The Ashenborn Page 8

  Suddenly, the smoke disappeared and no live Taneem could be seen. The bodies of Taneems littered the ground, but the large one had disappeared. Cordoc kept his bow ready, scanning the area to be sure none were lurking in the shadows. Selaphiel and Jakobin made their way to Zarx. He looked confused and distressed, looking around as if he were not actually there.

  “They used the fire and smoke as a means of escape,” Cordoc said, sheathing his arrows angrily.

  “Silver Talons,” Selaphiel bellowed. “Bring healers and tend to the wounded!”

  The men bowed and went about carrying out the command. The princes looked at Zarx, who threw down his sword. It skittered and skipped, a loud metallic noise.

  “Send a message to the Ashenborn,” he said in a shaky voice to a nearby Silver Talon, who hesitated but carried out the request, running to procure a scroll.

  Jakobin looked around for Thornbeorn and Tsain, who were no longer in the courtyard. Cordoc and a few guards checked the bodies of the fallen Taneems, making sure they were dead. Water was fetched to quench the flames, which left black stains across the once white courtyard. The blood of the Taneems burned where it had spilled on the ground, and gallons of water were needed to quench the flames. Above them, the once-proud sigils of the kingdom were burned and torn. Jakobin drew his sword with a grit of his teeth, spotting a Taneem still breathing and clutching a seal with a royal symbol on it.

  “I found one alive,” Jakobin called behind him. Selaphiel stepped up beside him, and his eyes flashed dangerously.

  The Taneem’s eyes flicked open.

  “Your eyes change and you’re dead,” Cordoc said, an arrow notched, catching them by surprise at how quickly he was behind them.

  Selaphiel raised his hand, his palm beginning to cast a bronze aura.

  “Why are you here?” Selaphiel said, hatred in his voice. The Taneem had a wound on its side, which was gushing flaming blood.

  “To …” its voice hissed, “deliver … the good news.” Blood seeped from its mouth as it spoke. The Taneem dropped a scroll from its claws. Jakobin picked it up carefully, keeping his eyes on the dying creature.

  He unrolled the scroll and looked unsettled at what he read.

  The Taneem’s laugh filled its mouth with more blood. Its eyes began to shrink into its sockets, and its mouth remained open as it breathed its final breath. They each relaxed from their stiff positions. Cordoc swiftly shot an arrow through its skull for good measure. Selaphiel turned, a nauseated look on his face.

  The creature’s face shriveled, and it looked only slightly more dead than it had just moments before. Its eye sockets and skin began to droop. The air filled with an even more foul odor. The smell of the Taneem’s lifeless corpse blended with the smell of burning bodies.

  Cordoc motioned for Jakobin to hand him the parchment. He read it and handed it to Selaphiel silently. Selaphiel examined it but didn’t say a word. There was only one line on the parchment.

  Archkyris, the High King, is dead.

  He handed it to General Zarx, who had watched the scene unfold. General Zarx’s expression was bewildered as he rolled up the letter, now stained with the purple blood of the dead Taneem.

  “What did it say?” a Silver Talon asked.

  “It’s not your concern,” Zarx answered. “We will forward this to King Alanias. It is his information to disseminate if he so chooses.”

  Zarx turned and called to another Silver Talon, one less inquisitive. He gave him the letter and ordered him to take it to the king. “Do not, under any circumstances, barring a direct order from King Alanias himself, open and read this message. Insubordination will result in your death. Is that understood?”

  The Silver Talon nodded hesitantly, unable to respond, not prepared to accept such a large responsibility. He took the letter, though, and left quickly. Zarx retrieved his sword and turned toward the remaining Silver Talons.

  “Check everywhere to ensure there are no more of those monsters and be prepared to give aid to all injured.”

  “If we find any alive, shall we capture them and bring them in for more answers?” a Silver Talon questioned.

  “No. If you find one alive, kill it without hesitation. You’ve seen what damage one can do. There would be no gain, only loss, in attempting to capture one.”

