The Dragon Hunter and the Mage (63 page)

At first, the Paladins were frozen, and those near the stairs fell quickly. Eventually, they overcame their stupor and began to put up a fight. Alarm bells tolled and the screams of battle filled the air.

Fadan saw a sword falling towards Shayna’s head. Before he could even think about it, he pushed with his power. The attacker was sent flying away, knocking down two of his comrades with him.

“Clear the staircase!” Lucilla ordered, her sword moving in a blur. “Push to the edges of the deck!”

Fadan obeyed and rushed forward to aid Lucilla’s vanguard, but a hand pulled him back.

“No.” It was Sabium. “Stand back. Where they can’t Syphon you. You’re not a frontline fighter. You’re a spell caster. Stand back and provide support.”

A sort of battle line was starting to form as the Paladin officers managed to organize their defense. Some of the prisoners had found weapons and were giving their jailors one heck of a fight, but most were forced to make do with whatever they could find – benches, crates, rope, hammers, whatever. It made for a poor fighting force. Luckily, they still had their numbers on their side.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle of Runium would you?” the old Mage asked Fadan as he scanned the fight.

“No,” Fadan replied. His head was spinning around, trying to keep track of what was happening.

“Well, couldn’t hurt to ask,” Sabium muttered.

The battle was quickly deteriorating into absolute chaos. Bodies were beginning to pile on both sides, and the bloodied and wounded tried to limp or drag themselves to safety, wailing in pain.

Fadan spotted a Paladin going for the kill on one of the rebels and lifted him into the air, smacking him against the ceiling. Not even the helmet kept the man from being knocked out.

“Well done,” Sabium said. “There!”

Fadan saw it. A spear headed straight to a rebel’s chest. He focused on the weapon, yanked it from the Paladin, and smacked him across the head so hard the weapon cracked in two. 

“Mage!” one of the Paladins yelled. “They got a Mage.”

The howl of a horn joined the chorus of alarm bells.

“Crap, they know,” Fadan said.

“Never mind about that,” Sabium told him. “Focus on the fight. There!”

Fadan lifted a barrel into the air and hurled it at a cluster of Paladins, pieces of wood flying everywhere as it smashed on its target.

“Remember,” Sabium added, “we’re on a floating torch, so no fire.”

Fadan nodded in agreement and swung, looking for anyone else needing his assistance. He saw a rebel fighting with a wooden board. The poor man tried to parry a blow from an axe, the board splitting in two. As the attacking Paladin swung his axe back for another attack, Fadan noticed the glint of a blade and focused on it with his power. He hurtled it through the air just in time to parry a blow to the rebel’s head. Unfortunately, the man was outnumbered, and a dagger from a second Paladin struck him down before the Prince could do anything about it.

The casualties were growing, and dozens of men and women now covered the floor, holding onto bleeding wounds. Their numerical advantage was steadily disappearing.

“Over there! The Prince!” Fadan heard someone yell. “Syphon him!”

The Prince turned towards the voice. It was Therian, the Paladin Commander. He was coming down from the main deck with an entire squad of fresh troops.

Focusing a massive wave of power, Fadan pushed at the entire squad so hard it would have rocked the ship itself, but none of them so much as flinched. They had Syphons protecting them.

“Protect the Prince!” Sabium shouted. “Protect your Prince!”

Staggering back, Fadan searched for a weapon to defend himself with.

“Fall back!” Lucilla commanded. “Form a line around the Prince!”

A couple of rebels managed to break free from their engagements but were immediately intercepted by the Commander’s men. Everyone else was too busy facing their own deaths to be of any help.

Therian’s sword hissed as he unsheathed it. “There will be no more offers of surrender, young Prince,” he said. “I warned you.”

Fadan stumbled over a bucket, scooping it up and hurling it at Therian’s head, but the Commander simply parried it away with a swing of his blade.

“I agree with you, Commander,” Lucilla snarled, her face twisted in a scowl. She had finally gotten away from the main fight and was marching towards Therian. “No surrender.”

One of the Commander’s escorts charged at her. She quickly disarmed him with a swirl of her sword. She grabbed the now unarmed soldier’s collar, swung her head back, and head-butted the man in his temple. The Paladin collapsed, but a second one was quickly upon her, followed by a third, and then a fourth.

She was surrounded, her back completely exposed. The Paladins struck at once, and there was no way she could possibly defend all those attacks, when out of nowhere, Shayna was there.

Therian turned, fuming. “Sergeant,” he snapped, “kill those two, immediately.”

The Sergeant barked a “Yes, sir,” then signaled the four men still protecting Therian to follow him. The group piled around Lucilla and Shayna.

Fighting with their backs to each other, the women’s swords looked like lightning, parrying the flood of attacks coming at them from every side. They needed help, and they needed it now. Fadan spun, trying to find anything heavy enough to knock down, at least, some of their attackers.

“Now us, young Prince,” Therian said, his sword aiming high. “Your father will be very sad to learn of your tragic death, but, at least, this way we can find ourselves a decent heir.”

“No!” Sabium commanded, stepping in front of the Prince, his head high, his chest thrust forward.

Fadan was going to push him away but never had the chance. Therian smacked the pommel of his sword over the old Mage’s head, and the poor man fell to the floor.

A stream of blood ran down Sabium’s forehead as Fadan quickly kneeled beside him.

“Master?” he called, slapping the Mage’s cheeks.

