5. Ignis IV

There were many consequences for my choices that night. Most immediate was the size of my honor guard. When I had left for the coronation, I was flanked by nearly a dozen men. On my return, I was followed by one. That was still one too many.

“Take the night off.” I said. We approached my doors, and the last thing I wanted was a guard giving a detailed account of the prince’s escape to Thaddeus.

“With all due respect my lord, that’s not a wise idea.” The guard walked backward to talk to me, taking the moment to survey the hallway behind us. His eyes weren’t erratic, but never stayed in one place for long. It was like he was attempting to make up for the absence of protection by looking everywhere at once. Locks of dark hair hung beneath his helmet, covering golden eyes. He was young for protection detail, possibly a few years younger than me. Yet the combination of his easy posture and subtle intensity betrayed experience.

“Why?” I asked, “The rest did.” My voice came out more bitter than intended. After all, I’d just stood in front of the entire kingdom and flipped them the raven. It was hardly the sort of behavior that inspired loyalty. “I’m not your king.”

“You are my prince.”

“Tomorrow, I will likely not even be that.”

“Then I’ll reconsider. Tomorrow.”

“Hells take you then.” I slammed my bedroom door in his face. Let him stand out there all night and may Elphion smite him. Loyal or not, his presence was throwing a major wrench in my plans. My getaway was contingent on a variety of factors, several of which were now compromised. First step of the plan was pissing off the entire kingdom to the point that no one would want anything to do with me. The second step was getting the hell out with at least an hour lead before anyone knew I was gone. And now my unwanted shadow was impeding both.

There was an alternate path. I glanced at the window. I strapped the rucksack I had purchased in the market to my shoulders, now teeming full. Immediately, my palms began to tingle and shivers went up and down my arms. I closed my eyes and chided myself. You’ve done it before. Just do it again. Carefully, I leaned out. The frigid night air whipped at my ears, the ground far below seeming to shift and ripple. I immediately lost my balance and threw myself backward, falling hard on my ass.

Shit. That wasn’t happening. Not tonight. Endless possibilities and considerations ran through my head. After the coronation there was a feast. I’d order the guard to bring me something. He was being difficult because he thought there was a high chance of trouble, not because he thought I was going to run tonight.

It took some convincing, but he finally agreed, looking at me with a face that seemed a bit too insulted. “I’m a guard, not a maid,” it seemed to say.

“Pillage something for yourself as well, guardsman. This will be a long night.”

With that he seemed to agree, and gave me one last questioning look before trotting off towards the banquet hall. Finally.

Before I could grab my things, there was a soft knock on the door.

“What?” I shoved my rucksack under the bed for the second time, almost shaking from nerves and frustration.

“Cairn. It’s me.” Sera’s voice. But she sounded strange. I opened the door and Sera came rushing through.

“I thought you’d be drinking your new subjects under the table by now.” I said, unable to hide a smirk. But Sera didn't laugh. She didn't even smile. It was only then that I realized what she was wearing. Dark garments, covered by a black cloak. Sera shivered like she’d just marched through a blizzard, her cheeks and eyes red.

“Sera? What’s-“

Sera rushed forward and wrapped her arms around me, her cloak trailing behind her.

“Brother. I’m sorry.”

I never saw the knife that killed me the first time. One moment, I’m embracing my sister, wondering if the pressures of the throne have broken her. The next, there’s a fire blooming in my gut, ravenous, hungry, consuming my nerves and my every thought, save one: I never really knew Sera at all.

I shoved her backwards and the blade went with her. Dully, as I pushed against it to staunch the bleeding, it dawned on me that it was far too gaping and open. She twisted the knife. The pain grew unendingly, magnifying, sending waves of agony through my core and up my back. Sera watched through teary eyes, her bottom lip trembling pathetically. Just minutes ago such an expression would have my immediate attention and concern. Now there was only hate.

“Why?” I hissed through the horrible haze. “The throne is yours. Freely given. Why do this?”

“They made me.” Sera held herself, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

“Father?”

“No!” Sera cut the shout short. She stared down at the ground. Her whole body shook, as if the earth was shaking underneath her.

Why wasn’t she saying anything? My blood roared in my ears, but… I cocked my head. It wasn’t just my blood. Finally, I heard the screams, punctuated by the sounds of combat and war. I groaned, the horror of it coming into sharp focus. Sera hadn’t just played me. She’d played everyone.

