“You have been bothersome to me,” the Overlord said, his voice soft and dangerous. “I have had my fun with the others, punished them all. I destroyed your military and tortured your captain’s brother. The deputy captain who accompanied you here today endured more at my hands than he will ever say. The boy who hides with you, I killed his father. And London has felt pain a hundred times more agonizing than you can ever imagine. But you…you have escaped me, thus far.”
“I have felt the pain of every one of my people,” I returned, anger masking my terror.
“Then your suffering must be intolerable. Death will be a welcome release.”
I saw the alarm on Narian’s face moments before infernal fire ripped through me, scorching me, blistering me. But it was beneath my skin where I could not see it or touch it or smother it. My vision went black, and all I knew was burning, burning…screams were futile but could not be withheld; still they seemed muted, far off, as though they came from someone other than myself. On some level, I believed that the ground had opened and I had plummeted into hell.
Then the pain stopped, leaving me trembling and weak. I lay on the cold earth, Cannan beside me, struggling to his knees, and I realized he had tried to protect me, only to bear the same fate as had I from the Overlord’s wave of magic. Pushing myself into a sitting position, I strained my eyes to find our enemy, wanting to know the reason he had not killed me, or if he yet would, having granted a small stay of execution. But it was not the Overlord who captured my attention; it was Narian, for he was standing between his master and me, his body shaking as he intercepted the attack.
The Overlord let his hand fall. Narian was still on his feet, stronger than were we, the moments of torment he had endured not enough to send him crashing to the earth. He straightened his shoulders as he challenged his master, and I read disbelief in the Overlord’s countenance, followed by ever increasing wrath.
“Move,” the warlord ordered. Narian shook his head, fists clenching. Incensed, the Overlord stalked forward and seized his troop commander, tossing him aside with a terrifying snarl. Narian slammed into the ground, and Cannan shielded me with his body as our adversary prepared to once more make me scream.
It was not I who cried out, however, but the Overlord, for Narian had stretched out his hand and seemed to have turned the master’s spell upon the master himself, proving that Cannan had been right about the young man’s power and his training. It did not last long, for the Overlord threw aside the magic just as easily as he had thrown aside my protector, having cried out less from pain than from astonishment. Regardless, the young man who had once promised he would never hurt me had succeeded, for his master’s menacing countenance was no longer fixed on me.
Narian had infuriated him—that much was clear, for the Overlord no longer desired to use magic but his own brute strength. He advanced on Narian, grabbing his shirt and hauling him to his feet. Scowling down at the young man whom he had trained, he viciously backhanded him across the face, sending him sprawling once more, and I could not stifle a small, terrified shriek.
“You are no longer necessary to me, Narian,” the Overlord growled. “That is reason enough for me to kill you. If you interfere again, I will most certainly do so.”
I caught sight of the blood smeared across Narian’s cheek, courtesy of his master’s ring, which I realized must have been reclaimed from London.
“Then you had better get on with it. I will not let you attack her.”
Without a word, the warlord drew his sword.
“Trimion!”
The High Priestess’s voice resonated with disbelief and fury, and her brother turned his head, giving the downed man the moment he needed to kick the sword away. It disappeared in the undergrowth, and Narian wasted no time jumping to his feet.
“I need no sword to end you, whelp,” the Overlord mocked, his now empty hand curling into a fist. With a fearsome cry, he threw his invisible magic toward his troublesome charge, who leapt aside, rolling once more to the ground to avoid falling victim to his master’s powers.
“You say you need no sword,” Narian gasped, poised on one knee to move quickly, “yet you need to keep me at a distance with your magic.”
Lips pressed together, eyes narrowing, the Overlord walked forward to prove he bore no such cowardice. Narian came to his feet once more, drawing his sword. To my surprise, he did not ready the blade for an attack, but rather stuck the tip into the ground before him, presumably relinquishing the weapon as his master had none to match. The Overlord, smirking at the advantage his troop commander was sacrificing, obviously assumed the same, for he was caught off guard and knocked flat on his back when Narian gripped the hilt with both hands and used it to swing himself upward, planting his feet upon his master’s chest in a forceful kick.
Narian landed smoothly and pulled his sword from the ground, but the Overlord was already recovering from the blow, coming to his knees. Nonetheless, Narian struck downward at him with the blade. I could see in his determined movement, his absolute concentration, that he dreaded what would happen if he lost the upper hand, but I wasn’t certain it was his to lose. The warlord caught the sword with the metal bracer on his left forearm, deflecting it with a growl, then punched Narian with his right fist, sending him sprawling on his stomach.
Now standing, the Overlord halted Narian’s attempt to rise by placing one foot upon the young man’s back.
“Let’s see how you defy me with a broken back, boy,” he snarled, savoring his quarry’s struggles to liberate himself.
I was breathing at an unnatural rate, my hand over my mouth, trying not to scream. Oh, God, no, not his back. Get up, Narian, get up, somehow, please… The Overlord lifted his foot slightly, preparing to slam it down, but Narian threw his right hand back and hit his master with the magic the Legend of the Bleeding Moon had granted him. As the Overlord stumbled away, Narian rose to his feet, spitting blood and not bothering to stem the stream coming from his nose.
