Orphan's Blade (9 page)

“Are you well, sir?” Timber pulled him out of his trance.

Everyone had retreated up the temple steps, leaving them behind as a light rain began to fall. The townsfolk had mostly gone except for a young boy still trying to sell wooden flutes from his basket. In Ebonvale, he’d have more luck selling swords.

Nathaniel clapped Timber on the shoulder. “To tell you the truth, old friend, I’m not sure.”

“These are trying times.”

“Indeed. But, you’ve been through worse before and lived to tell of it.” Nathaniel glanced at the scar running down Timber’s face.

“Barely, sir. I cannot say the same for the late king.”

“I know you miss him.” Nathaniel smiled with compassion, even though he’d only heard tales of Danika’s father. The late king had died at the last battle of Sill before he’d ever been born.

They walked into the foyer. Some of the nobles stayed and mingled, chatting over glasses of wine. Valoria was nowhere to be seen. After watching her countrymen leave, he couldn’t blame her.

Brax approached him with a solemn nod. Timber bowed, leaving him to speak with his brother alone.

A servant offered them a platter of cheese. Nathaniel declined, but Brax took a large wedge. He was never one to turn down food. “We have not spoken much as of late.”

Nathaniel smiled to show no harm had been done. “You have been busy with your future bride.”

“As if.” Brax bit into the cheese. “There are too many threats to think of marriage at a time like this.”

“You could leave them to your father. He is still king.” Nathaniel gestured to where the king and queen stood surrounded by a ring of nobles and advisors.

Brax shook his head. “He wants to see me rule. Ever since he damaged his knee, he has taken a back seat. I must not disappoint him.”

“You will never disappoint him.” The king’s love for Brax ran so deep, it had overshadowed everything else in his life, except for the queen. After Brax was born, there was no room for an orphan son from a burnt village. They had an appropriate heir.

Brax studied Nathaniel with his beady eyes. “You have always been my greatest supporter when you’ve had so much reason to despise me.”

“You are my younger brother, and it is my duty to do so.” Nathaniel took a glass from a servant’s tray and raised it to Brax. “Besides, I have no desire to be king.”

“That is fortunate.” Brax scanned the room as if sizing up every noble there and finding them wanting. “We have enough problems as it is.”

In the Deep

Cold, putrid air wafted over the battlements. Nathaniel pulled his cloak around his shoulders, scanning the dark moors for any sign of movement in the moon’s silver light. The surface lay untouched, stagnant and dead like the land beyond.

If only he knew what the enemy had planned. Sill had stirred, for certain. But was it shifting in its sleep or had it fully awoken?

Shuffling came from the eastern ledge. A dark shape hunched to the side took slow steps forward. Nathaniel’s heart stopped.

Was it an undead? How did it get up on the battlements?

The shape approached with slow determination with a distinctive stumble favoring the right side.

Nathaniel’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword. “Who goes there?”

“Only an old man.” The figure stepped into the torch’s light.

Nathaniel breathed in relief and surprise. “My king, what are you doing up this late hour?”

Bronford Thoridian’s battle armor gleamed as if it had never been used. A slight dent in the breastplate and a scratch on the right arm told otherwise. His thick, jeweled claymore hung on his belt. “Sleep has eluded me. I wanted to take the morning watch.”

“That is not necessary. We have enough men.”

Bron leaned on the stone wall. “I have done nothing for too long. The queen keeps me locked away as if I were a cripple, unable to defend myself.”

Nathaniel breathed to speak, but the king raised a hand to silence him. “It is only out of love. She fears I will meet a horrible end.”

Nathaniel smiled. “So will we all someday.”

“But not today.” The king smiled fondly and touched Nathaniel’s shoulder. “It seems like forever since we’ve talked.”

Nathaniel shrugged, although he had to admit he was pleased to spend this time together. “I try to stay out of the drama.”

Bron laughed. “I remember a little boy named Nip with a wooden sword who very much enjoyed drama.”

Nathaniel placed his hand on his brow. “I have since grown out of that horrid phase.”

The king smiled. “You have come so far and done well for yourself.”

“That is because
someone
gave that little boy a chance.”

Bron waved his compliment away. “I gave you what I could. I wish I could have given you more.”

