Samara's Peril

  Rhosin’s lips pinched, her eyes ice cold. “I saved them.”

  They glared at each other before General Veshiron broke in again.

  “As before, you have until dawn to make your final decision. Come first light, you’ll see the true might of Arcacia.”

  It was done then. Samara had fallen.

  Stiffly, Balen backed his horse up a few steps, shooting a hard look at the man before he locked his gaze once more on Rhosin.

  “I am not the fool if you believe Daican will honor any of his promises.”

  Spinning his horse around, he rode back to the keep.

  Deafening silence hung in the war room as King Balen and General Mason relayed the information from their meeting with Daican’s force. Heat stirred Jace’s blood. After how hard they had fought, after how many had died, the queen had simply let Daican’s men march in? All the preparation, all the risks they had taken were for nothing. He glanced at Kyrin. She could have died. Her brothers could have died. He drew a deep breath to calm himself and focused again on Balen.

  “I don’t see that we have much choice but to surrender.” The king grimaced, as if the words pained him. “We can’t fight them. We were doomed from the start if the queen did indeed inform the emperor of our plans.”

  “What about Glynn and the others?” Leetra asked, the look of fury in her eyes matching what Jace felt inside. “Why didn’t they warn us of this?”

  Darq looked grimly at her, but didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. There could only be one answer. They were all dead.

  Leetra’s face went pale as this sank in, but then flushed in anger, her fist balling. Jace could imagine how Darq felt inside, even if he did a remarkable job of holding it in. Glynn had been like a brother to him. If he didn’t have to hold everything together as a leader, his fury probably would have topped Leetra’s. Hints of it flashed in his eyes.

  Darq faced Balen again. “Unfortunately, I believe you’re right. Surrender seems to be the only option.”

  “The problem is that General Veshiron made no mention of those of us from Landale in his offer of mercy,” Trask said. “We’re all fugitives, and the moment the emperor gets his hands on us, he’ll no doubt execute us. There was no mention of the cretes either.”

  Balen nodded, grimacing. “You must all leave here.”

  “I don’t know if that would be possible, even by dragon,” Darq said. “They have us surrounded. Firedrakes patrol the skies and are posted along the wall. Some may get by, but not everyone.”

  Another silence followed. Jace looked over at Kyrin. If they didn’t get out of here, they would all die. They would be paraded in front of the citizens of Valcré and be put to death on the platform both he and Kyrin had already stood on once before. He might even have to watch her die.

  No.

  He would find some way to get her out of here, no matter what. She must have sensed his gaze and looked at him, her eyes troubled. He tried to project calm to her. He would die before he let any of Daican’s men lay a hand on her.

  Before he could attempt to figure out how, Balen spoke.

  “There is another way out.” He glanced at Mason, who gave him a confirming nod. “It is a closely-guarded secret, known only by the kings and their closest advisors. A secret for just such a time as this.”

  Jace let out a heavy breath, hope returning.

  “Underneath the fortress there is a hidden door to a tunnel that the giants built along the base of the wall. It connects to a series of caves in the mountains, which lead into a hidden valley. This would allow you to bypass Daican’s forces without them ever knowing you left until it was too late.”

  “What about the dragons?” Darq asked.

  “One at a time, the passage should be large enough for them.”

  Everyone seemed to breathe easier at this news.

  “Thank you, my lord, for sharing this secret with us,” Trask said.

  “It’s the least we can do after the aid you’ve provided us. I only regret that we can’t make up for the men you lost needlessly.”

  True regret shadowed Balen’s face, but Trask reassured him.

  “We did what we had to do.”

  “You can be certain that those who fought here will not forget it. I will show you where the tunnel will lead you.” He reached for a map of the area, but Mason stepped in.

  “My lord, I believe you should go with them.”

  They looked at him.

  “What?” Balen asked.

  “General Veshiron offered mercy to the men, but not to you. You are the king of Samara and the biggest threat to the emperor. The simplest way to eliminate that threat is to kill you.”

