The Apostate Prince (Godswar Chronicles Book 2) Page 2

  Justin backed up, one arm out to usher his mother back with him. He dipped the other hand into the sash of his robe and retrieved a bit of wool - a spell component.

  “Deetra, I need three seconds!”

  Illusion called for imagination and concentration. The believability of the image depended on attention to detail. Deetra cut in front of him with a spinning strike at the Guardian. The clash of steel echoed around the room as the blade of Deerta’s broken glaive struck the knight’s shield.

  Justin held the wool between his eyes, envisioning every bone he placed, the layout of the room, and the way sounds carried through the rafters above. The battle raging a few feet in front of him dulled, muffled by his focus on the spell. The spidery and ancient words fell from his lips, leaving his mind, drawing the magic forth. The pinch of wool disintegrated under his fingertip and cascaded over his eyelashes and nose.

  A shriek- a cross between a bird of prey and an elephant - rang through the great hall. The metal bindings that held the dragons tail on the wall burst free and the supporting stone pillar cracked and collapsed in a plume of dust.

  Deetra and the silver knight both stopped mid-clash, heads lifted to witness the impossible. The dragon’s clawed feet landed, splintering the massive wooden table. Bony wings folded in to its body with a series of clicks. The skeletal dragon leveled its empty eye sockets on the silver knight and gave another bone-rattling cry.

  The knight took a step back, shield up, and looked back and forth between Deetra and the animated skeleton. Deetra dropped her broken weapon and grabbed the Guardian’s mirrored shield. The shield flashed a blinding, brilliant white. Deetra screamed in pain, but held on.

  The flash of light and Deetra’s cry broke Justin’s concentration. The illusion would only last another few moments before it faded. Justin pointed at the intruder and the dragon lunged forward. The knight let Deetra have the shield and dove to the side just as the dragon’s jaws snapped shut above her. Deetra dropped the shield and stumbled back.

  The dragon struck again, inches from the silver knight. Justin had to end this fight now, before the illusion dissipated, without killing her. There were too many questions left unanswered.

  “Deetra, get that sword away from her!”

  The dragon struck again, but the Guardian was ready. She swung her sword with two hands and a scream of effort. The dragon vanished before the blade touched it. The knight had overcommitted to the attack and stumbled forward, colliding with a table. The room returned to its previous state; table unbroken, no debris, skeleton still suspended above the hall.

  Deetra leapt onto the table and stomped her armored foot down on the knight’s wrist, pinning the sword. The silver knight swept Deetra’s legs from under her. Deetra landed on her back with a crash of metal on wood that reverberated through the rafters above.

  The Guardian brought the sword straight down through Deetra’s breastplate. Ayla screamed from the back of Freedom Hall as Justin bolted toward the knight. Deetra grabbed the blade of the sword, preventing its withdrawal. The blade sputtered and smoked, the God of Light’s power further cooking Deetra’s hands in her gauntlets.

  Justin sprung into a flying tackle. All seven feet of him collided with the silver knight. The sword came loose from her hand and they tumbled to the floor together, Justin on top. Her visor came up as they landed, face to face.

  Justin hugged her arms to her sides, and again marveled at her bright emerald-colored eyes. She headbutted him in the nose. His vision blurred and eyes flooded as blood ran from his nose and onto her helm. He squeezed her tighter and turned his head to the side.

  “Justin, help! She’s dying!” His mother’s panicked voice pleaded from the table above him. The knight below him struggled and kicked.

  “I can’t let her go!” Justin yelled back.

  His mother dropped down from the table to the floor, black boots landing next to his head. She whispered the prayer of humility.

  “Mother of night, your daughter is in need and begs…”

  The silver knight’s struggles turned frantic and she screamed in his ear. “No! Get her away from me!”

  “… humbly, for the voice of the Goddess.”

  Ayla leaned down. Her voice vibrated the air around them. “Don’t move."

  The struggling stopped. The knight lay there rigid as an oak plank, green eyes wide with terror. His mother pulled him up by the arm. Her hands, face, and neck were blistered and burned. Her long onyx hair had shriveled and dulled. She did not seem to notice or care.

