A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden (36 page)

“Somehow that doesn’t shock me.”

Joel chuckled. “You’ll quickly learn that
all
Radeks bear a healthy disregard for rules and tradition. But no, Didier will never be in line for the throne, for he’s not of Radek lineage. The burden of the crown will rest on Prince Deegan.”

“I wouldn’t wish that burden on anyone.”

“Nor would I.” Joel paused, his smile pained. His silvery-blue eyes flitted toward Gib. “Thank you for coming with me tonight. You’ll never know how much it means to have you by my side. The scorn is—easier to brush aside.”

Gib’s heart panged with emotion, and he was reaching for the older boy’s hand before thinking otherwise. “I’m glad you invited me and I—I would stand by you even if it meant feeling the scorn of every highborn in Silver City.”

Joel’s smile was dazed and lovely, but as he parted his lips to respond, the sound of blaring trumpets from below caught their attention. A moment later, the other instruments in the ensemble had joined in the fanfare.

“Is the ceremony starting?” Gib asked, peering over the balcony ledge.

All the guests were crowding around the pyre, and up on the dais, the members of the royal family had all risen to their feet and began to make their way to the center of the room. King Rishi walked arm in arm with the Queen while the two princes and young princess trailed closely behind. The strange Blessed Mages and red-headed bodyguard watched from the dais but made no move to follow the family.

“Gib. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

Joel’s tender voice was like silk in Gib’s ear. It cut through the resounding music below, through flesh and bone, piercing Gib’s very core. The sentinel trainee turned away from the pyre and toward the voice which always managed to undo him so completely. Joel’s eyes were beautiful and devastating as he reached out with both hands, pulling Gib close, wrapping him in a desperate embrace. A moment later, when he felt the touch of Joel’s lips against his own, Gib melted against the older boy.

“What about the guards? What if they see us?” Gib asked through shuddering gasps, his own hands weaving their way into Joel’s smooth waves.

The older boy sighed against Gib’s mouth, his fingers coming to rest at the base of Gib’s skull. “Let’s hope they’re as occupied watching the ceremony as the highborns.” Joel kissed him a second time, just as feverishly as the first. “I think I’m in love with you, Gibben Nemesio.”

A strained squeak made its way up Gib’s throat as the words hit him like a hammer in the center of his chest. His knees wobbled feebly and he found himself leaning against Joel for support. Cupping the older boy’s face in his hands, Gib clung to him for dear life. “I love you, too.”

The two boys held each other, the only sound the procession below. The celebration might as well have been a thousand leagues away. Everything else faded into nothingness and for a brief moment, they were the only two people in the world.

Joel’s fingers worked through Gib’s hair, caressing his curls. “We should watch King Rishi light the pyre,” the mage trainee murmured softly.

Gib was more than content to absorb every detail of the older boy’s face instead, still lost in a dream—but then Joel pulled away without warning or reason, and Gib’s reverie came to a grinding, gut-wrenching halt. He blinked. “J–Joel? W–what is it?”

Joel raised a hand, demanding silence. “Something is wrong.” The mage trainee’s eyes were fixed on something beyond Gib.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned to see what held Joel’s attention. Down the corridor, Gib could only see a fallen candelabrum, nothing more. “It must have been knocked over by someone. What’s so wrong with that?”

Joel shook his head. “There’s a sentry posted on every floor of the palace. Surely he would have heard it fall.”

As the pieces clicked into place, a harrowing feeling settled over the sentinel trainee. “If the guard investigated the sound, you’d think he would have picked it up.” Joel nodded but was already making his way down the hall.

Every hair on the back of Gib’s neck was on end as they neared the end of the corridor. The candelabrum had been toppled onto its side and lay haphazardly in the middle of the hallway, and a pool of dark liquid stained the marble floor just beyond. At first, Gib thought it was spilled candlewax, but as he moved closer, a sickening realization began to rise from the pit of his stomach. He latched onto Joel’s arm. “Is that—?”

“Blood.” The mage trainee’s voice was devoid of emotion.

Joel stepped around the candelabrum, and still clinging to the older boy’s arm, Gib was forced to follow along. A shuddering gasp escaped his lips when he saw the blood was not contained to a single location—a path of ugly red smeared the corridor floor and disappeared around a pillar several paces in front of where they stood.

