Truth: Makilien Trilogy - Book 1

  A couple of hours after she had set out, Makilien headed back, taking a more roundabout way along side streets. She walked slowly, admiring the different architecture and getting an abundance of ideas for future sketches.

  Approaching a narrow alley, a pair of low voices caught Makilien’s attention. Not meaning to eavesdrop, Makilien casually approached the corner of the alley and glanced around it. Her eyes widened. One voice belonged to Gornath. Knowing he couldn’t be trusted and sensing the two men were up to no good, Makilien hid herself around the corner again and listened. Her better sense told her not to stay, but she also told herself maybe she could hear something Lord Darand would want to know.

  “Now that the prince has returned, I can complete the mission,” Gornath said barely loud enough for Makilien to hear.

  “When will you do it?” the other man asked.

  “As soon as the opportunity presents itself. I am going to the palace now. I may just be finished here by tonight.”

  “Good. I’ll have word sent. Once Eldor loses her king and her prince, the people will be devastated and leaderless. They won’t be in any position to put up a fight.”

  Makilien’s heart slammed against her chest with the realization that she’d just overheard an assassination plot—the assassinations of Lord Darand and Prince Darian! She looked around to determine the best way to leave without being detected. She stiffened when she realized the men were no longer talking. Before she could make a move, an arm came around the corner and latched onto her. Makilien cried out as she was yanked into the alley, but the sound was cut off as she was shoved roughly up against the building. Gornath held her tightly by her overdress, and the other man stood close by. Their expressions showed both surprise and anger.

  “It’s the girl from Reylaun,” Gornath informed his friend.

  “How much do you think she heard?”

  “I don’t know.” Gornath narrowed his eyes.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Makilien lied.

  “Who sent you to spy on us?” Gornath demanded.

  “I’m just exploring the city.”

  “You weren’t just exploring. You were standing at the corner listening. We saw your shadow.”

  Makilien gulped, realizing how she’d been found out.

  “I really didn’t hear anything.” She was desperate to make them believe her.

  Gornath peered at her closely and then glanced over his shoulder, telling the other man, “Go on. I’ll finish this.”

  Swallowing hard, Makilien feared what Gornath would do as the other man strode away. To her surprise, Gornath released his hold on her but still watched her with cold eyes.

  “What is your name?”

  “Makilien,” she answered cautiously.

  “Makilien, do you know what side you’re on?”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant, so she kept silent.

  “The wrong side,” Gornath declared. “You might believe your friends are on the right side, and even they believe it, but they are wrong.”

  His voice lowered to a persuasive tone. “Zirtan is not the enemy. He has always wanted to provide what is best for the people of Dolennar. In thanks for his care, the people have turned on him and attacked him. Your friends have brought this war on themselves. Makilien, do you really want to get caught in the bloodshed that is coming? Do you really want to fight for a lost cause, one that could have been avoided had the people only shown a little loyalty?”

  Makilien swallowed again at the effect his smooth words had. Pleased with the reaction he detected in her eyes, Gornath went on, “Makilien, come with me to Zirtan. Show your loyalty and he will give you anything you desire. There are other villages and cities besides Reylaun, some far greater than Minarald. Just ask and you and your family can live in any one of them, completely safe and completely content . . . ”

  Images of beautiful and peaceful cities like Minarald and Elimar overwhelmed Makilien’s mind, and she thought of herself, and her family, and Aedan all living there, happily, peacefully. It was what she’d always wanted . . . No it isn’t! the realization hit her. She’d wanted knowledge, to know the truth, and she’d wanted freedom.

  Seeing her doubt, Gornath redoubled his attack, targeting the very thing that was her greatest weakness. “Zirtan can take care of and protect you and your family. That you can be sure of. Your friends are on the brink of a war they cannot win, and they are trusting in a god who cannot be seen or heard. How can you possibly know he exists? How can you be sure of any care or protection?”

