Chapter 10
Ian gripped the sword in his hand so tightly he could feel the tendons pop over his knuckles.
Ahead of him, Onric dashed directly into the fray, holding his sword close. He moved through the fights rather than engaging in them, as his target was the magic user in the enemy’s back line.
But there was nothing Ian could do besides watch his younger brother run headfirst into danger. How could he, the crown prince of Iseldis, expect to become king when the very people he would rule were currently risking their lives while he stood back in safety? He had to do something.
Looking around the courtyard, Ian sought out the general of the Iseldan army, a stocky older man named Zimri.
The general was standing inside a group of his soldiers, just behind the fighting castle guard.
Always at the ready, the guard had been the first to respond to the threat while Zimri and the army were summoned from the barracks.
Ian pressed through the crowded bodies that filled the courtyard.
The false Majis were vastly outnumbered, which made this entire attack from Gareth feel unfounded, other than its having injured King Frederich.
And Onric would be injured soon as well if he attempted to fight a magic user by himself.
“General!” Ian called as he reached Zimri. He pointed to the battlements above the courtyard, which were slowly filling with Iseldan archers. “Have the archers focus on the single magic user hiding below the gatehouse.”
Zimri’s deep-set eyes looked from Ian to the archers above, then toward the gatehouse.
From where they were standing, it was impossible to see the magic user behind the tall attackers.
But the general did not question Ian’s logic.
He nodded his understanding and immediately moved toward the ladder that led to the battlements.
“Make way!” he bellowed, his loud voice easily carrying over the sounds of battle.
But then a new sound cut over all of them. A horn rang out from just beyond the castle walls.
Ian could see the purple banners of Chendas through the castle gate.
Gareth’s actual army had arrived.
Ian pushed his way through the crowded courtyard once again to take up his vantage point on the steps.
Gareth himself led the Chendas army. The young king rode a large horse and held his sword high as he pressed through the castle gate and into the back line of the attackers.
“Hold.” Gareth’s voice rang out across the battle with surprising volume and practiced authority. “By the Council of Five Kingdoms, I command all Majis to cease this attack!”
The attackers, in their dark armor and blue livery, turned to face Gareth. Taking advantage of the moment, the Iseldan guard continued to fight, locking the dozen or so false Majis between the two armies.
Ian scanned the crowded space for his brother. But it was not Onric who caught his eye.
Erich, having returned to the castle ahead of Ian the previous night, pushed his way up the steps. He did not appear to notice Ian at all, seemingly intent on reentering the castle until Ian grabbed his shoulder.
“Erich!” Ian said.
The face that Erich turned toward him was bruised and bloody, and his eyes were exhausted. Those eyes lit up when he saw Ian. “Meena?” he asked, stopping his rush, though he kept a foot on the next stair up.
“Safe,” Ian replied. “With Robin.”
Erich turned his body back toward the great hall. “I need to get Aizel out of here.”
Understanding dawned on Ian, and he practically pushed his brother up the steps. “Go!” Aizel and her younger sister had been captives of Gareth. If Gareth was at the castle now, Aizel and Celesta would not be safe.
The sounds of the fight had lessened when Ian turned his eyes back toward the gate. The false Majis pretended to put up a fight, but Gareth’s front line quickly overpowered them.
Onric had his back to the gatehouse wall, smart enough to remove himself from a fight that was meant for show.
Ian saw no sign of the hooded Majis user.
The rest of Gareth’s soldiers poured into the crowded courtyard with military precision, assembling into small formations as a show of power and defense.
Their movements were practiced, as though this entire battle had been carefully rehearsed. It probably had.
“Chendas! Iseldis!” someone shouted. “We are saved!” The cry of victory spread throughout the courtyard. “Chendas! Iseldis!”
King Gareth pressed his horse forward, smiling benevolently at the crowd as they parted to make way for him, adding his name to the chant. “Chendas! Gareth! Iseldis!”
Ian had never hated a smile more.
Gareth held up his hand, accepting the happy chants but slowly encouraging the crowd to calm down. “Gather the wounded,” he called, as though the castle was under his control. “Take the Majis to the dungeons.” The Iseldis guard immediately followed his order.
Ian stepped forward to greet the incoming king and redirect his attention from giving orders inside the Iseldis castle.
Onric joined them as Gareth swung down from his horse. “Prince Ian, Prince Onric,” Gareth said. “I am relieved to see you both safe.” The man communicated one thing with his words, but the eyes he turned to Ian were dark and dangerous.
“Welcome to Iseldis,” Ian said, offering the customary greeting. Since Gareth had offered no bow, not even a tilt of the head, Ian offered no sign of respect in return.
Gareth looked around the courtyard. “I am glad I arrived when I did. A few more hours and this could have gone very badly for you.”
“Iseldis is not so weak that a few dozen attackers could bring us down,” Ian responded quickly, making sure he did not refer to the attackers as Majis.
“You appear to have been struggling,” Gareth responded, dropping his voice so the surrounding soldiers did not overhear it. “The Majis are very powerful; it is no shame to struggle against them.”
