As they drew closer, he realized it was Sirion, though the young man did not come willingly. The goblins and Shaikes shoved him from behind, the chains clanking from his wrists confirming he was still a prisoner.
“Where are you taking him?” Eredan asked, wondering what the Half-Elf had to do with Thardon’s evil schemes. Hadn’t Thardon caused the young man enough pain and hardship?
Thardon ignored Eredan, sparing him not even a glance.
Sirion, however, caught Eredan’s gaze, his serious, dark brown eyes communicating the gravity of the situation as he tried to warn Eredan.
“They are taking me to the pala—”
One of the Shaikes drove its rock hard fist into Sirion’s ribs. The young man groaned and stumbled, but the iron grip of the Shaikes kept him upright and forced him onward. Eredan could only watch, unable to do anything to intervene. His mind raced with unanswered questions. What purpose did Thardon have in taking Sirion to the palace? And more importantly, did Lord Andron know of Thardon’s dealings with Zirtan? Could he be in on it as well? Eredan didn’t want to believe such a thing.
Chapter Sixteen
The Plot
Makilien felt as though she were riding through ink as they made their way back to Dallorod. The rain had long since soaked them to the skin, and Makilien could barely see a thing. She only hoped Antiro could see better in the dark and not stray too far from the group. She’d given up all attempts to direct him, deciding it better to let him follow the others on his own. Makilien desperately wished to get dry and sit by a fire, but she had no hope of such comfort any time soon.
Suddenly, Antiro stopped. Makilien couldn’t hear the other horses, but Loron’s voice penetrated the rushing of the rain.
“This is the gate.”
He and Gilhir were likely the only two able to find their way in the darkness. Everyone dismounted and followed the Elves to a small gate in the city wall. As they approached, the door opened, and they were offered dim light from a lantern down the street. Bornil stood in the archway of the gate. They huddled around him, pulling their soaking cloaks closer though it was of little comfort.
“Where’s Eredan?” Darian asked.
“He was arrested after he returned to the palace,” Bornil explained. “He sent me here to bring you to the prison.”
He closed the gate and led them through the city. The streets were deserted, lit only by an occasional lantern, and running with rivers of water fed by the unrelenting downpour.
They walked until a building loomed menacingly in front of them. Bornil took them into a dark alley and unlocked the side door to the prison, which opened into a storeroom. A torch in the hall gave them enough light to see by, and Bornil led them deeper into the structure.
After navigating a couple of halls, they came to a long corridor lined on one side with dreary, damp cells. In one, Makilien spotted Eredan. He beckoned them closer.
“Let me out, Bornil,” he said urgently. As the younger man unlocked the cell, Eredan went on. “Just a short time ago, Thardon was here. He had a group of goblins and Shaikes with him, and they took Sirion to the palace. We must find out what is going on.”
Makilien’s friends glanced at each other.
“If you saw goblins and Shaikes, Zirtan must be up to some sort of mischief here,” Torick said.
“Yes, and we have to stop it.”
Eredan stepped from his cell and took the lead. He went first to the armory where he retrieved his confiscated weapons and led everyone back out the side door where they had entered.
Using the darkest streets as cover, they rushed toward the palace. Thinking of the goblins and Shaikes Eredan had seen, Makilien wondered what danger they might come to face. She touched the cold, wet hilt of her sword for reassurance as she followed the darkened forms of her companions.
When the palace came within sight, they paused in the shadows of a nearby building. The entrance of the palace was lit up with lanterns and four palace guards patrolled it as usual. All appeared normal, belying whatever was happening inside.
“Do you think the guards are in on it?” Bornil asked.
Eredan shook his head. “I don’t know . . .” He scanned the entire building before pointing down farther. “Bornil, does that window look like it’s open to you?”
“It does, yes.”
Knowing the palace windows could only be opened from the inside and would not be left open on a night like this, Eredan narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“Come,” he said, his voice only slightly raised above the rain.