  Deetra laid atop the table, sword still in her chest. Blood ran between the boards in rivulets. Her eyes moved to him. She opened her mouth to speak but it had filled with blood.

  His mother showed him her burned hands, voice frantic. “I can’t pull out the sword and I can’t heal her with it still in there.”

  Justin peeked under the table. The sword had not penetrated the wood. It should come straight out. He flexed his hands once, preparing himself for the pain. He grabbed the hilt with both hands and a sharp breath of anticipation.

  Nothing. No burning, no pain. The sword came out with a simple pull. Justin stared at the weapon in his hands, his stepmother’s blood filling the groove in the center of the blade and dripping to the floor.

  The Empress shoved him. “Get that thing away from her.”

  Justin backed away from the scene as his mother knelt next to Deetra, tears spilling down her blistered cheeks. She whispered the healing prayer while holding Deetra’s hand, then kissed her wife on the forehead. Cornflower-blue light shone through the cut in Deetra’s ruby breastplate.

  Deetra sputtered, coughed, and rolled to spit a mouthful of blood over the side of the table. Justin stood in the center of the room, sword in hand. His mother cupped her hands below her chin and prayed again. The cornflower light returned and spread over her hands and face like oil, repairing her hair and skin.

  Justin marveled at the sword. It weighed next to nothing. It fit his hand as if made for him.

  Healed, Deetra sat up and pulled a dagger from a sheath at Ayla’s waist. She hopped off the table and bent over the Guardian, pressing the dagger to her throat.

  “Wait,” Justin said, hanging back. The sword no longer glowed, but keeping a safe distance from his mother and stepmother seemed prudent. “We need to know who sent her and why.”

  His mother stood atop the bench beside the table, her face healed. She stared down at her attacker, wintery blue eyes distant. There were times when memories from her life of suffering overwhelmed her. It didn’t happen often, but it crushed Justin’s heart each time. Deetra waited for a signal from the Empress, dagger to the silver knight’s throat.

  “Ayla,” Deetra prompted, but his mother did not hear her. She was lost in a reverie of pain.

  Justin tried to reach her. “Mom?”

  Running footsteps approached from the other side of the now crowded castle ward. The crowd stood back a few dozen feet from the open doors of Freedom Hall, mute with fear and awe. They parted as a squad of eight Red Knights ran for the door.

  “Mom,” Justin said again. “We need her alive. There’s too much we don't know.”

  The Red Knights cleared the crowd and ran across the cobblestone ward, boots echoing in the silence. His mother blinked and looked at him, then down to the sword in his hand. Justin laid it on a table but kept it within reach, afraid to leave it unattended.

  His mother closed her eyes and nodded. Deetra shot him an angry look over her shoulder. She removed the dagger from the girl’s throat and spit in her face. The first Red Knight made it to the door and Deetra pointed at the silver knight with the slender blade.

  “Take this murdering piece of shit to the Dungeon.”

  chapter two

  A Family Dinner

  The sitting room, like the rest of Ayla’s keep, had little decoration. Two round candle chandeliers dangled on iron chains from the high stone ceiling. The storm she summoned earlier in the afternoon ha
d broken the heat, leaving the keep far more comfortable. Natural light filtered through the windows, illuminating the mural of Hornstall’s southern hills in the colors of sunset. The river that wound between the hills, and the reflection of the trees hanging over it stretched across three of the four walls.

  Justin said that he thought the room bereft and she had let him paint it. The whole project had taken him the better part of a year. That was before he left for, or rather, she sent him away to, his Gnomish school six years ago. To this day, the realism and sheer scope of it still took her breath away. From a young age Justin could draw or paint just about anything.

  She often used the room to pray about him while he studied abroad. He had wanted to become a mage, but had not wanted to leave his mother’s side. Ayla smiled and ran her hand along the ridges of his brush strokes. In the end, however, his contentious relationships with the rest of the family and his obstinate refusal to adhere to Temple traditions made the decision for both of them.Ayla continued across the room, trailing a finger across an enclosed bookshelf that contained books of ritual and prayers to the Dark Queen that had been recovered from various crypts and temples throughout the empire. She’d had Justin spell-lock the doors and give her a command word to open them.

