The Winds of Crowns and Wolves (28 page)

“Plyxx!” his words echoed over the other
cries of battle emanating from the spot.

He too was cut down from behind, as he
looked on in agony at the girl who had crumpled into a heap at the
base of the library.

Daniel lay on the ground outside of the
lecture hall with a deep red stream of blood running from his
stomach. A blade had pierced his right about the kidney and there
would be no saving him now.

He shouted at a soldier in anger.

“Kill me now, heathen. Do it before I’m
forced to live with this pain any longer,” his words were
exasperated and it took every ounce of his energy for him to get
them from his throat.

The man simply looked down at him, with
blood running from a cut below his eye and laughed. They would be
no mercy on this field of battle.

He writhed in pain and shouted for help, but
none arrived. He was destined to die at the hands of the King, like
so many of his brothers before him.

Blood ran down the steps and into the grass,
creating a sickening brown puddle.

The men slashed and hacked at their elusive
attackers until one by one they were rounded up or killed. At the
end of the bloodshed, nearly all of the attackers had been killed,
some had been captured, and inevitably, some would be unaccounted
for. They were joined by nearly eighty of the King’s men who lay
writhing in the mud around the university’s grounds.

Though they were separate in life, they
existed together in death. Their flesh would decay and their bones
would pile just the same. Man and woman, dissident and crusader;
whether they fought for the righteous or died for their own greed,
they died in unity; rulers of their dirt kingdom, hoping to find
solace in the Gods of old as they lived a life rejecting their
wishes. Neither man nor woman purely to blame, only life itself
could harbor such a burden. In the streets they would sing of them,
in their homes they would cry, but tonight they slept alone in a
heap of flesh and bones, strewn in patterns of disarray across the
city.

They moved like the night.

The King and his men ran quickly from the
battle and slowed back to a trot as they entered the brewery
district. Drunkards and beggars alike would not know of the
fighting just to their south, so Henrig resumed his normal position
as the commander of his own personal parade.

Rooftops shook and chimneys whistled as the
stalkers moved into position again.

This time, however, the King noticed in
time.

“There, atop the roofs!” he shouted to his
soldiers.

Before the attackers could do any damage
through their surprise tactics, the King’s men were scaling the
sides of the buildings in pursuit of their fleet feet.

Men and women alike were killed without
reprieve, their throats slit, allowing the blood to run out before
their bodies were tossed to the side.

Some were taken as prisoners; others ran as
fast as they could, out of the hands of their enemies.

The King did not discriminate, and he
watched as his soldiers killed nearly a hundred people in the
grounds surrounding his castle. The rebels had come close to his
throne, but they had ultimately been put down, for good measure.
The righteous always prevailed in the end.

Carnage covered the city streets in the two
districts closest to the Castle, and the King surveyed it with
tears in his eyes. Hundreds of his men, taken out by a handful of
people from the House he once called his own. Their tact was
honorable, but he could not forgive such an attack on a day of
celebration as this.

They would all die; those in captivity
first, and those who escaped, after. A fire burned in his heart for
all of the wrong reasons.

He saw men he had known all of his life,
consigned to death in their own city at the hands of people he had
once considered brothers. He saw Sep and it hurt him the most. His
most tactically savvy commander, slain along with his horse. They
laid in a disheveled heap next to each other, a collection of flesh
and bones.

Henrig removed his crown as he pushed his
hair back. It seemed as if his brow were permanently furrowed these
days, but today it wrinkled to a new degree. His loyal servants,
taking part in a celebration, had been slain in their most innocent
form. Many of them had refused to carry swords that day, something
that Daniel and his counterparts must have known.

When he came to Daniel’s body, he dismounted
his carriage and walked toward the lecture hall, avoiding dead
bodies which lay at his feet with every step.

He was clutching a wooden medallion which
had the crest of the House carved into its soft flesh. Even in
death, he held a smile upon his face as if he were laughing at the
possibility of living a life without burden, once and for all.

Years ago, Henrig called this man a friend.
Today, he stood before his dead body as the target of his most
ruthless attack yet. No doubt orchestrated by Daniel, this assault
had taken everyone by surprise and left the city in panic.

“You were always a bit naïve, Daniel,” the
King spoke softly as he held the medallion in his hand.

“None of this was necessary, but I guess it
is fitting for a man as twisted as you,” he ripped the medallion
from the man’s neck as a sort of sick war prize, claimed off of the
most prominent victim of the battle. If not for the sudden shock of
it all, the King would have produced tears at the very moment.

In the castle there was calm. Not a single
sound could be heard throughout the courtyard after the grand
procession left through the main gates. Jenos looked down at Neach
as he lay in his bed, sapped of his energy.

“I believe it is time you tell me your
story, Neach,” she whispered softly, as she sat down next to him
once more.

A simple task, it seemed, but,
unfortunately, he wasn’t sure of it himself.

For the next twenty minutes he dazzled her
with tales of Spleuchan Sonse, the trip to Leirwold for the first
time, his journey to Rosalia, his training, meeting Tyrin, and
ultimately the rest of his House. He told her of the times he
thought of her, in the mountains, on the sea, in the city’s crowded
districts. He told her of his brother Ealar and his parents, whom
he hadn’t seen in months. He told her of the anger he often felt
for his family for hiding such a secret from him for so long. He
told her everything, and she listened to every word.

When he was done, he lay back, further
exhausted from his memories. They seemed a nice consolation after
it all, but some which he harbored brought him more pain than
anything else.

“So, you and my father are part wolf then?”
she asked quizzically.

He laughed to himself softly before
responding.