  Turning to Selaphiel, he said, “We shall meet within the inner court room with the king to discuss this.”

  Jakobin looked around. “Where are Tsain and Thornbeorn?” he asked. From behind him, a voice called out. Thornbeorn trudged up from the lower courtyard, his armor singed. He was favoring one arm and held a sword in the other.

  “What happened?” Selaphiel said, running over to him.

  Thornbeorn winced and leaned on his sword, breathing heavily.

  “What happened, indeed,” he asked, looking around wide-eyed at the damage from the battle.

  “I left to follow Tsain. He murdered one of your guards from behind before leaving this assault. He seemed to be awfully calm as he left. I thought he was trying to save his own hide, but I was incredibly wrong.”

  He stopped to catch his breath.

  “You may not believe me when I tell you this …”

  “What?” Cordoc asked impatiently.

  Thornbeorn swallowed, then continued. “His body turned into a dragon. And he lept into the air, flying toward the forest. I encountered several of those monsters. None of them attacked him. It was as if they did not see him at all.”

  Zarx’s face was unnaturally pale.

  “All I remember hearing was the shattering of glass and the Light Prison breaking into shards,” Thornbeorn continued. “I could not make out entirely what happened, but I believe Tsain is the cause.”

  Zarx walked away briskly without a word, the cloak he wore flapping behind him. He exited the courtyard through the doors where the contestants had entered. The remaining Silver Talons followed him, unsure of what was going on.

  “Those cowards who did not stand with us and fight will not be welcome here ever again,” he muttered under his breath.

  Cordoc looked concerned. Selaphiel’s gaze followed Zarx as he left, an equally confused look on his face. Elder Derrick rejoined the group, dropping in as if out of thin air. His face showed his anguish.

  Derrick walked over to the dead body of the Taneem and turned it over with the blade of his sword.

  “So that’s what they look like,” Jakobin said, his voice trailing off. “We have heard stories of Father’s conflict with them.” The translucence of the creature began to fade, its hide turning an opaque purple and obscuring the internal organs from view. The Taneem’s jaw looked out of place, giving it a more sinister appearance. Derrick looked at the creature, then struck the ground with his sword angrily.

  “They look different this time, almost sickly. They are Taneemian none the less,” Zarx growled.

  Derrick made an angry motion in the air with an equally agitated and shocked expression.

  “All of the prisoners have escaped,” he said.

  The shattered remains of the once great prison lay everywhere. Shards of light began to slowly fade in color to dark husks. The bodies of men who had died lay strewn across the desolate battlements. The prisoners’ pods were emptied. They were now nothing but dark shells, their former luminescence gone.

  Zarx’s expression did not change as he examined the cells, checking to see if any prisoners remained or had been killed. Zarx and Cordoc had traveled to the prison, finding Tritus and Daemos alive, but both had been battered in the assault. Tritus had taken a serious laceration above his elbow from the shards of magic glass. Daemos had suffered minor physical injuries by comparison, but he was mumbling incoherently, apparently in shock. The sound of the massive prison shattering had caused both to become partially deaf.

  “What did he see?” Cordoc asked, looking at Da
emos.

  Zarx shook his head. “Daemos is mumbling about a dragon …” his voice trailed off.

  Cordoc raised an eyebrow.

  “Considering only the Ashenborn can become dragons, I’d say it’s more likely he was hit in the head by a shard of the prison,” Cordoc said, amused with himself.

  Zarx remained stone-faced, unamused by Cordoc’s jest.

  “It matches what Thornbeorn said. Two witnesses agree. When Tritus can speak again, he will confirm it as well,” Zarx said, grabbing a shard of glass. “The Ashenborn fear these prisoners; they would have never aided in releasing them.”

  “What of Elder Derrick?” Cordoc asked.

  Zarx turned the shard over in his hand.

  “He speaks with the king’s council now but will arrive here shortly to see what we cannot.” Zarx tossed the shard on the ground.

  “The king—your father—is not pleased to hear of this news. For good reason at that.”