  She sighed. He and his brothers would arrive soon. After the events of the afternoon, there was much to discuss, and though half of Hornstall already witnessed what happened in Freedom Hall, Justin had suggested keeping the details of their meeting on the events secret, and she agreed. To that end, Ayla had the tall dining table and chairs brought to the sitting room. Left over from the time of the minotaur reign, Ayla reserved them for family dinners to accommodate their seven-foot sons. Three of the six chairs had longer legs to ensure the average-sized members of the family did not feel like children at the tall table.

  Deetra came out of the bedroom door, opposite the one to the hall, and locked it behind her. She still wore her Red Armor. The attack had her and her knights on high alert. She tucked the key in pocket under her breastplate, and rested her helm on a corner of the table. Deetra ran her hand through the brown chin-length strip of hair running down the center of her head and let it fall over one side of her tattooed head. She pulled out the chair at the head of the table for Ayla, and Ayla lifted herself onto the cushioned seat.

  “Thank you,” she said and smiled at Deetra, but her wife did not smile back.

  Deetra’s face held a perpetual scowl since the attack. Her defeat at the hands of the Guardian in front of hundreds of the people of Hornstall weighed heavily on her. Though, in Ayla’s eyes, she had not lost a fair fight; the Guardian had cheated. There was no defending against a blade that cut through blessed steel.

  Deetra adjusted her own chair, and took her place at the opposite end. She opened her mouth to speak just as Justin knocked on the open door to the hall. He wore his red robes, as always, and had braided his black shoulder-length hair. His wintery eyes fixed on the empty table and he lifted one eyebrow.

  “I didn’t think the Month of Famine started until the day after tomorrow.”

  The Month of Famine honored those who starved during the siege of the Battle of Hornstall eighteen years ago. It was a time when only certain foods, and meager ones at that, were served in the temples and homes of the faithful. The smile that touched Ayla’s lips at his arrival vanished.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Deetra glared at him. “Sit your pompous ass down.”

  Ayla cringed inwardly at Deetra’s tone. She cleared her throat to get Deetra’s attention, but Deetra followed Justin with her eyes until he took his oversized seat at the table. Justin, true to form, ignored her stare, gathered his robe, and sat.

  “Will it be just us?” Justin asked.

  An acolyte in his late teens, wearing a long navy tunic, appeared at the door with a tray of covered plates. “No,” Ayla answered, signaling for the acolyte to enter. “James will be here shortly, with Victor.”

  Justin’s lips tightened at the corners, and a carefully blank expression entered his eyes. The muscles in Ayla’s shoulders began to bunch up. He and his step brother, Victor, had a long history of not getting along. Victor had gone to foster in the Orc Hills when he was 12 and had become a respected shaman amongst the tribes despite being human. He stood an inch taller than Justin, and while they both had an interest in the arcane, their similarities ended there. And she never had a moment to forget it.

  “When did Victor arrive?” he said.

  “About an hour ago.”

  Justin leaned back as the acolyte placed a plate in front of him. He gave the young man a sarcastic half-smile. “We’ll need extra napkins, and a trough if you have one.”

  “Yes, sir,” the acolyte said, and passed Ayla an inquisitive look. Ayla shook her head at him. The young man gave a tight nod, and moved to serve Deetra. Deetra leaned her head to the side, lips pressed together as the steaming hot plate was laid on the table in front of her; a silent demand for Ayla to do something about her son’s mouth.

  Ayla pointed at him. “You will be polite to your step brother.”

  “That’s why I ordered him a trough.”

  Deetra slammed her fist on the table, making all the silverware and goblets clink. “Victor is a member of this family, and heir to the High -Chief of the five clans. You will show respect.”

  “Calling him family doesn’t make it so.”

  The acolyte placed the last two plates in front of the empty chairs and beat a hasty retreat toward the exit. Victor stood in the doorway. A full seven feet tall and broader than a horse, he filled the entire height and width of the doorframe. Every inch of him not hidden by animal-hide tunic was marked with green and black tribal patterns. The acolyte’s face blanched.