  Makilien’s grip on what she thought was right slipped. Gornath was right. How could she possibly know or be assured of anything? In that perilous instant, Halandor’s face appeared amidst all the doubts and uncertainty in her mind. Then she remembered Torick’s words to her, “Zirtan is evil . . . he is the root of all evil . . . evil itself.” Makilien looked into Gornath’s eyes and saw a deep darkness there. If Zirtan was as good as this man claimed, why would he have such evil men and creatures working for him? It was all wrong.

  Resisting the temptations that had been raging inside her to believe Gornath, Makilien set her jaw and said defiantly, “Zirtan is evil.”

  Gornath’s face contorted into an ugly sneer. In a flash of movement, he reached for something on his belt. All the air rushed from Makilien’s lungs. She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach, but the pain was far worse. Barely able to breathe through the horrible burning sensation spreading through her abdomen, Makilien looked down to see the hilt of a dagger protruding just below her ribs.

  Gornath’s once smooth voice had turned cold. “Now you can decide if you made the right choice as you die.”

  Makilien cried out in terrible pain as Gornath yanked the dagger from her stomach. Her knees buckled. Eyes wide with pain and fear, she looked around frantically. Where were the guards who were supposed to be watching Gornath?

  The evil man’s low chuckle mocked Makilien as he read her thoughts. “I know about the men who have been spying on me. They think I’m still at the house Darand so graciously provided me.” Maliciously, he went on, “There is no one here to help you.”

  With a laugh of pure evil, he turned away from her, walking out of the alley and leaving Makilien completely alone and helpless. Gasping, she tried to get up, but only collapsed with a moan. She clutched tightly at her wound, but blood still seeped through her fingers. What am I going to do? If she didn’t get help soon, she would surely die. And Lord Darand and Prince Darian! If they weren’t warned, Gornath would kill them too. Two tears leaked from Makilien’s eyes as she realized the horrible position she was in.

  Lying there, more of Torick’s words rang in Makilien’s mind, “. . . at the end of life, these people will realize they never knew the truth and will be separated from it forever.” What exactly was the truth? Did she know it? How could she if she didn’t even know what it was? Deep rooted fear encased her heart at the thought of dying without knowing.

  In desperation, Makilien did the only thing she could think of. “I don’t know if You’re really there, Elohim, or if You can hear me, but please, let someone find me before it’s too late.”

  Makilien’s strength seeped away with her blood. Her head throbbed, and her heart pounded abnormally hard. An unnatural coldness spread through her limbs even as beads of sweat dampened her forehead. It grew difficult to focus and soon only pain engulfed her senses as she slipped toward unconsciousness.

  * * *

  Torick glanced up and down each street he passed, his pace quickening. Halandor had asked him to look for Makilien while he and Nirgon finished with Lord Darand. Their meeting with the king had extended past their planned lunchtime, but Makilien had not yet returned to the palace. Torick knew the city was large, and it was easy to lose track of time, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong.

  Once Torick reached the market, he asked around for Makilien. Some of the merchants had indeed seen her. One directed him down a less populated side
street.

  “Makilien!” he called out as he hurried along, hoping against all hope she would answer. “Help me find her, Elohim.”

  Torick was nearing the palace again with a growing panic when his hearing picked up the sound of a faint groan. Stopping abruptly, he looked all around. Then, down a dark alley, he spotted a figure lying motionless. His heart skipped a beat as he entered the alley and knelt beside Makilien, eyeing her blood-soaked dress. Gently, he lifted her head and her eyes opened, looking feverish. Torick put a hand to her forehead discovering it was burning hot.

  “Torick,” Makilien gasped, in both relief and desperation.

  “Makilien, what happened?” Torick asked, moving carefully to lift her into his arms.

  “Gornath,” Makilien ground out, her voice weak. She groaned. “He’s going to kill . . . kill Lord Darand . . . and Prince Darian! He’s at the palace . . .”

  With this last effort, Makilien’s eyes closed, and she went limp in Torick’s arms. If not for the subtle sound of her breathing, he would have feared her dead. Torick turned immediately for the palace, moving as fast as he could through streets. Time was counting down for both Makilien and the king and prince.