  “I can’t just leave Samara. How could I abandon the people while Daican takes over?”

  “He may have control now, but are we just going to let him keep it?” Mason’s gaze swept everyone in the room. “Are we just accepting that Daican has conquered us? Or are we going to do something about it? I say this fight doesn’t end here.”

  Jace didn’t think any of them had taken time yet to look beyond this moment of defeat, but the idea of overturning what had taken place here seemed to light a fire in everyone. They had lost this battle, yes, but that didn’t have to mean the war was over.

  Mason looked back at Balen. “I am asking you as both the general of your army and as your friend to leave now so that you can one day, Elôm willing, return as our king.”

  Balen responded with silence as he allowed this to sink in. From what Jace had seen of him since they had arrived in Samara, this would be an intensely difficult decision for him to make. One that surely needed more time than they had.

  Before he could speak, a dragon roar thundered outside. Jace jerked, grabbing his sword. Had the General changed his mind? Would they descend upon the fortress and just slaughter everyone?

  They bolted for the door as another roar rumbled through the corridors. Heat flushed through Jace’s body as they rushed outside. Dragons and their riders streaked across the sky over the keep.

  “What’s going on?” Darq asked a nearby crete.

  Before the man could answer, three panting dragons landed in the courtyard, their wings ripped and singed, and their scales streaked with both dried and fresh blood.

  “Glynn!”

  Darq rushed to the nearest dragon as its rider slid down. The moment Glynn’s feet touched the ground, he nearly collapsed, but Darq caught him. Blood stained the crete lieutenant’s breastplate, and his arm hung uselessly. Jace winced at the awkward angle. It was a wonder he had made it here in this condition. The two other cretes jumped down, sporting their own injuries, but none as serious as their commander’s. Glynn grabbed Darq’s jerkin with his good hand and tried to speak, but didn’t have the strength. Darq and Talas picked him up.

  They carried him straight to the infirmary, the rest of the group following. Leetra rushed ahead to prepare a cot. Laying Glynn down, Darq helped Josef remove his armor, and then stepped back to allow room for Leetra and Liam to help. When they cut off Glynn’s shirt, they found several deep wounds near his neck and around his shoulder. Claw wounds. A couple of inches closer to his throat, and he wouldn’t have made it here alive.

  While Josef worked on cleaning the ragged lacerations, Leetra grabbed a waterskin and helped Glynn drink. This seemed to help revive him.

  “Leetra,” Josef said, “Liam can help me. Why don’t you see to the others?”

  She nodded, but remained close. Everyone did.

  Glynn motioned for Darq. The captain knelt down near the cot.

  “What happened?”

  “They took us by surprise,” Glynn gasped. “They came from all directions. There were more than we expected. It looked like the capital was surrendered without a fight, and the firedrakes tried to take us all out. It’s like they knew what we were planning.”

  Darq’s jaw went taut, the fury in his eyes much more noticeable than before. “They did.” Glynn frowned, but Darq didn’t go into an ex
planation. “Did anyone else make it out?”

  Glynn shook his head, groaning. “We fought until there were only a few of us left. We tried to make it to the forest. We hid there as long as we could. We three are the only ones who made it here. We wanted to warn you.”

  Darq grasped his good shoulder. “I’m just glad you made it.” His voice was even deeper than normal and a bit husky.

  Josef looked at Darq and some of the other men. “His arm is broken. I need to set it and will need help holding him still.”

  A couple of the men moved closer, but Jace noticed Kyrin turn away. She looked deeply disturbed and tears pooled in her eyes. He put his arm around her, and she turned into him, burying her face in his chest. Wrapping his other arm around her, he held her tightly. Were it possible, he would not let her go until they reached the safety of camp.

  Once the men were no longer needed, Trask assembled everyone from Landale, except for Liam, who stayed to help Josef.