“What did you do, Sera?” I pushed myself up and leaned against the bed. It was all I could do not to focus on the steady pulse of liquid oozing between my fingers. “What did you do?” I screamed at her.

“There was no other way!” Sera yelled. She shuddered, lowering her voice. “Our time is over Cairn. Siladon is done. It’s been a long time coming.”

“Who’s attacking?”

“Everyone. The demon-kin, the elves, the dwarves, all of them. They’ve been plotting this for years.”

The magnitude of it floors me. Of course, individually, they’d want revenge. Father had subjugated all of them, held a boot to their necks, killed their friends and loved ones with no reparations. But for them to come together made no sense. As much as we’d done to earn their hatred, they hated each other exponentially more. We only had a few hundred years of bad blood. The dwarves and demon-kin had thousands.

“So… what?” I panted at her, gesturing helplessly in the air. “Murder your brother and you get a free pass? The only human left alive in the land of monsters?”

“I’m not, Cairn.” Sera looks at the ground.

“Not free?”

“Not human.”

Was she saying the rumors were true?

“Bullshit,” I whispered.

“Wealth wasn’t the only trophy father took home,” Sera said bitterly.

A high-pitched whine pierced the air and I grunted, holding my free hand to my ear. Sera staggered to the side, her eyes going wide in panic.

“She’s coming. I have to go.” With that, she turned and fled, leaving me in the darkness, blood slowly but surely trickling through my fingers.

I screamed for what felt like hours. At first, I screamed for help, then because it hurt too much to stay silent, then because I desperately wanted someone to kill me. Anything to make the pain stop. No one heard. It was agony beyond anything I had ever felt. Worse, it wasn’t static. At moments, it would nearly vanish, only to come shrieking back. It was impossible to adapt to, making every moment of torment as bad as the last. It peaked once more, then the darkness took me.

I woke again. More pain. A rough impact across my face. Someone had slapped me. There was the coolness of marble beneath my back and pressure against my wound, though my hands were at my side. I opened my eyes and groaned.

“Please kill me.”

“That would be treason, my lord.”

“I actually hate you.” I moaned. My annoying shadow from earlier was back, his hand red with my blood. I opened my eyes and caught him looking concerned. There was no fear in his expression, just determination and focus.

“What… what’s your name,” I asked. Somehow I managed to maintain hold on the small thread of consciousness.

“Alten,” he said, a wobble of pain in his voice. I studied him and realized, through the hazy veil of pain, that the man had one less appendage than the last time I’d seen him. His left arm was severed at the elbow, armor and all, ending in a charred stump. Suddenly, sitting there wallowing in my misery felt a bit silly.

“You’re injured.”

“This old thing? Yes. I’m sorry to say, your majesty, my injury prevented me from fulfilling my duty. My apologies.”

“What duty?”

“Retrieving your supper.” Alten’s voice was deadpan but his eyes twinkled. I stared at him incredulously then looked down at my mess of a stomach, still bleeding despite the bandaging and pressure. A chuckle escaped my lips, followed immediately by a groan.

“You know, a bit after you left, my appetite just disappeared.”

There was a hint of a smile on Alten’s face. “Shocking.”

More shocking was the fact that I actually liked the man. It’d been so long since I felt anything more than hate for anyone outside my sisters. My breath grew more ragged as the pain crescendoed and I finally managed to ask the question I feared most of all.

“Am I going to die?”

Alten’s face immediately shifted down, covered in shadow. “I am no physician. What little I know is purely battlefield medicine, my lord.”

Something about his wording rang false. I pushed him, deciding I’d rather know definitively than maintain ignorance. “Just… give me your best guess. You’ve seen men die from wounds like this?”

“… Aye.” He finally said, eyes still pinned to the floor. “From my time in the Plains Vanguard.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A silver sword. Quite the accolade.”

“While it lasted.” He said, a wry bitterness in his voice I knew all too well. It wasn’t prudent to ask more, but easy enough to read between the lines. The Plains were home to constant skirmishing between humans, elves, and dwarves over natural resources. Only the best and the strongest were sent to a post considered to be the highest honor. The few men who lived long enough retired early, their purses fat from the spoils and higher pay. Most simply died. Alten had been demoted. Whatever he might have done hadn’t been bad enough for execution or discharge, or perhaps he simply had friends in high places.