Avoiding all light, they snuck along the side of the palace and cautiously approached the open window. Eredan peeked in and climbed through the window before turning back to help the others. Once inside, Makilien looked around. Though it was dark, she could tell the room was very large, and the walls were lined with tall shelves filled with books.
“We’ll check the throne room first,” Eredan whispered when everyone was inside.
They crossed the room as quietly as possible though their soggy footsteps echoed a little in the cavern-like space. When they reached the door, Eredan eased it open and led them toward the throne room.
* * *
Sirion tried to shrug off the two Shaikes on either side of him, but the beasts just growled and tightened their grip. He winced as pain, caused by the Shaike’s blow to his ribs, radiated from his side, but it was the least of his concerns.
Another man shoved Lord Andron forward. The normally dignified king was clad only in his nightclothes, and heavy chains were clamped around his wrists. He glared at Thardon as two of his men pushed him closer.
“What is the meaning of this?” Andron tried to sound as commanding as possible in spite of his situation. “I demand to be told what is going on and what you are doing associating with these monsters.”
This earned the king hisses and sneers from the ill-tempered goblins, and Thardon yanked out his sword. Placing the sharp tip against Andron’s throat, he glared back at the king.
“You will be making no more demands of me,” he spat. Lowering his sword to Andron’s chest, a smirk grew on his face. “Yet, I will share my plans so you know before you die what a fool you are.” He drew himself up arrogantly. “You are looking at Lord Zirtan’s newly appointed king of Beldon.”
Andron’s eyes grew wide in horror. “You’re working with Zirtan?”
In answer, Thardon chuckled low and menacing. Andron’s eyes narrowed and his chest rose and fell heavily as anger ignited within him. He did indeed think himself to be a fool for listening to this man.
“You won’t get away with this. The people are loyal to me. You won’t be able to stay on the throne once they know you’ve killed me.”
Thardon scoffed, thinking his so called king the epitome of stupidity. “No one but those in this room will ever be aware of that. Everyone will believe he . . .” Thardon swung his sword around and pointed it in Sirion’s face, “is the guilty one. No, I won’t be the one to have killed you. I’ll be just in time to see this Half-Elf murder you, and then I’ll have managed to kill him as he tried to escape. The people will be enraged with Althilion. All hesitancy to go to war with them will die with you.
“And while I keep the Elves busy, Lord Zirtan will crush Eldor and send an army down here to stomp out any remaining resistance. I will take my place as leader of this country and Althilion, and no one will dare defy me.”
Andron hung his head in despair. The responsibility of this entire calamity rested upon his shoulders. He was to blame for dooming his country, for dooming Dolennar to Zirtan’s rule.
Miserable with guilt and helplessness, Andron was surprised by the sudden determined ring of Sirion’s voice.
“Zirtan would.”
Andron looked up and saw deep resolve in the young man’s eyes. He had not yet given up and weakness jabbed at Andron for doing so himself.
Thardon spun around to face Sirion. “What?”
“Zirtan would defy you
without so much as a thought. He does nothing which does not benefit him. You may think he will give you lordship over these countries, but there are men who work closer to him than you do. I’m sure they will also have an interest in ruling Beldon and Althilion. Zirtan will think nothing of allowing them to take it from you.”
“Shut up, mongrel! Or I’ll cut out your tongue to keep you silent until I kill you,” Thardon warned darkly.
“Leave him be.”
Thardon looked over his shoulder at Andron and chuckled as he turned back to the king. “First you allow me to imprison and do whatever necessary to withdraw information from him, but now you’re defending him?”
Overwhelming guilt filled Andron’s heart. He was a proud man, like his father, and now that pride had placed him here. Swallowing all that was left of his pride, he glanced remorsefully at Sirion and said to Thardon, “I was wrong to allow you to lay a hand on him.”
Thardon smirked at the king’s sudden empathy for the Half-Elf.
In disgust, Andron shook his head. “How can you betray your people and your country?”
“This country has done nothing for me.” To punctuate his words, Thardon spit on the floor near Andron’s feet.