Nathaniel paused. The king had never spoken of such things. “I do not know what you mean.”

“All these years tradition has tied my hands. In the eyes of the law, you have no place in noble society. The queen and I have had to act accordingly to ensure the people have a clear heir, to ensure Brax’s reign.”

“I understand. You do not have to—”

The king raised his hand to interrupt. “Let me speak.” He shifted his weight on the stone wall. The suit of armor must have been heavy for his damaged knee. Yet, a warrior would not yield to his own weakness.

“I cannot give you my inheritance, but you will always have my love.”

Nathaniel’s heart warmed. All of the times the king had favored Brax over him melted away. “Thank you, my king. That is all I ever wanted.” A wave of melancholy hit him. Bronford Thoridian would never replace his real father, but they’d shared so many moments alike to that of a father and a son.

The king reached out and placed his hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “I am proud of the man you’ve become. Brax may be more fit to lead a battle, but you have more wisdom to rule a kingdom.”

“It is not my place to judge.”

“Yes, but as a father to you both,
I
must judge if I am to ensure the kingdom survives.”

Nathaniel froze, feeling as though he trespassed on sacred ground. What was the king leading to? He couldn’t want Nathaniel to take Brax’s place, could he? Nathaniel would never agree to such an upheaval. Even if he did, the people would never accept him as their king.

“Brax is hotheaded at times, but he has a noble heart, and I love him deeply—just as much as I love you. Promise me, when I am gone, you will look after him and steer him on the right course when he falters.”

Nathaniel gave him a stern glance. “You are strong and healthy with many years—”

The king took his hand and squeezed. Desperation filled his eyes. “Just promise me.”

“I promise.” The words came out easy. He’d only ever intended for that himself.

“Good. Now I’ll be able to sleep at night.” The king winked. “Now leave and allow me to take your place, just this once.”

Nathaniel nodded. As he moved past the king, a low moan chilled his bones to the core. He ran to the other side of the wall and glanced down into the moors. The torchlight flickered over brownish muck and oily black waters. A pale hand broke the surface, grasping blindly at the wall beside the ramp. Dirty fingers groped as another hand, then another broke free.

“Sound the alarm!” Nathaniel called to the watchmen on the other side of the wall. “The water has concealed their attack.”

The sound of metal sliding rang behind him. Nathaniel turned to see the king unsheathing his sword. Hungry eagerness lit his eyes, and his face was rigid, and brave. “Then we will fight.”

Nathaniel had never been a religious man, but he drew the sign of Helena’s sword across his chest. “May the gods save us all.”

* * * *

Valoria tossed in her bed. A simmering agitation filled the crisp night air, and every nerve in her body stood at attention. She kicked against the sheets until she lay on bare satin with goose bumps prickling her skin. A putrid stink wafted from outside, and she covered her mouth with her hand. Had the servants emptied all the chamber pots under her window?

A man shouted from the northern part of the city.

She bolted upright, gasping in air. “Cadence, did you hear that?”

The door to her handmaiden’s room lay open by a crack, but no answer came.

“Cadence?” Valoria hissed as she jumped out of bed. She ran to the balcony, but could see nothing in the darkness.

“What is it, my lady?” Cadence stumbled in wrapped in her blanket like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Her braid had moved to the top right side of her head, reminding Valoria of a unicorn.

“I thought I heard something.”

Cadence tugged her arm. “It must have been a nightmare. Let me get you back to bed. You need your rest.”

“It couldn’t have been a nightmare because I haven’t slept a wink.” Valoria’s stomach churned. She hadn’t lived in the castle for long, but she sensed something wasn’t right. “Do you not smell that foul stench?”

Cadence rubbed her eyes, already bored. “My nose is stuffed. ’Tis all the old tapestries.”

Clanging chimes made Valoria’s body rigid. A church bell rang as if it were broad daylight.

Cadence’s eyes widened. “Has the bell boy gone mad?”

“No, not mad.” Panic bolted through Valoria’s veins as she heard additional shouts, all coming from the wall. “That’s an alarm.” Valoria launched back into her room and dug out her riding suit.