  Cordoc nodded. “Jakobin is in his counsel, and Selaphiel is aiding those who are injured. My brothers can quell my father’s fears for the time being.”

  Zarx grimaced. “Alanias wishes that no one know of the message on that parchment. It would bring no good to spread something that cannot be verified as truth.”

  Cordoc nodded. “Will you search for the prisoners?”

  Zarx shook his head. “Anything that was to be found would have been seen on the climb up here. Besides,” he nodded toward his group of men standing guard on perimeter around them, “I am much more concerned about them finding us.”

  Cordoc scanned the area and observed approximately fifteen Silver Talons around them, spread out and in spots of tactical advantage. A few were perched in trees; most stood on the ground. Some had crossbows with arrows already notched, while some had their swords removed from sheaths. One of the Silver Talons sat on a rock. Zarx whistled a sharp, high-pitched note to get his attention. The Silver Talon looked at him nervously, for no one wanted to be called out by their general. Zarx glared at him, and the Silver Talon immediately stood.

  “I am proud of you and your brothers,” Zarx said, returning his gaze to Cordoc.

  “You each stood your ground to fight those creatures. Others ran for cover. You ran to cover others. You have proven yourselves to me,” Zarx said, his voice filled with pride. “Even if you did not complete the Ashen, you cannot be faulted for that. You have done better than that. You have shown yourselves brave in actual battle.”

  Cordoc shook his head. “It was nothing exceptional but was required of us. I hope anyone would do the same.”

  “Yeah, well, they did not,” Zarx said, thinking of the many competitors, armed for battle, who had fled rather than stay and help protect the unarmed spectators.

  The dragon form of Elder Derrick flew toward them with exceptional speed. When he landed, glass dust spiraled in all directions. Zarx and Cordoc covered their eyes to avoid having shards embedded in them.

  “Must you always land so harshly,” Zarx remarked.

  The dragon snorted.

  With a burst of light, the human form of Elder Derrick stood before them.

  “Shall we?” Zarx looked at Derrick with what appeared to be a mixture of fear and annoyance.

  Cordoc looked from Derrick and to Zarx.

  “It will be alright, Zarx. We’ve made it through a lot, haven’t we? Something as simple as another Taneemian attack can’t be too disheartening,” Cordoc consoled.

  He understood the worry on Zarx’s face, though. Zarx had dealt with conflicts and wars with extreme loss of life. He’d watched his own family be consumed by Taneems when he was only twelve years old. He was tough. It was no surprise he was the head of his father’s guard.

  This situation was different, though. Worse. They were now faced with the possibility of the kingdom’s most terrifying enemies once vanquished, again becoming their greatest threat. No one had expected the dire situation they now faced. Everyone had believed the Light Prison would hold their enemies until the end of time itself.

  Cordoc, Zarx, and Derrick finished climbing the set of stone steps leading up to the entrance of where the prison once stood. At the crest of the cliffside and steps, they stopped to examine the remains of what was once the most incredible and imposing structure in the realm. Broad, sizeable husks of former sunlight littered the ground. Although the structure was of unimaginable size, it now stood at half its height, with some areas completely leveled. Surprisingly, the different sections of the prison could still be made out. Areas where each prisoner had once been locked away were now destroyed, but the shells of the walls were partially intact.

  “Nearly twenty-five years ago, Archkyris guaranteed the safety of everyone in Yadir when he used magic to encase the prisoners within walls of protection. These walls have now failed us,” Derrick said.

  It had been believed that the Light Prison was impenetrable. Alanias had told Cordoc of the Light Prison when he was younger. He had said that only the most horrid, depraved creatures were locked inside, and that no one ever be allowed in or out of their individual cells. Alanias had also told Cordoc that many believed the Light Prison had such power coursing through it that it prevented the beings inside from even moving, thus also slowing down their regular aging process.

  Whether or not that was true though, no one really knew. The Light Prison was a secretive place. Information about it did not circulate amongst anyone but the High King and a few leaders of the lower kingdoms. Cordoc wasn’t even sure if Alanias knew anything more than the legends of the Light Prison.

