Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
“But how does it work?” I ask Barnham for the fifteenth time today.
Barnham and I have been riding together the past few days. Unlike Taryn, he converses with me very little. Five days of travel have worn me down. Fatigue creeps up on me from lack of sleep, as the Elvarran wake at dawn. My body feels slow, my mind dull.
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “You’re not going to let this one rest, are you?”
“Come on, Barnham,” I plead. “I’ve never even seen magic! Can’t you make something disappear or shoot a fireball for me?”
“You saw magic when you made your deal with the king,” he deadpans. “It’s on your skin.”
“That’s not exciting magic,” I counter. “We’ve been riding for days now. At least tell me how it works?”
“I’ll answer your questions, Princess.” A lively voice cuts in.
I turn my attention toward the sound. A man pulls his horse's reins back, slowing his horse to my left. He has tall ears that protrude from his golden, curly, blonde hair. The man wears dingy, tarnished armor that appears to have been through numerous battles.
“And who might you be?” I ask curiously.
“Knight Kieran Hale of Salasyr,” he replies confidently.
“Please. You are a soldier, not a knight,” Barnham says coldly.
“Barnham!” Kieran’s blue eyes narrow. “The one time we get to travel with a beautiful woman, and you make her miserable the entire time.”
He has a point.
“The only women who enjoy your company are those you pay with coin,” Barnham taunts.
Raucous laughter erupts from up ahead. A man turns to the side on his horse, looking back at us.
His dark eyes hold an air of quiet power.
He has a long, jagged scar that cuts across his right eyebrow at an angle.
His dark brunette hair is shorn short on the sides, revealing pointed ears.
If I were not stuck in a court of enemies rooting for my downfall, I’d find him attractive.
“Well struck!” he calls out.
Much to my surprise, Barnham laughs. I didn’t know he was capable of joy. He is always stoic and critical when speaking to me.
“Thank you, Marek,” Barnham replies.
“Buncha bastards, you two,” Kieran grumbles under his breath.
“Rank, my good fellow, rank,” Marek reminds him, turning back around on his horse.
Kieran scoffs, kicking his horse and riding off. I watch him disappear into the pack, returning me to my isolation. What an interesting man. Bold, but a bit dense. Marek is correct. I am a princess, and he is a soldier. Our ranks do not allow such indulgences.
“There are three types of users: Verthari, Remedari, and Evokari. There, happy?” Barnham relents, finally beginning to answer my question.
“You’re not going to tell me what they do?”
Barnham’s eye twitches. “Verthari can manipulate various elements like fire, water, earth, and air. But can only specialize in one type.”
“Are you a Verthari?” I ask curiously, wondering what type of magic he uses.
“Yes, water,” he replies. “Remedari are healers. They can seal grievous wounds and take pain away from others.”
“And the third one?” I push him for more, mainly to quell my boredom.
“Evokari is what the king does,” Barnham explains. “They can bend people to their will, manipulate others’ magic, and shape the energy around them.”
My eyes widen in curiosity. That’s how Wrath forced answers out of me when he questioned me. Even thinking of it sends the same chill down my spine.
“Now, will you stop asking me questions?” Barnham’s tone is annoyed.
“Thank you,” I say kindly, returning my attention to the landscape around us.
As we crest a hill, a small town comes into view. Every structure is abandoned, with broken windowpanes, sagging roofs, and weathered wood fences. I try to spot any townsfolk, but it is barren and devoid of life.
“What is that?” I ask.
“The town of Liora.”
That means we are close to the northern border. Soon enough, we will be crossing into the Elvarran lands. My pulse thrums with the thought, the anticipation of the unknown sending a thrill through me. The south is dry and warm, so does that mean the north is lush and green?
“It’s seen better days…” Barnham absently comments.
“What do you mean?” I tear my gaze away from the village.
“It looks like last winter was hard on them. There are fewer guards and fewer people in the fields, and some of their crops were wiped out due to the tainted water supply,” he explains vaguely.
“Every winter gets more difficult for the humans,” I reply. “We’ve sent rations to Liora for years, but I had no idea it was this… downtrodden.”
“It’s been difficult for the West this past year.”
“Why—?”
An arrow flies directly into my horse, making it rear.
I scramble, clutching my reins as I try to avoid falling off.
It whinnies in pain as I try to keep her under control, my horse continuing to buck.
Something hits my shoulder, a sharp burst of pain erupting as an arrow lodges itself into my skin.
The impact makes me lose my grip on the reins, as the horse throws me from its back.