  As soon as the courtyard gate came into view, Torick called urgently to the guards, “Lord Darand and Prince Darian are in danger! Warn the palace guards!”

  They needed no further prompting. One of the guards left his post at a run toward the palace.

  Inside the courtyard, Torick met Halandor and Nirgon. Already alarmed after having seen the first guard, the sight of Makilien confirmed their fears that something was terribly wrong.

  Halandor rushed to Makilien’s side. “What happened?”

  “I think it was Gornath. He is going to try to assassinate Lord Darand and Darian. He may be here now.”

  Nirgon turned instantly for the palace, but Halandor stayed, looking Makilien over with worried eyes.

  “We must get her inside to the healers,” Torick said.

  They hurried into the palace.

  “Do you know where Lord Darand and Darian are?” Torick asked along the way.

  “Lord Darand is still in the throne room, but Darian left just before I did,” Halandor answered, not knowing the prince’s intended destination.

  In the healing quarters of the palace, Halandor and Torick were both thankful when Lintar, one of the Elven healers, met them.

  “She’s been stabbed,” Torick told him. “And she’s burning up.”

  “Bring her in here.” The dark haired Elf led them into a small room.

  Torick set Makilien down on the bed and let Lintar take over. Though not nearly as old as most of the other healers, Lintar was the most skilled.

  They pushed aside Makilien’s dress to see the wound, not expecting what they found. The edges of the stab wound were inflamed, and dark, bluish veins were spreading out across Makilien’s stomach.

  “Poison,” Lintar said gravely.

  He went to work immediately, gathering whatever he thought he’d need, knowing he had little time to try to stop it. He had no way of knowing what kind of poison he was dealing with so Lintar had no choice but to guess what might be helpful.

  Worried also for his king and the prince’s safety, Torick turned to Halandor. He hated leaving Makilien, but he had to know the whereabouts of Darand and Darian.

  “I am going to see if Lord Darand and Darian are safe. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  * * *

  Escorted by several of his guards as well as Nirgon and Loron, Lord Darand rushed upstairs to his son’s chambers. His heart pounded and his stomach knotted with the intense fear only a parent could feel for their child. He’d already lost his wife—he couldn’t now lose his son, the very one who reminded him so much of her. Desperate pleas to Elohim filled his mind for his son’s safety.

  When they reached the hall outside of the prince’s rooms, their progress slowed to a stealthy pace. The door stood partially open when they reached it giving Darand a terrible feeling. Cautiously, Nirgon pushed open the door and stepped into the spacious sitting room. They found no sign of Darian at first glance, but then Nirgon pointed out a few drops of blood on the floor that made Darand fear the worst. What would they find in the next room?

  Swords drawn, they hurried to the bedroom. In the doorway, they came to an abrupt halt. The king’s relief was beyond words to see his son still alive, yet Darian was in great peril. Gornath stood behind him, a dagger pressed to the prince’s throat.

  “Do not come any closer,” Gornath ordered.

  “Let my son go, Gornath,” Darand told him. “You are outnumbered and will have nowhere to go if you kill him.”

  Gornath simply laughed. “My escape does not concern me. It is Lord Zirtan’s wish to see you and your son die and your country fall. I may have failed in killing you, but killing Eldor’s prince will be enough.”

  Darand’s blood ran cold at the horrible position they were in. Gornath had nothing to lose so there was no bargaining with him and no way to reach him before he killed Darian.

  “Kill me instead,” Darand offered suddenly. “Let my son go, and you can have me.”

  “Father, no!” Darian told him, but Darand would not reconsider.

  The king took a step toward Gornath putting his hands up unthreateningly. “Release him and kill me. I’m sure Zirtan wants me more.”

  Gornath chuckled low, pleased with this turn of events.

  “My lord,” Nirgon murmured in uncertainty. He was torn. His deep sense of duty screamed at him to protect his king, yet it wasn’t in him to condemn Darian, the only heir to the throne.