  “Let’s gather our things and provisions for the trip back to Landale. I’ll let the militia know, but I want to keep our means of escape between us for now so it’s not spread to more people than necessary.”

  Everyone agreed.

  “Will we have enough dragons to fly everyone back to camp?” Rayad asked.

  “Most of us will have to ride double, but we’ll manage,” Trask answered.

  Following this, the group dispersed to prepare. In the hall on the way to their rooms, Jace saw Kyrin wiping her eyes as she walked next to him.

  “Will you be all right?”

  She nodded. “It’s just hard seeing Glynn injured so badly and thinking of all the riders they lost.”

  “I know,” Jace murmured. Half of those Darq had brought from Dorland had been slaughtered. Did the queen realize how many people had died fighting for a country that wasn’t even their own?

  Kyrin shook her head, a hopeless look in her eyes. “You know, I almost believed we might win this.”

  Jace sighed. So had he.

  He turned with the others into the men’s sleeping quarters. Here, Holden helped him slip his chainmail off. It slid to the floor with a metallic thud, and Jace’s straightened, but his shoulders sagged. Every muscle in his body seemed to ache at once. If he didn’t keep moving, they would quickly stiffen up.

  He stepped to a shelf along the wall, where a basin of clean water sat, and pulled off his sweat and blood stained shirt. For a moment, discomfort gripped him. He had always avoided changing in front of strangers who would see his multitude of scars, but he let the sensation fade. The markings of his past might always remain, but Elon had erased the shame of it.

  Elon.

  Jace’s heart thumped heavily. The battle had demanded everyone’s full attention, but the memories he carried from Valcré now descended. Moisture bit his eyes before he could stop it, and he braced his hands on either side of the basin as he hung his head. First they had lost Elon, and now they had lost Samara. Where was Elôm in such crushing defeat?

  Jace closed his eyes tightly against the onslaught of tears as the memories from Valcré and the last couple days of battle all melded into a frenzy of death, blood, and violence. He pulled in a hard breath, grasping for the peace of Elôm’s presence. It did not come immediately, but his heart rate settled slowly, and he breathed more easily.

  He still could not understand their defeat. Perhaps no answer would ever be forthcoming, but if he had learned one thing in the last couple of weeks, it was that they must move on. Dwelling in the past would accomplish nothing. The only thing left to them in this moment was to pray for a safe escape.

  Balen stood at the top of the keep and looked out at Samara. It appeared from here that Daican’s men had taken over Westing Castle and occupied the village—his home. Was it a peaceful takeover or were the soldiers wreaking havoc among his friends and neighbors? Would they harm his aunt and uncle or Baron Thomas? If he left, he wouldn’t even get to say goodbye to them. His heart ached with the powerlessness to stop Daican’s men or even offer comfort to his people. He tried to pray, but it hurt so much. He begged for the people’s safety and for his own wisdom.

  In the courtyard below, the cretes and Landale men were loading up their dragons. Even some of his own soldiers were packing supplies for themselves. While there weren’t enough dragons to transport them all to Landale, Mason had encouraged them to leave and make their way to their home villages or hide out in the mountains. General Veshiron had said they would be shown mercy, but it held no guarantee. Best to get as many out as possible. They would all leave soon. It left him little time to make his decision.

  At the sound of footsteps, he looked over his shoulder. Mason joined him, standing at his side and sharing the view. All was quiet for several moments, but for the banners snapping in the breeze.

  “So you believe I should choose exile to Arcacia as opposed to surrendering myself to Daican?” He looked over at his general.

  “I do only because I know Daican will kill you if you don’t.” Mason faced him. “If Samara is to rise again and throw off Daican’s rule, she will need a strong king. She will need you. The people will eagerly rally around you when the time comes.”

  “If that time comes, and even then, who knows?”

  “You doubt your influence over them?”

  Balen sighed, and didn’t answer. Was he truly the leader they believed he was? So far he had failed to bring any worthwhile change.