The Overlord was seething. Having taunted his master about cowardice, the young man had made a hypocrite of himself in his master’s eyes by utilizing sorcery himself. As the warlord’s lip curled, I knew Narian was in even deeper trouble than he had been before. Narian knew it, too, for he had tried tenaciously to steer this fight away from the use of magic.
No longer constrained, the Overlord thrust his hand forward, but Narian dove out of the way, somehow managing to avoid what was invisible. He was close to his master again and swept the ruthless ruler’s legs out from under him; then he drew the dagger from the sheath strapped to his forearm, lunging forward to stab in any way he could. But the warlord, impressively fast for his size, caught his hand, and I heard the cry that accompanied the snap of Narian’s wrist before the Overlord threw him aside.
Rolling, Narian stumbled to his feet, cradling his broken wrist. I wondered how long this could possibly go on, how much more of a beating the man I loved could take, but as the Overlord started once more toward his adversary, the High Priestess called out to her brother for the second time.
“Trimion—leave him. He cannot fight you, it is over.”
“No!” The Overlord turned on his sister, and I thought for a heartbeat that he would do her harm. “It is over when he is dead.” Then he again focused his fearsome glower on Narian. “He has challenged me for the last time. He has flaunted his necessity again and again, but no more. His Hytanican blood will run on the ground, where he can see it and know how poorly it has served him.”
It tortured me to see Narian in such a helpless position, but he was not nearly as helpless as I, pathetically standing on the sidelines. Somewhere in my heart I knew that, even with a powerful man like the captain beside me, interfering would be futile. Despite his exhaustion and pain, the young man refused to give in. When the Overlord drew perilously near, Narian bent forward and moved sideways into his master, whereupon the warlord lost his balance and flipped over his troop commander’s back, crashing once more to the gro
und. Narian staggered away with as much haste as he could, but the Overlord’s temper was quicker. Bounding to his feet, the fearsome warlord extended his arm toward his prey. I screamed, unable to restrain myself.
This time Narian was powerless to evade the magic. The Overlord caught him with it, unrelenting as his charge fell to the ground, screaming and thrashing. I had endured this same power for mere moments and had wished for death; I could not wish death for Narian, but neither could I bear to see him suffer. I would beg if I had to, if I could. Cannan was restraining me, although he had ceased trying to make me leave, too entranced himself by the unfolding battle. Once Narian was dead, we would feel like fools for having wasted our chance to flee, but it was impossible to do so now.
The Overlord approached his quarry, hand still outstretched, to stand directly over Narian, glaring at the young man who writhed in agony at his feet. I was sobbing, but I gave little thought to myself. As a plea for mercy rose in my throat, Cannan’s hand clamped over my mouth, halting my thoughtless, pointless action.
Narian curled into a ball as his master dropped his hand.
“You should not have challenged me, boy,” he said, rolling his dazed victim onto his back with the toe of one boot. Pulling a dagger, he bent down, drawing Narian upward by his hair. He glanced at me where I stood in Cannan’s arms, then spoke one last time to Narian.
“Unfortunate that your death will prevent you from witnessing hers.”
I braced myself for the plunge of the dagger into Narian’s exposed neck, for I could not tear my eyes away, but the warlord seemed to have frozen. Something had happened, something was making him hesitate, but the combatants were too close together to discern what it might be. Then the Overlord’s hold on Narian’s hair slipped, and our greatest enemy sank to his knees, his hands gripping the hilt of the dagger Narian had thrust into his gut. The warlord had been careless.
Narian crumpled once more, then crawled away, attempting to put distance between himself and his master. He managed a few feet before collapsing. The Overlord did not go after him but pulled the knife from his stomach with a grunt of pain, warm blood soaking his clothing and spilling onto his hands.
“Sister,” he called. “Heal me.”
Nantilam walked resolutely to him, then took the bloody dagger that had inflicted his wound. As she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, he closed his eyes, trusting that she would care for him. He did not see her move behind him.
“I will weep for you, brother,” she said softly, but there was no apology in her voice. Then she reached around him with the dagger and swept it across his throat.
His eyes sprang open in shock as he clutched at his neck, blood seeping between his fingers. He tried to speak, but what sound emerged was a guttural cough; he was choking. Slowly, he slumped sideways and fell onto his back, his body giving way briefly to spasms before he lost consciousness. Blood continued to flow from his wounds, staining the ground around him and robbing him of life.
CHAPTER 30
ONCE A KING
CANNAN AND I STARED AT THE HIGH PRIESTESS, too staggered to react. She stood in the center of the clearing with her eyes closed, dagger still in hand, breathing deeply as she composed herself. Halias was behind us at the line of trees, kneeling next to London, a measure of shock equal to ours upon his face. She had killed her own brother. I tried to imagine taking Miranna’s life, but the act was incomprehensible to me. I had already shown myself incapable of sacrificing my sister, even to preserve my kingdom. Yet somehow this brutal act had proven Nantilam to be a more benevolent ruler than the Overlord, and, perhaps, I could ever have been. He had accomplished his purpose, then had lost control. She had seen him for what he was, understood that he was capable only of hate and destruction and had ended his life, for there was no more evil that needed doing. The Overlord’s attempt on Narian’s life had convinced her of this; she had tried to stop him, but he had refused to acknowledge her authority.
