Their riders, crawling off, met with the thrust of their enemy’s swords through their chests. Pain-filled screams and cries filled the air as flesh met metal and hacked-off limbs scattered.

  They fought to get closer to the walls. To take the palace by force. They were so close now, but the Auranian troops were equally vicious and brutal.

  Jonas found himself knocked to the ground by the slam of a shield to the side of his head, and he lay there stunned, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. A hawk soared in circles above the battle as if observing from a disinterested distance.

  An Auranian knight appeared above Jonas, raising his sword to bring it down into Jonas’s heart.

  But another sword swung first, taking the Auranian down hard. A figure slipped off his mount and quickly rammed a smaller blade into the knight’s neck, wrenching it to the side to rip out his throat in a spray of blood.

  “Are you going to just lie there like a rock?” a voice snapped. “Get up. You’re missing all the fun.”

  A gloved hand appeared before his face. Jonas shook his head and forced himself to sit up before Prince Magnus helped yank him to his feet.

  “Make sure to leave a few for me.” A glimmer of a grin played at the prince’s lips. He got back on his horse and rode farther into the battle, bloody sword in hand.

  The battle had progressed closer to the palace—but not yet close enough to take it. Fires burned in patches all over the expansive battlefield. The stench of death filled Jonas’s nostrils. He forced himself to take stock and found that his sword was gone.

  Jonas had been out cold and hadn’t realized it. For how long had he lain there in the trampled grass surrounded by bodies? He swore loudly and worked his way through the bodies, searching for another weapon. Someone had been by—a scavenger for one side or the other who’d collected the weapons of the fallen. Finally he found an ax. It would do.

  An enemy charged him—an enemy with his left arm already hanging off him after a brutal injury. But there was more fury than pain in the man’s eyes.

>   “Paelsian scum,” he snarled as raised his sword. “Die, you maggot!”

  Jonas’s muscles ached and burned as he swung his ax upward to meet flesh and bone. The spray of blood hit his face dead on.

  • • •

  Lit only by the torches stuck in the ground and the bright moon in the black sky, Jonas fought his way forward. He’d traded his battle-ax for a pair of short curved swords that looked as if they belonged to one of the chief’s personal guards. They felt right in his hands and allowed him to slash through anything that opposed him.

  Many had already fallen beneath his blade. He’d lost count of the lives he’d taken.

  Jonas also showed the signs of a battle that had lasted nearly twelve hours without relief. He bled from a wound on his shoulder. Another blade had found his abdomen, just beneath his ribs. He would live, but the injuries were starting to slow him down.

  “Jonas,” a voice called out to him from the tangle of bodies on the ground.

  Jonas thrust a sword up into an Auranian’s gut and watched the light leave the man’s eyes before he glanced to his left.

  A boy lay on the ground nearby, half-crushed by a fallen horse. Jonas fought to get to his side.

  “Do I know you?” His gaze quickly moved over the boy’s injuries. The horse that had crushed his legs wasn’t the problem. It was the deep bloody wound to his stomach with the spill of glistening intestines showing beneath. A horse hadn’t caused that. A sharp blade had.

  “You’re from my village. You’re Jonas—Jonas Agallon. Tomas’s younger brother.”

  Now he recognized the pale boy’s face although he couldn’t at first summon a name. “That’s right. Leo, isn’t it?”

  Two soldiers clashed nearby, stumbling past them. One tripped over a body and the other—thankfully on Jonas’s side—finished him off. To his left, a hail of burning arrows flew through the air from the archers stationed on top of the palace walls.

  “Jonas,” the boy Leo said, his voice almost too low to understand. “I’m scared.”

  “Don’t be.” Jonas forced himself to keep his attention on the boy. “It’s only a shallow wound. You’ll recover just fine.”

  He lied. Leo would not live to see the next sunrise.

  “Good.” The kid gave him a pained smile, but his eyes were glossy with tears. “Just give me a minute to rest and I’ll get back out there.”

  “Rest for as long as you want.” Despite his better judgment, he crouched down at the boy’s side and took his hand. “How old are you?”

  “Eleven. Just turned.”

  Eleven. Jonas felt the remnants of the half-cooked rabbit he’d eaten earlier churn in his gut. The whiz of an arrow pierced the air nearby and caught a soldier in the chest. Not a killing wound. It only made the soldier—a Limerian by the crest he wore on his sleeve—rip it out and let out a harsh cry of pain and rage.

  Jonas turned his attention back to the dying boy. “You were very brave to volunteer for this.”

  “My older brother and I weren’t given much choice. Had to come. If I could hold a sword, I would serve King Gaius.”

  Serve King Gaius.

  Hot anger worked its way up Jonas’s throat, thick enough to choke on. “Your family will be very proud of you.”

  “Auranos is so beautiful. So green and warm and...I’ve never been here before. If my mother could experience this, have a life like this, then it’s all worth it.”

  The boy coughed up blood. Jonas wiped it away with his already bloody sleeve as he sent a searching glance around the area. Men fought close by—too close. He wanted to stay with this boy, but he couldn’t afford to be here much longer. But if he could get this kid back to camp—find him a medic...

  The boy’s grip on his hand tightened. “C-can you do me a favor, Jonas?”

  “Anything.”

  “Tell my mother I love her. And that I did this for her.”

  Jonas blinked hard. “I promise.”