Therian stepped forward, his narrowed eyes looming down on him like a hawk’s. Fadan felt something turn in his stomach, and a cry of rage stuck in his throat. 

There was a sharp scream of pain. Fadan turned to see a Paladin withdrawing his sword from Shayna’s chest.

“NO!” he screamed.

Lucilla caught her friend with one arm and kept fighting with the other, but without someone to cover her back, she was hopeless. A Paladin shoved his sword through her back. Then another, and another.

Fadan watched Lucilla fall to her knees without letting go of Shayna or letting out a single yelp. A sea of tears flooded Fadan’s eyes and he felt himself choke.

“You’ve brought your father nothing but shame,” Therian said, swinging his sword back. “The throne deserves better.”

Fadan did as he had been taught to. He didn’t even think. Lunging forward, he grabbed the blade of Therian’s sword with his bare hands and tried to yank it from his hands. But the Commander was far too experienced for such a desperate maneuver. He stepped back and pulled the sword with him.

The blade slid between Fadan’s hands as if they were a sheath. Pain shot up his arms, and he screamed as blood gushed out to cover his palms.

“Time to die, your majesty,” Therian said. “For Arrel!”

Fadan back stepped until he collided with a wall. A scream stuck in his throat as Therian’s sword swung back. But the blow never came.

Fadan realized the sword was frozen in midair and Therian’s expression had changed to one of shock. Only then did Fadan see Doric, standing behind the Paladin, his hand holding a dagger. The blade was buried deep in Therian’s skull.

“This is my wife’s son, you worm,” Doric spat, then pulled the knife out and allowed the Commander’s body to fall lifelessly to the floor.

It hadn’t taken long for the rest of the Paladins to surrender once their Commander fell, not that Doric remembered much after killing the man. He had simply stood there, shaking and staring at the dead body. Even now, he still had a hard time believing he had
actually
killed him. He had barely done anything at all during the rest of the fight. It had taken him forever to even realize there had been a fight going on.

Hagon had been the real hero. He had rallied the rebels when Lucilla had fallen and forced the remaining Paladins to surrender. His actions hadn’t just won the day for them, they had also spared even more bloodshed.

Doric knew Hagon despised him. It was no secret between them. Nevertheless, the two of them had shared a cell for the past three months. Had shared the rare scraps of food thrown at the floor of their cell. Had cleaned each other’s wounds with dirty rags after their torture sessions. 

Yes, Hagon despised him. Or at least, he had, once. Doric was no longer sure. It didn’t really matter now. They were free again, and Doric had helped. He had
helped
.

The remains of the battle were revolting. The floor, thick with blood, was dark and slippery. Bodies laid everywhere, fallen in impossible positions over the floor or the occasional container. Together with the other rebels, Doric had washed blood from the floor for what had felt like hours while others took care of the dead bodies, preparing them for a proper pyre once they reached the shore.

They had lost fifty-seven people, and almost one hundred others had been wounded. Among the dead were several people Doric knew, including Eirin and Lerica, childhood friends of his, and Alman Larsa, a man who would have been the Duke of Niveh if his parents hadn’t refused the Emperor’s orders during the Purge. He had, apparently, been the one who had brought the Prince into the Rebellion.

When the cleaning was finally done and Doric had climbed up to the main deck, the storm was already behind them. An endless blue sky and a cold, salty breeze greeted him. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Well, after Cassia, of course.

He spotted the Prince in the fore castle, staring into the distance with his arms folded over his chest, bandages wrapped around his hands.

“Your majesty,” Doric greeted.

Fadan seemed to pull himself from the depths of his thoughts and turned to face him. “Doric,” he said. “I’m… happy that you’re okay. And thankful, of course. You saved my life. All our lives, actually.”

“I did very little.”

Fadan nodded absently. “You did plenty, believe me.”

“Are you alright?” Doric asked. “I heard you lost some friends today.”

“Yes,” the Prince replied, turning back to face the ocean. “I’m fine.”

“Please, forgive me the question but… does your mother know where you are?”

“She does. You may be pleased to know that, by now, she has probably left Augusta.”

That caught Doric by surprise. “I’m sorry, what?”

Fadan smiled. “My mother has escaped the Citadel. Or, at least, I hope she did. I can’t be sure, but she has a very competent spy helping her.”

Doric mumbled something unintelligible, and before he could actually formulate a sentence, Hagon stepped up to him.

“Doric,” Hagon said. “Would you mind introducing us?”

“Uh… Yes, of course. Your majesty, this i
s
‒
‒
”

“Lord Hagon Sefra, I know,” Fadan interrupted. “Sabium has told me about you. You are my mother’s cousin.”

“That’s right,” Hagon said with a weak smile.

“How come we’ve never met?”

Hagon looked down, then back up. “Me and… my wife, Shayna…” He cleared his throat. “We uh… have been with the Rebellion for a very long time.”

Fadan swallowed. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Hagon nodded, and there was a small pause before he said, “I came to inform you. As the highest ranking member of the Rebellion here, I have assumed command of the ship.”

“Very well,” Fadan said.

“We are headed to Ragara,” Hagon continued. “We can’t risk taking you back to Augusta, but we can drop you near Capra if you so desire. I can spare a small escort, of course.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Fadan replied. “I’m not going back to Augusta. Tell me something, Lord Hagon. Where would one find the Rebellion’s leadership?”