Andron’s anger flared again. “I made you general, even over Eredan!”
But Thardon scoffed mockingly. “Your first mistake.”
He raised his sword again to Andron’s chest. The king drew himself up and locked eyes with his enemy. At least he could die bravely. He wouldn’t beg for his life.
With only moments before the assassination of Beldon’s king, Sirion’s eyes searched for a way to intervene. At last they fell on the hilt of a sword hanging from the belt of one of Thardon’s men, not three feet away. It would be an easy reach if he were free of the Shaikes. He noticed the creatures’ grasps had loosened since arriving. If he was going to make a move, it had to be now. Adrenaline surged through his body. Elohim, You are the only chance I have of this working.
The very second before Thardon would have run his sword through Andron’s heart, Sirion ripped himself away from the Shaikes. In an Elven fast movement, he grabbed the other man’s sword and whipped it out of the scabbard as he spun around. The blade crashed into Thardon’s, knocking it away from Andron. Thardon stumbled back in surprise, and Sirion took a stand between the king and his enemies.
The shock over his actions lasted for only a brief moment, and looks of anger grew on every face. The ringing of swords exiting their scabbards echoed in the room. Deep growls and high-pitched shrieks followed. At least twenty goblins, Shaikes, and men closed in around him.
Thardon sneered. “What are you going to do now, mongrel?”
Sirion had no plan from here. He knew he could not last long on his own. His only hope was to last just long enough, even if it ended up costing him his life, for the palace guards to be alerted to the danger their king was in.
* * *
Everything was silent making the low sounds of their breathing and their cautious footsteps seem undesirably loud. Makilien didn’t know where they were in the palace or how far they were from the throne room when the resonating clang of metal against metal broke the stillness and echoed toward them. The sound made them pause, but then they rushed on, forgetting stealth. A moment of silence followed the first clash, followed shortly by more clashes that came in rapid succession.
Finally, they burst into the throne room, drawing their swords as they came upon the fight taking place. Makilien caught a quick glimpse of a young man in the middle of the room single-handedly fending off more than a dozen enemies. He was doing an incredible job but would not be able to hold them off for much longer.
Makilien’s friends raced forward, but Makilien hesitated. She was suddenly terrified of having to put the skills Halandor had taught her to the test. Scolding herself, she faced the fear and ran forward, her sword ready.
The goblins and Shaikes alerted to their presence turned to engage them. Makilien raised her sword. It came crashing against the sword of a goblin, halting all forward momentum, and sending an almost painful jolt through her hands. Not waiting for the goblin to try to attack, she swung her sword, throwing all her weight into it. The goblin’s sword flew to the left. Raising her sword again, Makilien swung downward, and her blade slashed into the goblin’s chest. With an ear-piercing shriek, it dropped at her feet.
Raising her eyes from its body to meet her next foe, they landed on Sirion fighting just a couple of yards away. His back was turned so she knew he could not see the goblin slinking up behind him, just about to raise its wicked blade.
Without taking time to think, Makilien dashed forward and swung her sword, bringing it across the goblin’s back. It too shrieked loudly as it toppled to the floor writhing. At the sound, Sirion spun around. First his eyes landed on the dying goblin, but then they lifted to Makilien.
“Thank you,” he gasped.
Makilien barely had a chance to nod her head before Sirion’s eyes swung past her. His expression turned from surprise to alarm.
“Look out!” he yelled.
Makilien had no time to react or move, but Sirion reached out, grabbing her arm and pulling her to the side. He raised his sword just in time to block the blade of an advancing Shaike. Now it was Makilien’s turn to stand in surprise as she watched him fight the huge beast. His fighting style, though similar to Halandor and Torick’s, held hints of Elven grace and speed making him a truly formidable opponent.