“It is unfortunate that all your studies produced no identifiable defense against magic users,” Onric said, speaking equally low.
Gareth’s smile faltered slightly at that. “It is good that I arrived when I did,” he repeated, raising his voice so those around them could hear.
“We were not expecting you,” Ian said, acknowledging the man’s words without affirming them.
“Yes,” Gareth said. He took a step forward, moving toward the door to the great hall despite the fact that Ian and Onric stood in his way. “I apologize for not sending word. I have much to discuss with your father.” He looked around the courtyard once more. “Where is King Frederich?”
“He was injured in the attack,” Onric said, his voice low and measured.
Gareth’s expression shifted into one of practiced concern. “How terrible.” He looked between Onric and Ian. “This must be so difficult for you. I am here to help.”
“I assure you,” Ian said, not moving aside as Gareth continued to press toward the doors of the main hall. “Iseldis is in excellent hands.”
“Your own?” Gareth tilted his head back, making it appear like he was looking down on Ian though they were both the same height.
“My dear boy,” Gareth continued, though they were nearly the same age, “the Majis just attacked your castle, nearly killed your father, and your guards were helpless against their magic. I arrived just in time to prevent further bloodshed. Surely you can agree that, for the good of Iseldis, someone with more experience should act as steward of Iseldis until your father is well enough to return to his duties?”
Ian noticed the silence that rippled through the courtyard as the surrounding guards and soldiers listened to the exchange.
“You do not even know the state of my father’s injuries, and yet you volunteer to take his place?” Ian kept his voice loud, hoping to encourage any hint of mistrust toward Gareth that he could.
“You are right,” Gareth replied. “My concern runs deep, and I will aid you in any way that I am able. Now, send me to your father. I can assess his condition while you ensure the castle is secure.”
“Zimri can direct the guard in securing the castle,” Ian replied. He sent a quick glance to Onric. Was Gareth so confident in trying to see the king alone to finish what he had started? “We will accompany you to King Frederich.”
As they finally moved toward the castle entrance, Gareth fell into step beside Ian. “Oh, and I was so hoping to offer my congratulations to Princess Philomena and her new husband. Have they returned from their trip to Falqri yet?”
Ian kept his face schooled in the courteous expression he had long learned to hide behind. “They are not expected back for a sevennight at least.”
“Perhaps,” Gareth said slowly, “word should be sent for them to return as soon as possible. For their own safety.”
“It will take nearly five days for a messenger to reach them,” Ian replied, “not including the time for them to travel back, which would render such a communication unnecessary.”
They arrived at the entrance to the council chambers. Three guards stood outside the door but stepped aside as Ian approached.
Ian steeled himself for whatever lay behind the closed doors. His father must be in critical condition if they had not even moved him from the scene of the attack to his own bedchamber.
King Frederich was lying on a makeshift bed near the destroyed council table.
A large piece of masonry had fallen from the wall above, landed on the table, and split it in half. Rubble and debris littered the room. Though the structure of the domed ceiling appeared intact, a large hole revealed where the magical attack had hit from outside the castle.
Two physicians tended to the king while Queen Cara sat at his side, holding his hand in her own.
Ian stepped quickly to his mother’s back, placing his hands on her shoulders. Of all the distressing sights in the room, it was her face—aged ten years—that hurt him the most.
“What happened here?” Gareth asked, surveying the room.
Ian was thankful for the question as he had not yet had a chance to hear the events of the morning himself.
“The attack started here,” Onric said. “Magic, I assume, hit the outer tower, causing several stones to come loose.”
Ian looked back up at the hole overheard. It must have been a significantly larger source of magic than the purple orbs the magic user had been casting in the courtyard. Clearly, injuring Frederich had been the main objective of the attack.
“Father was crushed by the breaking table,” Onric continued, “and took an additional blow to the head.”
Frederich’s forehead was covered in bandages. His eyes were closed, and his face was calm. The physicians were still wrapping bandages around a stint on his leg.
“How is he?” Ian asked, squeezing his mother’s shoulders.
“His wounds have been treated,” said one of the physicians. “He may never walk fully again, but his breathing is steady and his heart beats strong. However, he has not opened his eyes once. He seems to feel no pain. It is as though he has retreated somewhere deep inside of himself.”
“Will he awake?” Ian asked, fearing the answer.
“We cannot say,” the physician replied. “It has only been a few hours, so there is yet hope.”
Gareth finally moved closer to the injured king. “Only time will tell,” he said. “Let us hope that all shall be well.” His face was so full of concern that Ian almost believed him.
“This bone has been set, and the bandages are stable,” the other physician said as he finished wrapping Frederich’s leg. “We can move him to a more comfortable place.”
As two more physicians brought in a cushioned board to transport Frederich, Gareth stepped away. “I will see to the safety of the castle,” he said.
While Ian resented Gareth’s inserted authority, he let the visiting king go. For the moment, he wanted to carry his father through the castle himself.