Gib froze. He knew, somehow, what kind of horror waited around the corner. He wanted to turn and run away, to get as far from this dark, wicked place as he could, but even as Joel lurched forward, Gib found his own legs moving. His logical mind screamed at him to flee, but he couldn’t. He had to know—

As they rounded the pillar, he heard Joel issue a chilling gasp. It was a sound that would haunt Gib for the rest of his life. He was only a pace behind, so a moment later he could see it as well—

His eyes went wide and his hand shot up to his mouth, stifling a cry of his own.
Goddesses, help us
.

Gib’s stomach heaved at the sight of the royal guardsman, cold and motionless on the floor with his throat slashed wide open.

“He’s dead,” Gib croaked, leaning against the marble pillar for support. His heart raced in his chest. “Oh Gods, he’s dead.”

The celebration in the ballroom blared on beneath them, but the sounds were lost to Gib. His pulse was like thunder inside his ears, and he struggled to take gasping breaths into lungs burning from lack of air. He tried to look away from the horror strewn across the corridor floor in front of him, but his eyes refused to turn from the bloodied body.

Joel knelt down beside the fallen sentry, dark crimson soaking the bottom of his mage robes. He touched the side of the guard’s neck, searching for any sign of life. “The sentinel’s armor is missing.” Joel’s words shook as uncontrollably as Gib’s knees.

Gib realized it was true. The sentry’s fine uniform had been stripped off his body. Only his woolen undergarments and boots remained intact. The man’s broadsword also lay haphazardly by his side. A shiver made its way up Gib’s spine like a shard of ice. “Joel, it’s the assassin. It has to be! He killed this man and now he’s on his way to—” Gib choked, unable to finish.

The mage trainee stood, his features contorted into a mask of fury. “He’s going to attack the King when he lights the pyre!”

Gib moved without words or thought. He lurched forward, bending low to take the sentinel’s discarded broadsword into his hands, scooping the weapon off the floor in one fluid motion. He gripped the hilt between his hands. The blade towered above his head like a tree trunk made of steel.

“What are you doing?” Joel asked, eyes wide and frightened. “We have to call for help.”

Gib shook his head. “Even if you go over to the balcony and scream as loud as you can, no one will hear you above the crowd.”

“Then we’ll run for help. We’ll warn them—”

“There isn’t time, Joel!
Look!
”

Far below, cheers rose from the crowd as King Rishi stepped away from the rest of the royal family. One of the royal guardsmen held a burning torch in one hand and was approaching the King—

“We have to find the assassin now.” Gib peered down the length of the dark corridor, head spinning. The killer could be hiding anywhere. How would they ever find and stop him in time? “It will be faster if we split up.” The sentinel trainee could barely form words through his chattering teeth. He pointed down the corridor. “You go one way, I’ll go the other. We’ll flush the assassin out in the middle.”

Joel shook his head. “No, that’s a bad idea. We’re just the two of us—a half trained mage and first-year sentinel trainee. This is a skilled killer. We should stay together.”

“
Go
!” Gib demanded. “The King is about to light the fire!”

Joel locked his jaw but nodded his head in dubious agreement. “Be careful.” The older boy turned on his heels and sped down the corridor.

Gib’s feet carried him in the opposite direction, back toward the stairwell. He tried not to think of the danger King Rishi was in—or the peril he and Joel also faced. Instead, the sentinel trainee concentrated on placing one shaking foot in front of the other. His breaths shot forth from between pursed lips in jagged spurts, and cold beads of sweat now threatened to drench the entirety of his tunic. The noise of the celebration below was a dull humming in his head, but Gib could barely hear it over his pounding heart.

Gib kept the broadsword raised and at the ready. His forearms screamed in agony, the weight of the heavy steel bearing down on his muscles. Gib could almost hear Master Roland’s sharp words in his mind. “
Gibben Nemesio, you dolt! That sword is meant to be wielded by a man twice your size and height! What do you plan on doing when you have to swing it at an enemy
?” What other option did he have? Time was running out.