  “You are the best king this country has seen in the last hundred years, and the people know it,” Mason told him.

  Balen almost laughed. It was hard to believe that when Samara had fallen for the first time in her history during his rule. “I’m not even of noble birth.”

  “Perhaps that’s what makes you a great king. The people have always been eager to follow one of their own.” Mason put his hand on Balen’s shoulder. “When you saved King Alton from the wildcat, it was no accident or mere chance. Elôm put you there. He made you king, and I don’t believe it was just so you could watch your country crumble into nothing.”

  Slowly, Balen nodded. “I only wish I knew what the right answer truly is. It seems right to stay and face this with my people, but if leaving could help them in the end . . .” He grimaced. “I don’t want to go to save myself.”

  “I don’t believe anyone could ever accuse you of that.”

  Balen thought it over once more and, though it went against everything inside him, he said, “All right, I’ll go.”

  Mason smiled a sad, but relieved smile. “Good.”

  “But what of you? Daican could just as easily kill you.”

  “I know, but someone has to keep the men ready and keep hope alive. I’m willing to risk it.”

  The turmoil inside him would not cease, but Balen prayed he was doing the right thing as he looked once more out at his beloved Samara. Please, save her.

  Just after sundown, Balen, dressed in simple leather and linen, led the entire group down into the storage rooms under the fortress. Jace looked around amongst the extra supplies and provisions, but didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. Though the solid stone walls didn’t look capable of hiding a secret passage, Balen walked straight to the south wall and pressed one of the stones. A loud click echoed behind it. He and Mason then pushed together, and a large section opened inward, dust swirling, to reveal a pitch black hole. Holding a torch aloft, he illuminated stone stairs and a dark tunnel. Without prior knowledge, no one would have ever been able to find it.

  Balen turned back into the room. Though he had chosen to go with them, his face revealed the struggle he still fought inside. No doubt he constantly second-guessed the decision.

  He looked at his general. “Are you sure you won’t need Josef here?”

  Mason shook his head. “It will be difficult for the wounded to travel so far. They might need him. Besides, we have to send someone to look after you.”

  Despite the hardship of the moment, Balen smiled. They gripped each othe
r’s arms tightly.

  “I’ll be praying for your safety,” Balen said.

  Mason returned the smile. “And I’ll be praying for your return.”

  With a deep breath, Balen turned to the secret door again, as if every moment spent here threatened to change his mind. “I’ll go first. I know the way through the caves.”

  As he descended the stairs, Mason approached Trask.

  “I wanted to give this to you. I think you and your people ought to have it.”

  Trask took the cloth bundle from the general and unfolded it to reveal a cerulean blue flag with gold trim and a gold sunburst appliqued in the center. Jace had never seen a flag of that sort before.

  “It’s the flag of Arcacia before Daican’s grandfather changed the blue to black and incorporated Aertus and Vilai,” Mason explained.

  Everyone stared at it with new interest. The sun shining in the middle was the exact opposite of the moons that so many people in Arcacia worshipped. Just one old piece of history told the whole story of their downfall.

  “I thought it looked familiar,” Trask said. “I saw a drawing of it once in one of my father’s books. I didn’t think any of them existed anymore.”

  Mason brushed his fingers along the thick, rich colored cloth. “I found it at a market once and felt compelled to buy it. I see it as a symbol of all that was once good in Arcacia. I want you to take it with the prayer that, one day, that good will be restored.”

  “Thank you very much.” Trask refolded it almost reverently, and Jace caught a look in his eyes that said he had an idea forming.

  Trading their final goodbyes, Trask followed Balen into the murky darkness of the tunnel, his dragon coming along behind. As Balen had said, the tunnel was just wide and tall enough for the animals to go single file. When it came time, Jace motioned to Kyrin, but she remained rooted in place, ill-concealed fear breaking through her expression. Her throat moved as she swallowed.