  Gornath grinned wickedly as Darand took another step closer. Unknown to either of them, one person had a chance to save both Darand and his son. With a prayer for accuracy and success, Loron whipped an arrow to his bowstring. He fired at Gornath before the man even realized it. The arrow pierced his arm, bringing the dagger away from Darian’s throat allowing the prince to escape his grasp.

  Shouting in rage and pain, Gornath grasped his wounded arm. In an instant, he was surrounded by the guards and removed of all weapons.

  “Take him to the barracks for questioning,” Nirgon ordered, his voice taut over how narrowly they had avoided disaster.

  His thoughts only on his son, Darand rushed to Darian’s side as he praised Elohim for sparing him. “Are you all right, son?”

  Darian nodded, unconcerned with the wound to his arm from the struggle with Gornath. “Yes, I’m fine,” he assured his father.

  “Come, let’s go down to the healing quarters and have your arm looked after.”

  On the way out, Darian put his hand on Loron’s shoulder. “Thank you for saving my life and my father’s.”

  “Thank Elohim I was here, my lord.”

  * * *

  Halandor was overcome with helplessness as he watched and assisted Lintar. It was a horrible feeling, one which brought back deep, painful memories of his daughter’s death. Please, Elohim, bring Makilien through this. But Lintar’s expression did not offer him hope. Finally, the Elf turned to Halandor, pausing reluctantly.

  “I can’t stop the poison. Nothing I’ve tried is effective, and the blade did much damage . . .”

  “There’s nothing you can do for her?”

  Lintar shook his head in regret. “I’ve tried everything.”

  Halandor could hardly bear the thought of her dying, but he would not give up hope just yet.

  “Do whatever you can to keep her alive,” Halandor told Lintar. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

  The Elf nodded, and Halandor hurried from the room with determined strides.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lord Glorlad

  Breathing deeply, Makilien returned to consciousness. As her mind cleared, she remembered what had happened and was surprised to find she was warm and comfortable. Even more surprising, no pain at all. For a moment she wondered if she had died, but opening her eyes, she found herself in bed in her
room.

  Makilien turned her head. In a chair at the bedside sat Meniah. As their eyes met, he smiled. Without even having to be told, Makilien knew at once he was the reason she was still alive.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, quiet and earnest.

  “You’re welcome,” Meniah replied gently.

  Makilien swallowed, remembering her helplessness in the alley. “I was so afraid. I thought I was going to die.”

  “You weren’t alone,” Meniah told her.

  A moment later, Halandor stepped into the room. Makilien saw the immense relief in his expression. She had been unconscious, but stable for a few hours, and Halandor was comforted to see her finally awake.

  “Makilien,” he said softly as he came to the bedside.

  She smiled, but then remembered Gornath’s plans. “Are Lord Darand and Prince Darian all right?”

  “Yes, they are safe. Gornath reached Darian, but he was rescued just in time.”

  Makilien sighed in relief. “Good. I was afraid it was too late when Torick found me.”

  “Did Gornath do this to you?” Halandor asked.

  “Yes.”

  She told them of the confrontation in the alley. Meniah remained to hear most of it, but then rose to return to his sheep. Makilien was disappointed to see him go, but she was growing sleepy again.

  “Was Gornath captured?” she asked.

  “Yes, he’s being questioned.”

  Makilien took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Everything had turned out well. She, the king, and the prince were alive. Her eyelids drooped and Halandor said, “Get some rest, Makilien.”

  With a smile, he left the room and closed the door. Makilien’s eyes slid as she listened to his footsteps fade away, and she fell into a peaceful slumber.

  * * *

  A cheerful chirping brought Makilien out of sleep. She opened her eyes and looked toward the open door. On the railing of the balcony, a brilliant sapphire mountain bluebird sang happily. It brought a smile to Makilien’s face. She stretched under the light covers and realized she must have slept through the night. Again, she was surprised to feel none of the pain she would have expected from receiving such a wound. But a sudden gnawing ache of hunger squeezed her stomach from missing both lunch and supper.