“To be honest, I’m not sure what I am. But
according to legend, we were all descended from a wolf, ages ago,
in the Godless time,” her eyes grew wide as he recounted tales from
the Toriik Riamendi to her. Only a few months ago, these same
stories would have seemed just as absurd to him.

“Neach, my father is plotting something
heinous. I do not know the specifics, but he rides East frequently,
to the Forest of the Wicked, and he does not tell me why. I fear
danger for you,” her eyes welled up minimally and Neach sensed
weakness for the first time. The usually stoic princess was rife
with emotion, as she thought of him in danger.

“Do not worry, my lady, I will not let
anything happen to me,” he chuckled again, obviously tired of the
constant seriousness and talk of danger that filled the halls of
the castle.

She too laughed, as she wiped the tears from
her eyes. The two sat in peace, something that rarely happened in
the last few weeks. Solace held the courtyard in its grips and
threatened to never let it go, a welcomed respite by the two young
lovers.

They moved like the night.

A hawk screeched high above the castle as
two men came riding in atop their horses. They travelled unusually
fast and disrupted the tranquility that presently resided over the
grounds.

Jenos peered out of the window in curiosity
and was confused by what she saw. These two men were her father’s
soldiers, but they were spotted with blood.

They pulled up short of the room where her
and Neach sat and walked in briskly.

“Your Highness, there has been a battle,”
the man on the right spoke softly. He appeared to be out of breath
and was losing blood from a deep gash in his side.

“What, where?” she asked, confused.

“Near the university, and a second ambush
was attempted in the brewery district. It seems the rebels have
gotten much more audacious,” he winced as he prodded his fingers
into the wound in an effort to stop the bleeding.

“Very well,” she said, assuming her role as
resident ruler of the Kingdom, “Is my father okay?” she asked
sheepishly, her resolve dwindling.

“He is indeed, should be arriving within the
hour; he is surveying the dead as we speak,” his voice held an
ominous tone, but his face appeared white as a summer cloud.

“Thank you, gentlemen; see to it that your
wounds are healed as seen fit,” the two men left, hobbling and
grimacing. Jenos turned back to Neach.

“Neach, my father knows you are one of them;
I fear he will not spare you if he finds you here,” she said, her
voice quivering.

“Then come with me, Jenos. I know of a place
in Fletwod that can hold us until further notice. There’s no
telling how many people died today, and I believe the King will see
me dead once he finds me,” he sat up in his bed, more confident
than he ever remembered being.

And then the princess cried.

Tears streamed down her face like a deep
river cutting a channel through the Kingdom. He stood up at once
and embraced her, hoping to calm her down.

She sniffled and unleashed every ounce of
sorrow and anger which she had held in for so long, all at once.
Looking up at Neach, she kissed him softly before removing herself
from his arms.

“I have been lied to for too many years,
Neach. My father has betrayed me, my mother, and many others in the
Kingdom. But your House threatens to do the same, how can I trust
you?” the tears streamed down her face without any sobs. She
regained control of her emotions for the time being.

“Jenos, I know little of this House or your
father, but what I do know is you captured my heart when I saw you
for the first time months ago. I will not betray your trust, and I
refuse to put you in danger by being around your father,” he rose
to his feet as he spoke and clutched her hands in his.

“There are two horses tied up just south of
here, in the craftsman’s district. We can take them and ride for
Fletwod today,” his voice dripped with desperation, but he tried to
remain strong.

She looked away momentarily and then
returned her eyes to his.

“We will go.”

It took only minutes to gather their things
around the castle grounds. Little by little, soldiers were
returning from the fighting, battered and bloody.

Around the men they slipped, and out of the
front gate of the castle they ran. Not a single eye caught them, as
they hurried through the streets for Daniel’s house. Most people of
the city had gone just north to survey the battleground that had
transformed a university into a bottomless pit of blood and
sorrow.

But not them.

Neach and Jenos were headed for their escape
route, out of the city and out of the King’s reach. They would ride
south from the city gates and for a few hours along the river
before they reached Fletwod. He hadn’t heard much about the town,
but he hoped it held the answers he was looking for.

As they ran for the house, Neach couldn’t
help but think of the reason he left Spleuchan Sonse in the first
place: his father. Not Asgall, the father he sought was his blood
relative. He had been so blinded by love and curiosity that he had
lost his way during the journey. In his mind, he committed himself
to finding him, and he would start in Fletwod.

When they arrived, there was no one to be
seen inside the house. Neach feared for the worst, but untied Rine
and another horse for Jenos. It had a long mane and bleached white
hair, but its eyes burned with the passion of a grizzled soldier.
He thought of the similarities between the young princess and the
horse, but could not dwell on it for long.

With a swift leg swing, he mounted his horse
and helped Jenos onto her new steed. They would carry them far, but
how far had yet to be seen.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked as a
child would their parent when they first teach them to ride.

He nodded silently and spurred Rine on
toward the southern gate. They were hurdling fast through the great
city, but it remained silent.

All the sound had gone from the once great
capital and all the two were left with was their thoughts and the
soft clopping of hooves along the stone walkways.

The King fumed as he walked back and forth
in his war room accompanied by two out of three of his most
prominent commanders. Sep had been lost in the battle and the other
two were slightly wounded during the ambush.

Henrig himself had escaped with not even a
scratch. It was either a testament to his bravery or his stupidity,
neither of which could be positively acknowledged.

As he paced, he twiddled his thumbs
rhythmically.

“Let me understand you correctly: my
daughter and the rebel boy are both gone?” he asked, seeming
particularly annoyed.

“Yes, your highness, one of the cooks said
they saw her headed for the southern gate with the archer,” the
commander spoke quietly as he cleared his throat.

So much violence and an equal amount of
bloodshed had been witnessed in the last few days, and the two men
were eager not to become a part of it yet again.