Gib glanced over the balcony again, and a swirl of color within the shadows of the gallery below caught his attention. His blood ran cold.
Someone is down there
. Gib swung around, looking for Joel, wanting desperately to call to him—but the mage trainee was already out of sight.

It might be a sentry
, Gib told himself.
Joel said one patrolled each floor of the palace
. He craned his neck to look over the balcony ledge once more. The shadowy figure moved along the corridor beneath Gib, silent and lethal, like a predator stalking its unsuspecting prey. The tiny hairs on the back of Gib’s neck stood on end and suddenly he
knew
—without a doubt—this was no royal guard. This was the man he’d overheard that day in the hallway. The same man who had already once attempted to take King Rishi’s life.

Gib swung around and dove into the stairwell that led to the lower gallery. His footfalls were a flurry as he descended the winding stairwell, and the sound of his boots against the marble steps echoed off the narrow walls. The steps that seemed to have taken eons to climb flew by in seconds as the sentinel trainee ran down the flight of stairs.

He burst through the passageway that led into the lower gallery with the broadsword still gripped between his hands and body crouched low against the corridor wall.
Use the shadows. Stay hidden within them
. He took a trembling step forward, knowing full well the danger he was in. The sentinel trainee focused on keeping his breaths steady and making certain his eyes never veered away from the dark hallway ahead.

Gib nearly went tumbling to the floor when his feet were entangled by an unknown entity. He grasped the wall with one hand to regain balance and jerked his head down to see what was blocking his path. All the courage he’d mustered drained from his body at the sight of the second guardsman—as cold and lifeless as the first.

The ill-fated victim lay on his side, with the shaft of an arrow wedged into the space between the plated armor covering his neck and chest. The shot had been precise, and the lack of any evident struggle confirmed the sentry had died swiftly. Gib leaned against the wall, chest heaving and eyes wide. His hands shook so badly he nearly lost his hold upon the broadsword, but the rest of his body was frozen in fear.
Two. He’s already killed twice. How many more people will lose their lives before the night is over? Will I be one of them?

The music and cheers of the crowd below reached a crescendo. Gib managed to turn his head away from the sentinel long enough to see King Rishi take hold of the flaming torch. As the King approached the pyre and began to lower the torch into the bundled tinder, Gib realized with a bolt of despair that he’d run out of time.
I failed. I failed them all. I didn’t find the assassin in time and now the King is going to die
—

Movement caught Gib’s eye. He pressed his back to the wall, wishing he could melt into the shadows. A figure materialized from within the gloom, further down the corridor. Gib gritted his teeth together, begging his arms and legs to stop trembling. He slammed his eyes closed.
Here he is. And what real chance do I have against him? He killed two trained men. I’m just a student. Goddesses, help me
. Gib sucked in a harsh breath of air and opened his eyes.

The assassin stood about fifteen paces ahead. Shadows concealed the man from below, but from Gib’s vantage point on the balcony, he could see everything—the plated armor and flowing cape, stolen from the sentry, and a small wooden crossbow by the man’s side. The killer stood rigidly as he cast his gaze downward, surveying the crowd like a bird of prey.

And then the man shifted within the dark, drawing nearer to the balcony’s ledge, as he watched King Rishi throw the torch onto the pyre. The tinder crackled, flames jumping to life, even as the killer made his move to end the King’s—

Gib held back a gasp when the assassin raised the crossbow, aiming the deadly weapon down into the ballroom—fixing it onto King Rishi’s chest.
Oh Goddesses, he’s going to shoot the King! Move! Do something! Now!

Letting out a shrill battle cry, Gib launched forward, sword raised above his head as he charged the assassin. Seconds before the sentinel trainee reached his foe, he heard the snap of the crossbow releasing and a rush of air as the arrow was set free. Screams of shock and horror rose from the ballroom a moment later, but Gib had no time to dwell on whether or not the arrow had met its mark.

He swung the broadsword with all his strength, aiming for the assassin’s throat, but the man managed to thrust the empty crossbow between himself and Gib at the last moment, using the weapon as a shield. The broadsword crashed into it, sending shards of wood splintering through the air. The assassin uttered an angry cry as Gib’s momentum sent them both tumbling to the ground in a flurry of tangled limbs.