Cadence followed her, then stood like a scarecrow and stared with her mouth wide open. “What are you doing? Are
you
mad?”

Valoria slipped on her underskirt and riding coat. “I’m lending my assistance.”

“Oh no, you’re not. Echo will have my head if I let you go out there.” Cadence placed herself in front of the door.

Valoria strapped her harp to her back. “He’ll have your head if you stand in my way. Echo was the one who told me I have to go.”

“What?” Cadence didn’t budge, but she’d lost some of her earlier resolve. “I cannot believe that nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense.” Valoria stared her down. “Echo believes I can help.”

Cadence put a hand on her side. “Just you, all by yourself with your harp?”

Valoria nodded. “I know I can. Just this once, will you believe in me? Will you let me go?” If Cadence didn’t, Valoria would have to knock her upside the head and leave her unconscious. Besides, if her own handmaiden couldn’t believe in her, then maybe Echo
had
lost his mind in that apothecary shop.

Cadence nodded. “All right. But don’t do anything foolish.”

“I will stay safe.” Valoria kissed her cheek. “Besides, you do not play a harp from the front line.”

* * * *

Nathaniel hefted a bucket of hot oil over the wall. As it fell, archers raised their bows with flaming arrows. The oil splattered on the pale heads of the undead, then burst to flame.

The undead writhed, climbing upon each other blindly until the flames ate their skin away and nothing held their bones together. Nathaniel uttered a prayer as their bodies fell into the muck. Could the undead join Helena and Horred in their holy temple in the sky?

“Over here, sir! Look!”

His soldiers called from the battlements above the gate. Some of the undead had walked from the mud with flames engulfing their bodies. Instead of blindly throwing themselves against the stone walls, they fell at the thick oak of the gate.

“Water!” Nathaniel called from the wall. “Bring it to the back gate.”

He glanced over his shoulder. The king stood with a battalion of soldiers behind the gate with their swords drawn. If the undead breached the wall, how many of those young men would lose their lives and join the ranks of the other side?

“Now!” Nathaniel threw himself down the steps and grabbed a bucket carried by a servant. He ran back up the stairs three at a time, reached the wall, and dumped it over. The small splash disappeared in the flaming ball that had become the back gate.

“We need more water!” He ran down with the empty bucket.

Beside him, the gate crumbled into ash. The first few undead stumbled through engulfed in flames. Behind them, a line of bodies hobbled forward like a force of nature beyond anyone’s control.

Nathaniel stared in horror. Not since the time of Helena and Horred had undead crossed the border into Ebonvale. They were worse than the foulest tales he’d ever heard. No story could have prepared him for the unnatural jolting of their limbs, or the lolling of their white eyes. If they’d been people once before, they had no resemblance to them now.

He threw the bucket at the horde and unsheathed his sword. A crude trumpet call sounded behind him. The battalion shouted war cries as they ran forward.

A body who used to be a man lunged at him, teeth clacking. Nathaniel stabbed the man’s chest with a sickly thump that would have felled anyone living. The body pushed himself into his sword, and the rotten smell almost knocked Nathaniel to the ground as the teeth came inches from his face.

“Chop off the heads!” King Thoridian shouted from beside him. “End the evil at its source.”

Nathaniel kicked the corpse back and yanked out his sword. He whirled around and swung at the neck. The head and body fell in two pieces, and three more undead took his place.

A woman wearing a stained cooking apron stumbled forward along with two women wearing velvet dresses caked in mud. Nathaniel paused, peering underneath the oily strand of hair that covered their faces.

Nathaniel stepped back. It could not be. He would not strike a woman whether dead or alive. The undead woman raised a hammer. She stumbled one step forward, then blinked into black smoke.

Before he could make sense of it, the undead woman blinked back into existence inches from him. Her hammer hit his arm, and he stumbled back in pain. The two women in velvet blinked beside him. One of them lifted his arm and raised his wrist to her black teeth. She clamped down on the leather, and he felt pressure on his skin.

One heartbeat later, her head was gone. King Thoridian sliced into the undead with the apron and kicked the other velvet woman back. “Your wrist! Has the skin been broken?”

Nathaniel blinked in surprise. He pulled back the leather and ran his finger over his veins. “No.”