Just after the Shaike collapsed, following an unsuccessful attempt to block one of Sirion’s attacks, commotion at the door drew everyone’s attention. Palace guards rushed into the throne room. Makilien was very relieved when they proved to be on their side by attacking the goblins and Shaikes. With the added men, the battle came to a swift end. All goblins and Shaikes lay dead on the floor, and the small handful of men, including Thardon, who had not been killed were apprehended and disarmed.
Safe now from any surprise attack, Makilien looked over each of her friends with concern. Though almost all of them had some splattering of blood on their clothes, some of their own and some from their foes, no one appeared to be seriously injured. Eredan, however, did have a large splotch of blood staining the sleeve of his shirt from his shoulder to his elbow from a wound sustained in a vicious battle with Thardon.
Once the guards had unchained their king, Andron ordered for Thardon and his men to be taken away. Thardon was dragged out of the room, hurling curses and insults back at them, which did not die away until they were far down the hall. The remaining guards removed the dead from the throne room and searched the palace for any goblins or Shaikes that may still be hiding there.
After instructing his men, Andron turned to his rescuers. He knew not how Eredan had escaped the prison, nor how Prince Darian and his companions had shown up here, but he was in their debt. Noticing those who were injured and that all were soaking wet, he ordered a nearby guard, “Send for the servants and physicians.”
“Yes, my lord.”
As the guard hurried away, Andron said to Darian and the others, “Please, come with me.” He led them to a large sitting room with a massive fireplace. “I will have a fire built as soon as the servants arrive so you may dry and warm yourselves, and the physicians will tend to your injuries.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Darian said gratefully.
Andron turned to face them. Makilien saw nothing of the arrogant and stubborn young man they had met earlier in the day. All pride had left him, and only remorse remained in his eyes.
“If I may,” he spoke hesitantly to Darian, “how did you get here?”
“It is my doing, my lord,” Eredan answered, stepping forward and hoping to take any blame away from Bornil. “I told them you had Sirion imprisoned, and I planned to help them release him. After I was imprisoned, I sent Bornil to do it. While I was waiting for them, I saw Thardon come and take Sirion. He told me they were bringing him here so when Bornil arrived with Lord Darian, I ordered him to f
ree me, and we came here knowing Thardon must have an allegiance to Zirtan. My lord, you have my deepest apologies for acting behind your back, but I felt they were actions I must take. I am willing to accept any consequences.”
“No,” Andron said, shaking his head. “There will be no consequences. My own actions of late have been beyond foolish. I should have heeded your counsel and warnings about Thardon. My pride and stubbornness nearly doomed our people and all of Dolennar to Zirtan’s rule.”
His gaze shifted from Eredan to the rest of the group. “I am indebted to you all. I did not deserve rescue, especially not from you.” His eyes stopped on Sirion. “You could easily have fled when you escaped from the Shaikes, but you remained, at great peril to your own life, to protect me when you had every reason to let me die. What can I do to show my gratitude?”
“My lord, I came here wanting nothing more than to bring peace between Althilion and Beldon. That is what I still seek,” Sirion said with quiet and noble sincerity.
“And peace there shall be. The hostility my father created has lasted too long, and I was a fool to let it continue. I will be honored to bring an end to it.”
The feelings of despair that had been present among Makilien’s friends lifted. Now Lord Glorlad would be free to bring his warriors to Eldor’s aid. Relief flooded Makilien with this knowledge.
Casting his attention once again on Darian, Andron said, “If it can be done, it is also my hope to restore the alliance between Eldor and Beldon. I will gladly lead my soldiers to Eldor to take a stand against Zirtan.”
Darian’s weary face broke into a grin. “Of course, Your Majesty. Our alliance is restored.”
Andron also smiled.
A group of servants rushed into the room. All had received word of Andron’s near assassination and were eager to offer their assistance to their king and his rescuers. Andron ordered a fire built first. As a couple of the men started the blaze, Makilien and her friends shed some of their wet clothing. Makilien unclasped her waterlogged cloak and pulled off her heavy, leather overdress. Once down to only her dress and pants, she stood at the fireplace and extended her hands toward the flames.