Gib struggled with the weight of the sword, trying to regain control of the weapon, but the assassin knocked it away, sending the blade spiraling across the corridor. Gib immediately dove for it, but his foe was much faster. The assassin pinned Gib to the floor, a growl rumbling from between gritted, yellow teeth.

Gib grunted when the man’s elbow made contact with his nose but barely had time to register the pain before the assassin’s fist crashed into his jaw. It felt as though a sharpened rock had been thrown against his face. He let out a gasp of pain, his head reeling to the side. A moment later, the killer’s hands fastened around his neck like a steel vice.

Gib saw stars as the pressure on his throat increased, cutting off the airflow to his lungs. He fought to break free from the iron grip, digging blunt fingernails into the flesh of the assailant’s hands, but the pressure didn’t lessen. Darkness swept across his vision and a dull hum rang through his ears. Gib tried to scream, but his voice was dampened by the hands around his neck.

In one last desperate attempt to free himself, Gib reached for the broadsword, but it was still just out of reach of his grasping fingers. His lungs burned, crying for precious, vital air. The sentinel trainee’s consciousness began to slip away even as he fought against it.
He’s going to strangle me. I’m going to die
—

Gib’s heart leapt when he reached, one last time, and could feel the hilt of the broadsword brush his fingertips. He clutched the leather-bound grip in one hand, knowing the sword was his last lifeline and if he dropped it again, he would die. He turned defiant, feral eyes onto the assassin, and with all remaining strength, bashed the steel pommel against the side of the man’s head.

The assassin wailed furiously and teetered back, releasing his hands to cradle the side of his face. Blood trickled from the man’s ear, a trail of bright crimson down his neck. Gib took in a deep, gasping breath and used the opportunity to escape. He rolled away from the assailant, putting distance between them.

“You little bastard!” the assassin jeered as he recovered from the blow. His voice was the same rough, grating voice Gib had overheard outside the academy lecture hall.

Gib raised the broadsword, keeping the weapon poised between the killer and his own body, hoping the sight of the blade would deter the assailant from advancing. Angry shouts could be heard all around, resonating off the stone walls. The sounds were like sweet music to Gib’s ear. Help was arriving.

Gib glared at his opponent. “The Royal Guard is coming. You’ll soon pay for the lives you’ve ended.”

The assassin hissed a curse at Gib but must have decided slaying the trainee wasn’t worth the risk of being captured. The man leapt to his feet and dashed away, vanishing into the shadows. Gib dropped the sword and collapsed to the marble floor. He was completely spent.

In the next instant, royal guardsmen had swarmed through the stairwell opening and out to the balcony. Gib forced himself into a sitting position, face throbbing and teeth chattering. He lifted a shaking arm and pointed in the direction the assassin had fled. “That way! He’s getting away!”

Four of the soldiers immediately turned to take chase—but one hung back, his dark eyes suspicious as he fixed a sharp look on Gib. The sentinel trainee realized belatedly how bad this entire scene must have appeared. Here he was, alone, with a stolen sword and crossbow in the place where the King had been shot—Gib paled.
The King! Did the arrow hit its mark? Is King Rishi dead?
As he stumbled to gain his feet, the royal guardsman pulled his blade from its sheath.

“No, no,
don’t
!”

Joel’s frail voice bounced off the high ceilings as the mage trainee ran forward and took to his knee. He glared at the guard from his spot beside Gib. “I swear to you, he had nothing to do with this. We were trying to find the assassin!”

The soldier hesitated but lowered his blade. “You are the son of the seneschal. I’ll heed your words, but neither of you may leave my sight until I have further orders.”

Joel turned back to Gib, worry lining his beautiful face. “Are you hurt? Look at you—”

“The King,” Gib gasped. “How is the King?”

“Marc is with him.” Joel paused to stand and look over the edge of the balcony. “I think he’ll be all right.”

“He went down? He was hit?”

The devastation in the mage trainee’s eyes was enough to undo Gib. “Yes, he was shot—but you did all you could to stop it. The King is in the greatest of care. Marc is the very best healer I know.”

Gib swallowed his despair, the taste of blood in his mouth. His face hurt and his eyes wouldn’t stop watering. “I failed the King. I should have been able to stop the assassin.”