“How long do I have?”

His face grew grim. “It’s… hard to say. The blade missed the vein and your spine, otherwise you’d be dead at worst, immobile at best. But… it did cut deep in a bad area. It is not a good way to die…”

“Tell me.” I commanded.

Alten shifted, his tired friendliness evaporating into professionalism. “Yes, my lord. Given the wound and location, a bowel was most likely perforated. Things that are meant to stay separate will begin mixing. Then sepsis. Then death. It will likely take days. In any other situation I’d be rushing you through the castle to a priest, but-“

As if on cue, a scream rang out, sharp and hysterical, impossible to tell if it was male or female.

Well, damn it all. I pushed myself up. Alten clumsily grabbed my arm to support the movement. “How bad is it out there?”

“It is dire, my lord.”

“My family?”

“My apologies, your grace. Your father’s status is unknown. But your stepmother and elder sister are dead for certain.”

I closed my eyes. I’d never liked my stepmother, but she wasn’t a bad person. She’d deserved better than this. Sera was naturally more troubling. It didn’t surprise me that they’d killed her. Blood aside, she was as human as the rest of us. But as much as I hated her for what she’d done, I couldn’t simply forget the small bond that we had forged over the last few months.

“Annette?” I asked.

“Unknown. But we need to get you to a priest. If we manage to find one, there’s still a chance it could make a difference.”

“No.” The word left me before I even fully considered the proposal. The earlier encounter with Annette replayed in my mind. She’d begged me to stay, and I’d ignored her. A chromatic mania grew in my head, tinging my vision at the edges, perhaps from delirium, perhaps from something else. Some part of me was relieved. So many things didn’t matter anymore.

“My lord?” Alten asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Give me a moment.” I staggered over to my rucksack, waving Alten away when he tried to help. From within it, I pulled a small wooden box and popped it open, revealing the gleaming contents of gems and gold. Alten’s jaw fell open, then immediately firmed up into a face so insulted you’d think I’d asked him to clap.

“Not a bribe. It's to fund the getaway.” I gestured dismissively at Alten and he cocked his head to the side. “I get it, you’re so old fashioned you probably prefer to be paid in honor rather than gold.” On further consideration, I dumped out the remaining contents of the rucksack, replacing only the chest and the rations I’d set aside for my escape. “The princess must be saved. I gave up my right to the crown. Sera is dead. Annette is all that matters.” I thrusted the bag towards Alten and he took it, his face softening.

“And who will guard you?”

“You will, of course.” I reached below the bed and retrieved my sword, wincing as the movement sent fresh pain rolling through my gut. “Because I’m going with you.”

I'd like to say that I rose to the occasion. Assumed my role as the hero of this story. But the truth is that Alten carried me, sometimes literally.

Yes, I'd made up my mind to storm the castle, to rescue my sister, free her from the grasps of the evil demons and demi-humans. But my resolve was based almost exclusively on fairytales, and went up in flames as easily as the paper those stories are printed on. Literally, as it seemed the castle itself was on fire.

Ivory pillars and white stone walls burned under purple flames like kindling, their colors melting from light to a dull corroded iron. The heat was unbearable, rising from the flames in constant visual distortion. Smoke gathered in the high ceilings like billowing storm clouds.

Alten had not exaggerated. It wasn’t so much a battle as a massacre. The bodies of both servants and subjects piled as high as the guards, if not higher, blood strewn across the marbled floor like brush strokes from a manic artist. Most were strangers to me, but every third or fourth body, I’d recognize the face of someone I once knew. One of my previous honor guards. A friend I’d fallen out with. The cook, who always snuck us something extra on our birthdays, despite our father’s dogged insistence on not celebrating such pointless frivolities. I’d grown more and more numb before Alten took me by the arm.

“Don’t focus on the faces. Let the dead flow past you like a river, lest you be drowned with them.” Alten said, his voice quiet and firm. He’d dropped the “my lord” and its variants fairly quickly after we’d begun our journey. That was fine. I didn’t feel much like royalty.

We were under attack by every race I’d ever learned of, and a few I hadn’t. I watched small creatures with a striking resemblance to the kind-hearted pixies from fables tear a man apart with nothing more than their teeth, his screams crescendoing octave by octave until finally fading away, most of his flesh shed to the bone. Elves of both light and dark variety—and something in between I’d never seen before—outfought every opponent with easy agility and fast strikes. Their eyes flashed crimson in the smoke-filled haze, lithe bodies flipping and striking as easily as a child walked.