I hit the dirt with a heavy thud, the impact knocking the air from my lungs.
There’s no time to think. I rip the arrow free and roll to avoid the stomping hooves that threaten to trample me.
I cry out in pain, my hand instinctively moving to cover the wound as blood coats my fingers.
I have never been in battle, utterly helpless amid the chaos.
A figure approaches me, raising their sword high as they prepare to strike.
Panic shoots through me like a lightning bolt as I roll quickly to the side.
The sword sinks into the dirt beside my head, barely missing me.
I try to stand, but the man shoves me into the dirt, causing my back to hit the ground once more.
Pain shoots through my wound as my head snaps back, rendering me incapacitated.
I try to get on my feet, but a hand closes around my throat, closing my airway with a forceful grip.
“Traitor!” He spits at me, moving to swing at me once more.
I can see the figure is clearly human… so why is he trying to kill me?
My heart is pounding rapidly in my ears, drowning out all else.
I look around for a weapon, but there are none.
I raise my hands in front of my face and prepare for the blow to hit me.
A sword erupts through the man's chest, and a shower of blood rains down on me.
Terror rips through me as the hot and sticky liquid coats my face and neck.
The man falls dead to the ground beside me.
My hand flies to my mouth, an attempt to push down the rising bile.
Barnham holds out a hand for me to take. “We have to move!”
He pulls me to my feet. I reach down to grab the sword from the man's lifeless grip. The blade is hefty, and I drop it before trying to pick it up again.
“You’re not strong enough to wield a broadsword.” He pulls out a small dagger and hands it to me. “Aim for the chest or the eyes.”
I take it from him as more people rush toward us. A fist closes around my scalp and yanks at my hair. The pull is so intense I feel hair rip from my head, causing me to cry out in pain as tears well in my eyes.
“I done snatched the Princess!” he shouts, holding a blade to my neck.
The dagger cuts my neck slightly as he holds me, a trickle of blood running down my skin.
I grit my teeth and swing my arm backwards, sinking the dagger into his side.
He screams as I rip it free to do it again.
The man moves to kill me. Marek plunges his sword through his chest, killing him instantly.
The man drops to the ground, nearly taking me with him. I bump into something—no, someone. They yank a bag over my head, plunging me into darkness. Panic fills me as I try to get away, swinging my dagger blindly through the air as arms try to restrain me.
“You bitch!” A man swears as I catch my dagger across something. “Human dick ain’t good enough for ya, Princess? You like the taste of magical swimmers instead?”
His words make my stomach turn.
The man knocks the dagger from my grip with ease. Rough hands seize me and lift me into the air, my captor throwing me over his shoulder. He saunters away, taking me with him. I kick out my legs and squirm, but it’s ineffective. The man tightens his grip around me even more.
“Help!” I scream.
“Quiet!” My captor yells, shaking me roughly.
My chest is heaving as I try to force air into my lungs. It’s difficult to breathe with this bag over my head while upside down. “Let me go!” I yell, my voice hoarse.
He laughs. “The king’s gonna pay heaps of gold for you.”
Bandits? Is that who is attacking us?
I hear swords clashing as I fall to the ground once more, my body bouncing and rolling away in the grass.
Reaching up, I pull the bag off my head, my eyes readjusting to the light.
Standing before me is Wrath, his arm swinging gracefully as the black steel blade slices the head clean off of my would-be kidnapper.
The severed part rolls towards me in the grass, stopping as it bumps against my leg.
I turn my body and plant my hands on the dirt as I vomit up the contents of my stomach, unable to hold it down any longer.
I close my eyes and silently wish this is an awful dream—one I will wake from soon.
Opening my eyes, I face the unfortunate reality that it’s not a dream.
Reaching out, I pat around until I find the hilt of a dagger.
I close my fingers firmly around it and force myself to stand.
A man rushes toward me with a spear raised in the air, aiming directly at me.
An arrow lodges directly into his eye, knocking the man to the ground.
The spear tumbles from his grasp as Stanik’s horse tramples him.
The archer readies another arrow in his bow, letting it fly through the air at another target.
I sprint in Wrath’s direction, desperate to get away from the chaos. Something wraps around my ankle, tripping me. I hit the ground again. Looking behind me, I see a bloodied man in the dirt who's missing a leg.
His lips curl up in a heinous smile, his teeth rotten and black, and the smell of decay wafts into the air. “Nighty night… Princess.” He swings, cracking me across the head with a heavy piece of wood.
Everything suddenly goes dark.