  Victor stared at the acolyte until the young man regained his senses and stepped back out of the way. Victor stepped into the room, a gnarled, rune-inscribed staff in one hand – bald, tattooed head glinting in the light of the chandeliers above. The acolyte slunk out the door behind him. Victor’s eyes settled on the back of Justin’s head, and the tattoos on his forehead bunched together in a scowl.

  “Loyalty, love, and shared faith make family. Not a little brother’s approval.”

  Victor had added the last bit just to get under Justin’s skin. Judging by Justin’s stiff posture, it worked.

  Justin flashed Ayla a smile that matched the irony in his voice. “I’ve missed these family dinners.”

  Victor grunted and walked over to Ayla at the head of the table. Ayla stood and Victor smiled, revealing a mouthful of teeth filed down to points. He did not smile often, always making it awkward when he did. Ayla suppressed a shudder. The very thought of a file on his teeth invoked a sympathy ache in her own mouth. He had done it to look more Orcish, same as the tattoos of orcish skull ridges on his forehead. Ayla hugged him and he gave her a gentle squeeze. She sat back down as Victor made his way to Deetra.

  Victor leaned his staff against the mural on the wall. He gave Deetra a nod. She returned it and stood to welcome him. They clasped each other’s forearms.

  “Spirits be with you,” Deetra said.

  “The spirits are with us all,” Victor returned.

  Deetra held her hand out to his chair, offering him a seat. Instead, Victor examined the mural behind her. In all his years coming to Hornstall, he had never entered Ayla’s sitting room.

  “Wasn’t James with you?” Ayla asked.

  He continued inspecting it as he answered, his baritone voice distant. “He’s on his way. He was overseeing the shift change.”

  As captain of the Red Knights, James would have his hands full today. A full six hundred Red Knights patrolled the streets and walls since the attack, more than at any other time since the Clan Wars. Ayla doubted its necessity. If the Guardian had led an army, they would have attacked by now, or been spotted by the scouts Deetra sent out. But General Deetra had given the order anyhow.

  Victor took a step back from the wall. “Wh
o painted this?”

  “I did,” Justin answered. “Why?”

  Victor gave the mural a slow nod before turning back around to take his seat. “The brush strokes are jagged. It’s a sign of spiritual unrest.”

  Ayla lifted a finger to interject. Any discussion with Justin on spirituality or faith was bound to spiral out of control. She did not want them fighting in her sitting room, or to witness Justin’s face getting bashed in. She had fixed his nose too many times after conversations like this. Only this time, Justin’s training and Victors size upped the stakes considerably. They both ignored her.

  “You know what else is a sign of unrest?” Justin said, pointing at Victor’s forehead. “Trying to look like something you’re not. So why don’t you keep -”

  James’ hurried, armored footsteps carried into the room through the open door. Ayla sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Night Goddess for the interruption. He appeared in the doorway, resplendent in his red armor and captain's cape. One hand ran over his sweat-dampened crew cut as he took a deep breath and let it out in dramatic fashion. Worry pinched the corners of his light brown eyes.

  “Sorry. Busy day,” he said, punctuating his apology with a short bow. He wiped more sweat from his upper lip and clean-shaven chin with one hand. He must have run the full mile from the front gate of the city.

  She motioned for him to take his seat next to Victor, opposite Justin, both of whom still scowled at one another. James half-bowed again, closed the door behind him, and hustled over to his seat next to Justin. He dipped his head in greeting and added apology to each member of the family as he made his way.

  Once James settled in, Ayla lifted the lid off her plate. Dinner was a steaming rack of lamb, boiled dandelion greens, and a baked potato. Ayla’s mouth watered. Deetra and their sons followed suit, with similar pleased expressions, all except for Justin. He put the lid back on and pushed his plate to the side. Ayla hoped he would at least eat the greens, his favorite. Getting him to eat had been a chore since he stood knee-high. As a result, he remained skinny his entire life.