Dwarves, making up for stature with number, struck at men’s knees and groins to topple them before pulverizing their chest plates and helmets with axes and hammers.

The infernals were the worst. Purple, red, and blue horned demons that danced around their opponents, mocking and laughing, infernal speech twisting their voices into something that shook the soul as they set everything on fire.

Still, if I had to pick one person out of the entire massacre I’d prefer not to fight, it would be Alten himself.

An elf flipped away from Alten to create distance. But one didn’t distance themselves from Alten without paying a price. Alten leapt forward, smashing the pommel of his sword against the elf’s head as it rose. The elf made a decidedly inelegant sound and went down hard, smashing his face into the stone and not getting back up. Two more elves hesitated, before one of them threw a knife. Alten, one-armed and unbalanced from the blow, instead pivoted his entire body and kicked the knife out of the air with a crescent lash of his heel.

The sword was growing too heavy in my hand again, so I had to improvise. I managed to take advantage of the elves hesitation and grab one around the neck, pulling it to the ground in a blood choke. Dishonorable, my father would have said, but we were past anything resembling honor at this point. Before his fellow could turn and slay me Alten was on him in a blur of motion. The remaining elf, a female, was built for speed and battered at Alten from every angle, constantly dodging into and pressing the attack from his armless side. The elf beneath me made choking noises, his wriggling growing more frantic, every movement sending a shockwave of pain in my gut.

Alten’s opponent pushed him back, managing to land several blows against his armor.

My elf went still. I almost let go, but its head suddenly rotated like an owl’s until it faced backwards, glowing crimson eyes inches from my face as it smiled at me with pointed teeth that gleamed in the firelight before biting into my shoulder.

I screamed.

It flipped up in a blur of feet and grabbed my sword, raising it high in the air with both hands.

It was over. I closed my eyes.

There was a sound of a sword impacting flesh. But it was not my flesh. Something warm and thick spattered across my upheld hands. I opened my eyes to see a bleeding stump where the elf’s head once was.

Alten placed a foot on the elf’s corpse and shoved it off, then unceremoniously sat down beside me, both of us gasping for air.

I’d mocked him for being the only one of my honor guard to stay. This was the third time he’d saved me. The man was worth more than all of them put together.

“They really kicked you out of the silver swords?”

“Yeah.” He gasped out.

“Idiots.” I said. Alten smiled then, and moved over, studying me.

“Come on, now’s the fun part.” He inspected our surroundings before finding what he was looking for: a relatively clean piece of flaming wood. I groaned, already knowing what was coming.

The flesh in my shoulder sizzled from the makeshift torch pressed against and I gasped, squinting. No screaming. Much better than last time.

“Are those bite marks?” Alten asked incredulously, using the fire to get a better look at my wound.

“You know those mummer’s tales about the possessed dolls whose heads turn around all the way?”

“Yes?”

“Well that’s basically what happened.”

“No shit.” He passed me the torch, trying not to smile. I took it from him and he turned, eyeing me carefully.

“You remember-“

“Yes, yes, two second intervals.” I said. His wounds were on his side, two jagged horizontal slashes beneath his blackened stump of an arm. I cauterized them quickly and carefully. Alten, of course, didn’t make a sound. It had seemed excessive to do this with every wound, but the way he’d explained it, we’d both lost too much blood: him from his arm, and me from my gut. It was unpleasant, but the reality was it served us better to staunch any blood loss as quickly as possible, rather than risk falling unconscious or into shock.

Alten turned to me and spoke quietly. “It feels like we’re being herded.”

“But we’re still heading the right way.” I whispered back, but considered his words. While Alten was a great fighter, he was still just one man. We’d encountered considerably less resistance than some groups I’d seen getting completely overrun. Maybe there was something to that. But it begged a question. Why?

“It feels wrong. Just be ready.”

I nodded.

We moved from room to room stealthily, only getting into minor scuffles that Alten dispatched of quickly. Alten’s words festered in my mind. This was probably the most direct path from my rooms to the pavilion. It was also a main thoroughfare. Why were there not more enemies?

The feeling of unease built. I began to hear the ringing in my ears, growing louder and louder. Sera’s parting words came back to me.

She’s coming

A chill went down my spine.