  The boy smiled, but then the expression faded away and his eyes glazed over.

  Jonas sat there a moment longer before getting to his feet. He let out a roar of anger into the skies above at the unfairness that a boy so young had to die tonight to help the King of Blood claim Auranos.

  And the Paelsians—including himself!—were helping him every step of the way, baring their throats to their enemy’s blade in the process—sacrificing their very futures.

  The boy’s death made it all unutterably clear to Jonas. There were no guarantees that King Gaius would hold true to any promises he’d made. He had the numbers. His army was vast and trained. Paelsia was there as nothing more than cannon fodder.

  He needed to fall back and talk to the chief. Immediately. Clutching his blades, he turned from the boy—to be met with an arm covered by a spiked gauntlet slashing toward him. It missed his face by barely an inch as he spun out of the way. It was an Auranian who’d lost much of his armor apart from his breastplate. His ugly face was slashed, his hair matted with blood. Someone had attempted to slash his throat, but he’d gotten away before the blade had left more than an angry-looking scratch.

  “Saying goodbye to your little brother?” The knight smirked. One of his front teeth had been knocked out. “That’s what you get when you try to mess with us. You get my sword through your guts. And you’re next, savage.”

  Fury burned inside Jonas. The knight attacked, slicing his sword through the air—clashing with Jonas’s blades hard enough to rattle his teeth. The sound of a steel-tipped arrow zipped ripped through the air inches away from his ear, catching a nearby Paelsian soldier in the back of the leg. He fell to the ground, screaming.

  The Auranian knight had been trained for this, but he was already injured from hours of fighting. His fatigue was Jonas’s only advantage.

  “You’re going to lose,” the knight hissed. “And you’re going to die. We should have put you out of your misery years ago—your entire goddess-forsaken land. You should be thanking us for stomping you out like the filthy cockroaches you are.”

  Jonas didn’t care if he was called a cockroach. They were resilient, strong, and resourceful creatures. It beat being called a savage. But he really didn’t like being told he was going to lose.

  “You’re wrong. Our misery is over. But yours has just begun.”

  Jonas threw all of his body weight toward the knight, taking him down to the ground hard. Throwing his blades to the side, he wrenched the knight’s sword out of his hands and pressed it against his throat.

  “Surrender,” Jonas growled.

  “Never. I fight for my king and kingdom. I won’t rest till every last one of you filthy savages is dead.”

  Suddenly, there was a knife in the knight’s hand. Jonas felt the bite of pain as it pierced his side. Before it could burrow too deep, he rolled away, grabbing hold of the sword with both hands.

  With every remaining piece of his strength, Jonas brought the sword down on the knight’s unprotected throat. The head flew away from the rest of the body. He wiped the spray of blood from his eyes with his sleeve.

  He staggered to his feet and, in pain, fought his way back across the field, across the river that now ran with blood under the night sky. Hot, thick blood ran down his own side from his wounds, but he kept moving forward. Or...backward.

  Through the thick curtain of forest to the other side, where the city of tents had been created. Hundreds milled about in the medical area—injured, dying. Wails of pain and misery met his ears.

  Jonas kept moving, his legs weak. Finally he reached his destination—the chief’s tent. These tents—supplied by the Limerians—were larger than any Paelsian cottage he’d ever seen. This was where the elite rested and took their meals, which were lavishly prepared by dedicated cooks and servants.

  While eleven-year-old boys fought a
nd died in battle two miles away.

  Basilius’s guards recognized Jonas despite his covering of fresh blood—his own and that of those he’d killed—so they didn’t protest when he pushed through the flap leading into the expansive, furnished tent. Bile rose in Jonas’s throat to see such luxury after what he’d just experienced for the last half day.

  “Jonas!” the chief exclaimed with enthusiasm. “Please, come in! Join me!”

  Exhaustion and pain made him stumble as he walked. He feared his knees would give out completely. The chief’s gaze went to his injured side and over his face, noting his wounds. “Medic!”

  With only a word, a man approached and pulled at Jonas’s shirt to inspect his wounds. A chair was suddenly behind him and he sat down hard. It was a good thing since he’d become very dizzy and disoriented. His skin was cold and clammy. The world suddenly appeared dim at the edges. He worked hard to breathe normally and regain his strength.

  The medic worked on him, swiftly cleaning and bandaging the wounds.

  “So tell me,” the chief said with a big smile. “How goes the battle?”

  “Haven’t you been meditating all this time? I thought maybe you could see us through the eyes of birds.” He wasn’t sure why he said this. A child’s story, he vaguely recalled. One his mother believed.

  The chief nodded, his smile staying right where it was. “It’s a gift I wish I had. Perhaps it’s one I’ll develop in the coming years.”

  “I wanted to talk to you personally,” Jonas forced out. He worried about Brion now, feeling guilt about leaving the battlefield before the siege had been successful. He’d lost sight of his friend early in the battle. Brion could be out there dying, with no one to protect him in case an Auranian came by to finish him off. Or an errant arrow pierced his defenseless flesh.

  With Tomas gone, Brion was as close to a brother as Jonas had.

  His eye burned, but he chose to believe it was caused by the smoke from the chief’s pipe. The scent of crushed peach leaves and something sweeter filled the air. Jonas recognized it as a rare herb found in the Forbidden Mountains that allowed pleasurable hallucinations.