“Narian,” I gasped, struggling against Cannan’s arms. “Narian!” My strangled cry prompted the captain to let me go, and I stumbled across the clearing to the young man who had just saved my life. By the time I reached him, the High Priestess was kneeling beside him, as well.
He was on his side, unmoving, his thick blond hair cascading across his forehead, looking as dead as his master. Nantilam took his head in her hands, trying to rouse him, but he would not wake. At last she closed her eyes, going still with concentration, and I knew what she was attempting to do. Minutes passed, but still he did not respond. She released him, then turned to me, her brilliant green eyes resolute.
“We must take him back to the city, London as well, if we want them to survive. They both barely cling to life, and it will take much time and energy to heal them.” As I considered this, she continued, “I will keep the bargain my brother struck, better than would he, and will let you depart, with London, when the time comes. But he will die if you don’t come with me.”
I gazed pleadingly at the captain. “Cannan, help us.”
He came forward, his face inscrutable as he studied the High Priestess, though I could tell there was no trust.
“There is no time to delay,” Nantilam said, meeting Cannan’s eyes. “My brother’s men will have been given orders should we not return within a certain time. Be assured, your people are yet in danger.”
Despite her words, he did not obey; rather, he seemed to be considering our options.
“Do you understand me, Captain?” she demanded, as though Cannan were the head of her military and not ours.
“Alera, we can walk away now, try to help London on our own,” Cannan said, ignoring the High Priestess. “If we return to the city with her, we may not be permitted to leave.”
“You will be safe as long as you are with me,” the High Priestess responded, then she touched Narian’s brow. “This boy must live, and I would save London, as well. Help me, and I give you my word that I will let you walk free.”
Though Cannan did not speak, he turned to Halias and motioned for him to bring London forward, then he went into the trees to get our horses. I could see how difficult this was for the captain, for it was not in his nature to put faith in anyone labeled Cokyrian. The enemy had deceived us too many times during our century-long war, and I did not fault him for his lack of faith in the enemy ruler. It was easier for me to trust her; she had shown me the way to obtaining our people’s freedom and had ended the tyranny of the Overlord.
Cannan returned with our mounts, then talked with Halias, giving him his orders. He and the deputy captain lifted Narian into the saddle of the horse the High Priestess had mounted, positioning him in front of her. Cannan and I likewise settled onto our mounts, then Halias helped to position London in front of the captain. Halias would not be coming with us but would ride back to the cave to inform the others of what was happening.
We rode toward the city, to be quickly met and surrounded by Cokyrian troops as we broke free of the forest. The sight of the black-clothed enemy troops so close around me was terrifying, and I hoped we had not been wrong to trust the High Priestess. At her command, the soldiers fell in beside us and behind us as escorts, and we galloped toward the crumbling stone walls that had once protected my people. We cantered up the cobblestone thoroughfare, my heart aching with the destruction that I saw to my left and right, and I was filled with dread at the thought of the condition in which we would find the palace. When it finally came into view, it looked like a poor imitation of itself. Just as had been the case with the walls of the city, the courtyard walls were crumbling in places, and Cokyrian soldiers freely trampled its once beautiful grounds.
We rode to the palace doors, between the lilac hedges that were now in ruins. The white stone path upon which horses had seldom trod was smeared with dirt and blood, and the hooves of our mounts could do no damage that had not already been done. As the soldiers in the courtyard recognized their ruler, they abandoned their endeavors and bowed before her, daunt
ed by her return. Then glances were exchanged as they noticed our presence as well as the Overlord’s absence.
The palace itself bore evidence of the Cokyrians’ celebrations: the boards we had put in place across the windows had been torn off carelessly, gleefully, and many of the panes were broken. The Grand Entry and the first floor appeared to have been rampaged, though this was to some extent due to the number of our own people who had sought refuge there. Tapestries had been torn from the walls, broken furniture was cast about, and blood stained the floors. Much of the damage had likely been wrought for the pure sake of demonstrating dominance and power. I closed my eyes, not wanting to think of the state in which I might find some of the rooms, especially the Throne Room.
I led the men carrying London and Narian up to the third floor, knowing that this area was likely to be the least damaged, the High Priestess and the captain following behind. I struggled to keep my emotions in check as we proceeded, for images of those who had died haunted these halls. I could not conceive of what Cannan had to be feeling, here in the heart of enemy territory, where the lives of so many of his officers had been taken, including that of his brother.
After directing that the injured men be laid upon beds in separate guest rooms, Nantilam dismissed her soldiers. She then went into Narian’s room, and I followed, knowing that she would attempt to heal him. Cannan did not object, apparently having decided I would be safe in her company. He did not join us, however, preferring to stay with his downed man.