  “How many guards stood watch over the prison?” Cordoc asked, directing the question to both Zarx and Derrick. He knew that Zarx was the head of the guard over the prison, but also that Derrick had been involved in overseeing the prison since it was formed.

  Zarx wiped beads of sweat from his head with his forearm.

  “There were only three guards posted to watch the prison at the time of the attack,” Zarx said, his face turning red. His look of despair was replaced with one of anger.

  “Agghh!” he bellowed as he kicked a piece of husk directly in front of him. “I knew something like this would happen! Did I not warn you, Derrick?”

  Zarx shot Elder Derrick a look of distaste.

  “I told you we needed more people to watch the prison, to keep something like this from happening. And you said no.” Zarx turned toward Derrick, now pointing a finger in his direction. “You told me that, did you not? This is your fault!” Zarx exclaimed.

  “I advised you that we needed to keep the number of people privy to the workings of the prison to a minimum,” Derrick responded, unfazed by the sudden outburst.

  “So are you agreeing that this is your fault, or no? You forced me to limit the number of guards when more precaution was needed.”

  Cordoc looked from one man to the other, disturbed by the direction of the conversation.

  “The orders of the king are not to be ignored …” Derrick said.

  “Zarx, this isn’t Derrick’s fault any more or less than it is Father’s,” Cordoc interrupted. “How could we possibly have known what was going to happen here? Everyone thought the prison was secure and that nothing could change that.”

  “Let’s go. We have work to do.” Derrick spoke unemotionally. “We must save this useless banter for another time, General.”

  Cordoc had by this time stepped between Zarx and Derrick.

  “May we continue what we came here to do?” Cordoc asked Zarx.

  “Move,” Zarx said as he shoved Cordoc out of his way with one arm. He had an anger in his eyes that Cordoc had not seen in him before. He stepped quickly toward Derrick, who had finally turned to fully face Zarx.

  “Stop,” Derrick ordered, his voice only slightly raised. “This is not wise.”

  A vein in Zarx’s forehead bulged and his j
aw muscles tightened.

  “You are a general and I would not deem it wise for you to continue, less I have to dishonor you in front of your men,” Derrick warned.

  Zarx did not stop. Before Cordoc could regain his balance and intervene, Zarx reared back with his right fist and sent it directly at Derrick’s face. Derrick’s eyes flashed jaspar. He deflected the punch with his right forearm and swept Zarx’s legs out from under him, using his own momentum against him. Zarx was thrown to the ground, landing heavily.

  Derrick stood straight and turned to Zarx, who had rolled over on his back and sat up on the ground. Cordoc examined Zarx’s face. It appeared the impact with the ground had knocked the anger out of him.

  “Are you finished?” Derrick asked Zarx with a guarded expression. “Division between us is not something you want right now. It’s not something any of us need.”

  Zarx remained silent, embarrassed as Derrick offered him his hand. Zarx ignored it and stood on his own. Cordoc knew Zarx was sometimes stubborn and prideful, but it wasn’t often that he let his emotions overtake his reason. He knew he stood no chance against Derrick, even in a circumstance in which Derrick couldn’t fight back. His power wasn’t something any of them fully understood.

  Derrick turned away, unaffected by the snub. He looked at the debris and stepped inside the entryway. Cordoc followed Derrick. He glanced behind him to see Zarx brushing dirt off his armor before following them in. The sun was setting, and they were losing daylight rapidly. If it became too dark, they would miss clues as to what happened and where the prison’s occupants had gone.

  There didn’t appear much to see inside the prison. Eight cells, all similar in size, were barely discernible to Cordoc’s untrained eyes. Derrick stepped over to one particular cell, looking grim.

  “Elim,” he said, his voice trailing off.

  “What?” Cordoc had a puzzled look on his face.

  Zarx shook his head.

  “Elim was in this cell. A being capable of the greatest evil. He and Tsal had a wicked bond.”